#Coffee Melody special

[heretherebedork]

The Coffee Melody special is exactly as pointless as it sounds but at least they do a bit of axe-grinding about gay marriage? They even talked about adoption a bit. But this was very lowkey, not even argumentative or anything. Hey, at least there might also be one for Thitnuea and Jean! That I want to see.

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

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You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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[we-are-maladaptive]

little dreamer ♡

contents: fluffy stuff, a little bit a children mentioned characters: katsuki bakugou, izuku midoriya, shouto todoroki, denki kaminari, eijirou kirishima (separate) authors note: hello (╥﹏╥) very sorry for being inactive recently!! my mother's ex boyfriend is in jail for attempted homocide and ive been helping her get it together since then ( not even kidding ) so therefore here is a hello present from me as an apology ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Husband Katsuki, who sits with you on the porch swing in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the yard. The scent of jasmine fills the air, mingling with the sound of distant laughter from children playing nearby. He wraps a cozy blanket around your shoulders, pulling you close as the evening chill begins to set in. You sip on hot cocoa, marshmallows melting into sweet swirls, and talk about the little moments that made your day special. His arm around you feels like the safest place in the world, and as the first stars begin to appear in the twilight sky, he softly hums a tune that makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the universe.

Husband Izuku, who wakes you gently on lazy Sunday mornings with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of birds singing outside your window. He brings you breakfast in bed, a tray laden with your favorite pastries, fruits, and a delicate vase holding a single rose. As you share bites of buttery croissant and sip on coffee, you talk about dreams you had the night before and make plans for the day ahead. His fingers trace patterns on your arm as he listens, his eyes full of a love that makes you feel cherished and safe. Later, you both linger in bed, wrapped in the warmth of the morning sun and each other’s embrace, content to let the world outside fade away.

Husband Shouto, who takes you on evening walks along the beach, where the sky blazes with the colors of the setting sun, painting the waves with hues of orange and pink. As you stroll hand in hand, you collect smooth pebbles and seashells, giggling like children whenever you find a particularly beautiful one. You sit together on the sand, watching as the stars begin to twinkle into existence, and he wraps a blanket around your shoulders to keep you warm. His voice is soft and tender as he whispers stories of your future, of a house by the sea and children who run along the shore, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart and the promise of a lifetime of such evenings together.

Husband Denki, who plans a cozy movie night at home, the living room transformed into a haven of comfort with soft pillows and warm blankets scattered everywhere. He dims the lights and lights a few scented candles, their flickering flames casting a soft glow. You snuggle together on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn and exchanging quiet laughter over inside jokes. As the movie plays, he holds you close, his fingers gently stroking your hair. The outside world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. When the credits roll, you find yourselves talking late into the night, about anything and everything, his voice a soothing melody that lulls you into a peaceful sleep, your head resting on his shoulder.

Husband Eijirou, who dances with you in the living room, the only light coming from the flickering flames in the fireplace, casting a golden glow over everything. The soft strains of a love song fill the room, and he holds you close, your feet moving in a slow, gentle rhythm. His hand rests on the small of your back, and you feel the warmth of his touch seep through your clothes. As the song ends, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache with love. He presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring words of devotion, and you know in that moment that this is where you belong—dancing in his arms, forever and always.

[rroseselavyyy]

special needs - jjk

pairing: jungkook x female reader

warnings: smut

Jungkook threw his black t-shirt onto his bed before throwing his tired body down next to it with a deep sigh. He stared sleepily at the ceiling as his alcohol-filled system took over his mind.

However, there was one thing that kept him from sleeping peacefully and that was that he could feel his cock still aching for release ever since he finally had the chance to get this close to you after you started dating his best friend.

He could still feel your petal lips pressed to his cheek in genuine affection before telling him to drive safely on his way home, his fingertips tracing a path up his cheek at the memory without realizing it.

In a way like the cold breeze through the open window of his bedroom brought the faint scent of cherry blossoms from your perfume into his nostrils and made his head spin with the alcohol rushing through his veins, he closed his eyes and let the satin sheets bring him a sense of comfort as the cold sensation of them soothed his nerves.

It wouldn't hurt to have his hyung's girlfriend just for one night, would it?

He was far too drunk to notice that his hands had found their way to his belt, his intoxicated brain filled with mental images of you smiling from ear to ear as he told you a ridiculous joke on the dance floor, the very feeling of the blush creeping up his neck from your arms wrapped loosely around it still alive.

He shuddered as the cold of his hand met with the base of his cock, spreading the precum along his shaft. He was oblivious to the world around him when your trademark giggle echoed like a soft melody in his ears.

Now all he could feel was your hips riding him in slow circular motions. He lifted his hips with every ounce of strength he had, desperate to match your pace as if he could never get enough of you.

His soft moans turned to desperate whimpers, the faint moonlight from the window accentuating his sweaty torso like a roman statue, his chest constantly puffing with his uneven breathing.

As if the universe was making fun of him, everything turned into a cheap-ass teen movie and all the memories he shared with you played in his head behind the melody of the metal songs he listened when he was a teenager. You were everywhere as he tugged at his cock like he wanted to get you out of his skin, but you had been carved into his mind for all these years.

He felt like a teenager again who couldn't stop jerking off at the thought of you, but this time he felt no shame, on the contrary, he felt entitled to have you under him.

You were his dream even when Seokjin was not in the picture. Jungkook wasn't meant to be the villain of your princess fairytale.

He sank his teeth into his bottom lip so hard he could taste the blood on his tongue as the thin line between reality and fantasy faded away and all he could think about was nibbling at your nipples.

He thrust his hips up into you as he felt himself reaching his orgasm, kisses he wanted to ink on his skin like a tattoo on his throat felt heavenly as your delicate fingers wrapped around his neck like a collar.

If it meant he could be yours, he was willing to give himself to you in every possible way. He would let you put a collar around his neck, chain him to your bed, tie his eyes with your scarf, after all, you already had him under your spell.

Even in the dark of his bedroom, he could still remember the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue when he kissed you, just like the bitter taste on his tongue when he congratulated you on your relationship with Seokjin.

Before he kissed you for the first time, he could never have known that something so bitter could be sweeter than anything he had ever tasted, making him crave it with every fibre of his being.

He came with a deep growl, his defined stomach glistening with enough cum to impregnate you if you were the one fucking him and not his fist. He wanted to hold you in his arms as the intimacy felt unbelievably real, but he knew he could wake up from his dream at any moment if he tried.

He smiled to himself as he lay on his bed, completely spent and finally ready to sleep.

Maybe one day he would be the one to take you home. Maybe one day you would understand that he was the one for you.

He could wait for you to come back to him, and maybe this time he could prove that you mean the world to him.

[xhoess]

Unscripted connections

Hugh jackman x fem bod reader

Masterlist word count: 8k

Summary: a 26-year-old assistant director who unexpectedly falls for her 55-year-old coworker, Hugh Jackman, while working together on a film.

Warnings: unprotected PiV, age gap, rough, angryy at Hugh (reader) , NFSW, fluff, smut

The morning sun streamed through the sprawling studio windows, casting an ethereal glow across the film set. Everything was bustling with energy—grips hustled about with equipment, makeup artists whispered among themselves, and the smell of fresh coffee wafted in from the nearby break room. You barely had a moment to catch your breath as an assistant director before you were called to the front of the set. Today was your first day, and the stakes felt incredibly high.

As you adjusted your clipboard and steeled yourself for the whirlwind of action and expectation, you felt a flutter of nervous energy in your chest. You had landed a position on a new project starring Hugh Jackman—the Hugh Jackman. Thinking about his name alone stirred something deep inside you, a strange mix of admiration and apprehension. Would he live up to everything you had imagined?

The crew parted like a wave, and you finally caught your first glimpse of the man himself. He stood near the director, exuding an effortless charisma that seemed to extend to everyone around him. Hugh was dressed comfortably in a fitted gray T-shirt and dark jeans, but there was nothing ordinary about him. It was as if he stood in a spotlight no one else could see.

As you walked closer, your breath caught in your throat. You watched him chat amicably with the cinematographer, his laughter warm and contagious. It felt surreal to be in the same space as someone who had captured the hearts of millions. Yet despite the distance in your professional status, there was an inexplicable pull that made your heart race.

“Hugh!” the director called, and the actor turned, a friendly smile brightening his face. At that moment, it felt like time slowed down. You were unprepared for his gaze to flicker in your direction, piercing and yet inviting. When he met your eyes, the world around you faded into a hush, making way for an electric connection that made your cheeks flush.

“Ah, you must be the new assistant director! I’m Hugh,” he said, extending a hand toward you. His voice was deep and melodious, sending thrilling shivers down your spine.

“Oh, hi! I’m y/n,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. As you shook his hand, his grip was warm and firm, sending a jolt of energy through you. You fought the impulse to linger—after all, you were here to work, not to swoon.

“Excited to have you on board. We aim to make something special with this film, and I can already tell you’ll be a vital part of that,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with sincerity. You felt a flutter again, but you mentally reprimanded yourself. You were nearly two decades his junior; thoughts of a romance were simply absurd.

“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” you managed to say, forcing yourself to focus. You knew he was just being kind and welcoming; it was part of his charm. As the morning unfolded, you couldn’t help but admire him from a distance while still maintaining your professionalism. Hugh was incredibly talented but also down-to-earth, taking the time to share stories, crack jokes, and encourage those around him.

Hours ticked by as you coordinated with the team and ensured everything ran smoothly. But your thoughts often drifted back to Hugh, witnessing the way he lit up the atmosphere, turning mundane moments into something lively and unforgettable. He would tease the crew playfully, sharing little anecdotes from his career, and each smile elicited an involuntary warmth that settled pleasantly in your chest.

As lunch approached, you found yourself in line at the food truck that had pulled in for the crew. You absently listened to the chatter around you, stealing a glance now and then at Hugh, who was seated at a nearby table chatting animatedly with a few crew members. You couldn’t help but observe the effortless charm he possessed.

Then, to your shock, he caught your gaze again. His expression softened, and he motioned for you to join him. Your heart raced wildly. Was he actually inviting you over? Wasn't it too soon for such familiarity? For a moment, you debated whether this was all a figment of your imagination.

“Hey, y/n! Come join us!” he called, flashing that dazzling smile of his. You hesitated, your nerves battling with an exhilarating thrill, before gathering enough courage to approach.

“Of course, if that’s not too weird,” you said, attempting to keep your tone light.

“Not weird at all! We were just talking about how crucial the next scene is going to be. Would love to hear your thoughts,” he replied, and the crew members nodded in agreement.

As you settled into the conversation, you felt the chemistry between you and Hugh grow stronger. His genuine interest in your ideas made you feel surprisingly comfortable. You talked about your experiences, and to your astonishment, he listened intently, occasionally adding in playful banter that made you laugh—deep, unguarded laughter that made the anxiety of your first day fade away.

But beneath the warmth of the interaction, you couldn’t shake the truth of your situation. The age gap loomed like a shadow, a reminder that this was a professional endeavor. You had come here to prove yourself, not to entertain fantastical notions of romance. Still, there was no denying the magnetic pull you felt each time he came closer—a brush of shoulders or a fleeting glance that sent electric ripples through your resolve.

As lunch drew to a close and the conversations began to dwindle, you made your way back to your responsibilities, acutely aware of Hugh’s gaze lingering on you. You were determined to keep boundaries, to channel your feelings into your work, but you also couldn’t help wishing that just once, the universe might surprise you.

The film set buzzed with energy after lunch, a chaos of lights, camera equipment, and the chatter of crew members darting about like busy bees. It was your first major production, and as a production assistant, every moment felt electric—an intoxicating blend of pressure and excitement. Each day, you learned something new, gliding through a whirlwind of tasks, from fetching props to helping set up scenes. But nothing matched the thrill of working alongside Hugh, the film's esteemed director.

Hugh was everything you had imagined he would be—a captivating blend of charm and intensity. With his silver-streaked hair and brown eyes, he commanded a room in a way that made your heart race. But it was more than his looks; it was the passion with which he approached his craft, treating each scene as if it were a delicate work of art. As the weeks rolled on, you found yourselves working closely together, often staying long after everyone else had gone home to perfect each detail of the script.

It had been a long day, with filming pushing well into the night. The set lay semi-dark, dimly lit by the glow of a few overhead lights and an errant lamp in the corner. The atmosphere was quiet except for the soft sounds of pages turning and the occasional clunk of a chair. The crew had wrapped up, leaving just you and Hugh in the hushed sanctuary of the set, an empty universe of creativity waiting to echo your voices.

You glanced at the clock; it was nearly midnight. With a yawn, you stretched your arms overhead, the weariness settling in your bones. "How many more takes do you think this scene will need?" you asked, trying to shake the fatigue from your thoughts.

Hugh leaned back in his chair, a pensive expression crossing his face. “As many as it takes to find the truth of the moment,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. “Might take a while, though.”

Despite your tiredness, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his dedication. “As long as you don’t break into a dramatic monologue about the artistry of film again, I think I can endure.”

His laughter echoed softly against the soundstage walls, a warm, rich sound that made your insides flutter. “Do you have a problem with dramatic monologues?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Dramatic, no. Long, yes,” you replied playfully, but in that moment, you both knew that there was more to it than just playful banter.

As the last creased page of the script turned in his hands, he paused, a flicker of contemplation crossing his features. “What about you, y/n? You’ll surely have your own dramatic story to tell one day.”

“Me?” you said, suddenly feeling as if you were the subject of a scene rather than a participant. “I’m just here to help out, learn the ropes. No dramatic monologues in my future.”

He leaned in, his expression earnest. “Everyone has a story, y/n. Even if you don’t see it yet, yours is unfolding right now.”

You swallowed hard, aware of the weight of his words. Was he implying that there was a depth to your interactions, a thread connecting you that surpassed the confines of a simple work relationship? The age difference loomed in your mind, a shadow that hovered just out of reach. He was over 2 decades older than you, seasoned and experienced, while you were still finding your footing.

“What’s it like?” you asked unexpectedly, your curiosity cutting through your hesitation. “To be so… experienced. To have lived so much. Do you ever wish you could start again?”

He seemed taken aback by your question, his gaze drifting over to the surrounding set, shadows playing tricks in the low light. “Sometimes. But not because I regret my choices. Rather, because I sometimes wonder what I might have missed. There’s a beauty in innocence, in exploring new challenges without the weight of expectations.”

You nodded, feeling an inexplicable connection yet not knowing how to breach the distance created by circumstance and years. Yet, as the night wore on, you felt a current passing between you, a spark igniting in the shared vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you think our paths would have crossed differently if we were the same age?” you mused, testing the waters of his perception.

Hugh studied you, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “Possibly. But time doesn’t rewrite the past, y/n. What’s important is what we choose to do with the present.”

The air hung thick between you, humming with unspoken thoughts and feelings. You caught yourself stealing glances at him, captivated by the warmth of his presence. There was a comfort in his vulnerability, a safety you didn’t expect to find in someone who had long stepped into the limelight.

Just then, something clicked in your heart. Maybe this was more than just a crush; perhaps it was as he said, stories unfolding in unexpected ways. But even as warmth blossomed within you, a small voice of reason nagged at the edge of your mind, reminding you to stay focused, to keep your ambitions clear of distractions.

“Enough about me,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “What about the next scene? We should get back to it before the inspiration fizzles away.”

He chuckled, the earlier tension easing a bit. “You’re right. We should get to work.”

And so, you both returned to the script, but now a different current pulsed between your shared moments. Each line you rehearsed now felt laced with an understanding that was beyond the surface.

As the hours slipped by, the bond you shared deepened, masked under the guise of professional friendship. Yet, it lingered in the way his fingers brushed against yours when he handed you the script, the flush on your cheeks when his gaze met yours for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

As you wrapped up for the night, you caught his eye, and for just a moment, everything else faded—the studio, the crew, the obligations of work. In that shared silence, there was an acknowledgment of something not yet spoken—a connection waiting to be embraced but tempered by the fear of crossing uncharted boundaries.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Hugh,” you said, the words barely escaping your lips.

“Looking forward to it, y/n,” he replied softly, and with that, you parted ways into the stillness of the night.

**a few weeks later**

The bustling sound of the film set was an orchestra of excitement and anxiety. Lights flickered overhead, casting a warm glow over the crew as they moved like clockwork, each with a distinct role in bringing the project to life. You stood at the edge of the set, clipboard in hand, every detail carefully noted, and yet your mind was elsewhere—absorbed by the presence of Hugh.

He had the effortless charm of a seasoned performer, one who knew precisely how to command a room. But today, there was an added layer of tension between you, an unshakable current that neither of you dared to address openly.

As the director called “Action!” you watched Hugh transform into his character, a tragic hero torn by past mistakes. His performance was raw and authentic, and yet, in your peripheral vision, you noticed him glancing at you periodically, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. There was an energy there—an electric charge that made it impossible to concentrate on your duties.

After a particularly intense scene, Hugh broke character, brushing back his tousled hair, his forehead glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He turned towards you, his expression unreadable but intense, as if he was waiting for something, and you felt the weight of his gaze. You shifted your attention back to the script, absently making notes about timing and camera angles, while the ache in your chest grew heavier.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice threaded with both curiosity and challenge, breaking through the noise of the crew packing up. You looked up, caught between the professional facade you maintained and the emotions that surged whenever he was near.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, feigning nonchalance but feeling the tension coil within you, a tight spring ready to snap.

“You’re holding back,” he said, his blue eyes piercing through any defenses you, consciously or unconsciously, had erected. “With the vision for the scenes. I can see it. There’s more you want to explore—less of the safe stuff and more of…well, what scares you.”

His demand hung in the air between you like a challenging dare. The intimacy of his observation stirred something deep inside, forcing you to confront feelings you’d carefully guarded. “And how would you know what scares me?” you shot back, apprehensive, but interested.

Hugh stepped closer, the distance closing rapidly, and dropped his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Because I see it in your eyes when you're in a moment of inspiration. And I know what it feels like to refrain from stepping fully into the abyss. Trust me, Y/N, you're not the only one afraid of what’s on the other side.”

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his vulnerability shining through just as brightly as his confidence. “We’re a team here. We both want this project to succeed. But if we dance around the hard truths, we risk losing not just this film, but maybe… something more.”

His admission hung heavily in the air, a precarious bridge spanning the uncharted waters of your feelings. You had been acutely aware of the sparks between you, but the thought of acting on them scared you. There was an age gap—a divide that felt insurmountable, complicated by the realities of fame and perception. You opened your mouth to speak, hesitating as you sought the right words to express your inner turmoil.

“I—I am scared, Hugh.I’m scared of what it would mean if we crossed this line,” you finally managed to say. “You’re not just an actor to me; you’re…You’re Hugh jackman. There’s so much more on the line.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. “Whatever happens, we can face it together,” he promised earnestly, hands connecting with yours, a reassurance sparking at the junction where your palms met. “What we feel—it’s undeniable. Let’s not pretend it doesn’t exist. Let’s explore this together.”

A myriad of emotions tangled within you: fear, hope, yearning. You had spent so long pushing away thoughts of him, labeling them as distractions, but they were more than that. They were a profound connection—a bond deepening with every shared glance, every hidden smile.

The crew was gathering their things. People began to shuffle around you, but together, you and Hugh remained anchored in your own unspoken world. Finally, you inhaled sharply, a resolution forming. “Okay. Let’s take that plunge. But you have to promise to be honest with me, and yourself—whatever this is, we have to confront it head-on.”

“Deal,” he agreed, determination painted on his features. “Just give me your all, Y/N. Push the boundaries of what you create. I want to see the real you—the one who isn’t afraid.”

As the sunlight began to dip beyond the horizon, your heart raced with the promise of inevitable change. You could feel it now: a dawning awareness of what could be. You had both stepped onto a path that was irreversible, like characters in a story that was swiftly unraveling around you, plot twists waiting to take shape.

You shared a glance, the weight of unspoken words passing silently between you, solidifying a new understanding. With the tension hanging thick in the air, it felt as if the universe had conspired to bring you to this moment.

The neon lights flickered dimly in the corner, reflecting the excitement of a film wrap party, the film was almost done, there were only a few scenes left to to.

It quickly transformed into a sea of emotion and uncertainty. Laughter echoed against the laughter but what lingered beneath the surface was something more charged and electric. You could feel it in the air, a breathless anticipation that swirled around you like the flicking trails of the sparklers that lit up the evening sky.

As the director raised his glass, you stole a glance at Hugh. He stood there, impeccably handsome in his tailored suit, leaning back against a marble pillar with a charming smile that made your heart race. The playful glimmer in his eyes lit up the starkness of his chiseled features, and for months now, he had been your anchor in a tumultuous sea of film production. The chemistry between you two had been palpable; unspoken promises lingered like a fine mist, blurred around the edges, but tonight was different. The air felt charged, heavy with the unvoiced tension that had been building.

With each drink, the barriers separating you from Hugh began to erode. Your senses dulled just enough to embolden you. “C’mon, let's celebrate!” one of your co-workers had cheered, passing you another glass of champagne. It fizzed and popped against the crystal, much like the competing thoughts that popped up in your mind.

Hugh caught your eye and smiled, that sincere, slightly crooked grin that always made you feel giddy. Far away from the prying eyes of producers and cast members, the room felt intimate despite its size. You could only hope no one noticed the way the two of you gravitated towards each other like lost ships drawn into the same harbor.

When the mingling subdues to wavering small talk, you find yourself making your way toward him, a determination fueling your steps. “What are we waiting for?” you dared to challenge the uncertainty.

He tilted his head, those warm brown eyes glimmering with intrigue. “A better offer?” he countered playfully, eyebrows raised.

You laughed, feeling the heat of the moment wrap around you like the warm evening air. “Or maybe just… courage?”

In the following moments, laughter became murmurs as people began to drift away, winding down their joy. With the crew’s excitement ebbing like the tide, you made a decision.

“Hugh, do you want to get out of here? Just for a bit?” Your voice trembled slightly, but you masked it with a steady smile.

His eyes lit up, a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Sure, I know just the place.”

You found yourself following him into the night. The moon hung high above you, casting a silver glow on the streets as you walked side by side, your fingers brushing against one another, eliciting a jolt of electricity that sent your heart racing.

Minutes later, you were at his house—a cozy, modern space lined with art that told stories of a life lived passionately. As he turned on the lights, his gaze caught yours, and something shifted. The weight of the moment enveloped you, filled with possibilities that had once felt too dangerous to fathom.

“Want to see something?” He asked with a conspiratorial grin as he led you toward his living room, where an impressive collection of movie memorabilia and personal artifacts lived. As he gestured towards a prop from one of his earlier films—a whimsical piece you recognized immediately—you felt the easy banter fade, replaced with an unsteady silence that thrummed with unsaid words.

You gazed around the room—so many things lived here, memories caught between the layers of paint and warmth. The air grew waning with every heartbeat, and you realized this was it; the line had finally blurred.

“Do you remember the scene in the film where the characters finally confess their feelings?” you said, your voice quieter than expected.

His gaze locked onto you, and he stepped closer, invading your personal space in a way that sent your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah, I remember it well.”

You swallowed hard as a flood of emotions surfaced, memories of stolen glances and lingering smiles mingling with hope and anxiety. “It feels like we keep dancing around the truth all this time.”

He took a shaky breath, inching ever closer. “Maybe it’s time we stopped dancing.”

The words hung in the air, vibrating with the weight of meaning. Before you could fully process the invitation behind them, he closed the distance. Your heart leapt as his lips met yours, tentative at first, but then deepened into a fervent exploration, igniting every nerve ending in your body.

Time ceased to exist in that kiss—everything else faded away. The party, the noise, the cufflinks, and long discussions about film—it all vanished as he held you close. You melted into him, sensing that this moment held not just promise, but a thousand unfulfilled desires waiting to burst forth.

The kiss broke just as suddenly as it had begun, both of you pulling away, breathless. Hugh’s brow was furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and exhilaration. You felt warmth creep over your cheeks, the thrill of stepping over the thin line you had both walked for so long.

“What… what just happened?” he asked, astonished, yet the surprise in his eyes was underlined with an unmistakable desire.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your heart racing. “But I think we just crossed a line.”

He took a step back, a bewildered smile twisting at the edges of his mouth. “Nothing between us is ever going to be the same again, is it?”

You shook your head. He sighed "well than we need to make the best of it"

"I've wanted you for so long," Hugh whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I know," you reply, your voice husky with desire. "I've wanted you too."

Hugh's fingers find their way to your breasts, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your dress. You moan with pleasure, your body arching towards him as he continues to explore your body.

"You're so fucking sexy," Hugh growls, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.You gasp with pleasure, your body trembling with desire. You can feel the wetness growing between your legs, your body begging for more.

Hugh's hand travels down your body, his fingers tracing a path towards your wetness. You moan as he slides a finger inside you, your body clenching around him as he begins to explore your most intimate places.

"You're so fucking wet," Hugh murmurs, his fingers moving in and out of you with a maddening slowness.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your body begging for more.

Hugh doesn't need to be asked twice. He pulls your dress up around your waist, his cock springing free as he positions himself at your entrance."Are you sure?" he asks, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hugh thrusts inside you, filling you completely. You moan with pleasure, your body adjusting to his size as he begins to move inside you.

The sex is rough and raw, Hugh's body slamming into yours as he fucks you with a wild abandon. You can feel every inch of him inside you, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time.

"Yes, yes, yes," you scream, your body trembling with pleasure.

Hugh's thrusts become more urgent, his cock swelling inside you as he reaches his climax. You can feel him cumming inside you, his hot seed filling you up as he collapses on top of you.

As you lay there, on he's couch breathless and spent, you know that nothing will ever be the same between you two again. Falling asleep soon after.

The sun streamed through the sheer curtains and cast a gentle glow across your bedroom. Hugh is already gone. He must have carried you to bed when you fell asleep last night. You lay in bed, tangled in sheets and emotions as the events of the previous night replayed in your mind like a broken record. The soft chirping of birds outside felt mocking, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

Last night's party had started off like any other, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the vibrant hum of creative energy. But then... Hugh. His laughter ringing in your ears. The warmth of his touch. The way he looked at you, and how everything in that moment faded away until it was just the two of you, worlds colliding in a whirlwind of passion.

You pulled your blanket around you tighter, as if it could shield you from a reality you wished you could forget. What had you done? You felt exhilaration turning sour as doubt crept in like an unwelcome guest. You had been careful to maintain professional boundaries, navigating the murky waters of your career as an assistant director and trying not to be another name associated with Hugh's countless flings. But last night, those lines blurred; you had crossed them willingly, and now it felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to land.

What if this jeopardized your career? Your thoughts spiraled into a worry-induced frenzy. Hugh was charming and talented but notoriously fickle. Besides, the industry could be brutal. Would he even want to be involved with you again after this morning? Did he even care? As you wrestled with your insecurities, your phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand like a swarm of angry bees, reminding you that you had to face the consequences of last night's fleeting moment of weakness.

Getting out of bed felt like running an obstacle course of dread. You dressed meticulously, hiding the tremor in your hands while trying to appear composed. A small part of you hoped that things could return to normal, that a bit of awkwardness in the morning sun could give way to something beautiful on set. But with every passing minute, that hope diminished.

Upon arriving at the set, the scene was already busy with bustling crew members and the enticing aroma of fresh coffee. You made your way to the auxiliary area set up for the production, trying to blend in with the steady stream of people. But as soon as your eyes found Hugh, standing in his director's chair with an intense expression on his face, your stomach dropped.

He was focused on something, oblivious to the world around him. But as your heart quickened at the sight of him, you also noticed how his gaze avoided yours, like he was deliberately steering clear of a riptide he could feel but not see. You forced yourself to breathe, to push past the heat rising in your cheeks, to approach him and acting as if everything was normal. Yet, the closer you got, the more you felt the weight of an invisible wall between you.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying to break the silence, but he turned his gaze elsewhere, focused on the staging crew and the angles they were suggesting. The polite smile he gave you felt strained, and it shattered the little spirit you had managed to muster.

A knot twisted in your stomach as you retreated, retreating to the corner of the set where you huddled with the rest of the crew, avoiding Hugh’s distant presence like it was a storm cloud waiting to unleash its fury. Minutes passed like hours, and every time you caught a glimpse of him, your heart sank deeper.

Hours later, when the director called for a break, you felt tense and apprehensive. It was then that the lead director approached you, a stern look on his face that made your heart race with dread.

“Y/N, can we talk?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge that turned your stomach.

You followed him away from the chatter of the cast and crew, your heart pounding and your mind racing. What was happening? He stopped under a makeshift tent away from prying eyes.

“I’m going to be direct,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ve been made aware of... what happened last night at the party. It’s not the first time I've seen personal relationships spill into the workspace, but it cannot happen here. I have to let you go from your position as an assistant director.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and in that moment, your world crumbled. What had you done? “You’re firing me?” you asked, your voice a whisper, tinged with disbelief. “Because of what happened with Hugh?”

His eyebrows knitted together in a sympathetic frown. “It’s not just about that. It’s about maintaining professionalism on set. You’re talented, and I wish it didn’t come to this, but the integrity of the production must come first.”

“I can fix this! I can—”

“It’s out of my hands, Y/N,” he said, cutting you off. You felt the gravity of his words pulling you down into an endless freefall.

You nodded numbly, choking back tears threatening to spill. It felt as if the earth beneath you had given way, and you hadn’t even thought to grab for the edges. As you walked away, heart heavy and mind racing, the realization that the best part of the party — the part that you’d held onto so tightly — was now the worst thing that could have happened.

Throughout the rest of the day, your phone vibrated with multiple missed calls and texts from Hugh, but you ignored each one, feeling ashamed and hurt. The ache in your chest deepened as the hurt turned into anger. You wanted to respond, to let him know that his silence had condemned you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to deal with him, the very person who had made you feel more alone than you ever had before.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of violet and amber, you took a deep breath, allowing the tears to finally escape. You had loved the thrill of the job, the collaborative spirit, the late-night brainstorming sessions. And now, you were left with nothing but the echo of a distant sun and a heart that felt like it would never mend.

Your phone buzzes incessantly on the coffee table, each vibration echoing through the silence of your apartment like a relentless tick of a clock. You’ve seen Hugh’s name pop up on your screen several times now, each call wearing down your resolve, gnawing at your anger like a persistent thief in the night. Taking a deep breath, you finally decide to pick up.

“Hugh?” Your voice wavers, laced with a mix of frustration and a tinge of betrayal.

“Y/N! You answered! I was beginning to think you’d never pick up,” he exclaims, relief flooding his tone.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we? Just come over so we can talk,” you reply, trying to maintain your calm. After a moment, you say, “Please.” It’s a softening that belies the tempest brewing inside you.

Fifteen minutes later, Hugh’s familiar silhouette appears at your door; a mixture of regret and hope evident on his face. You step aside to let him in, the air between you crackling with tension.

“I’m glad you decided to see me,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of your couch, as though he’s worried he might sink into the weight of the conversation.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the wall. “You know why I’m mad, right?”

“Well, yes…” He looks down, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair, a sign of both his age and the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. “But I thought we’d talk about it—”

“Talk about it?” You interrupt, your voice rising. “You didn’t even try to stop the director from firing me! You just let him do it.”

“I tried. I really did, Y/N. But…” He hesitates, and you can see the weight of that unspoken truth hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating. “You know how he is. I couldn’t risk my own position. Not with the board breathing down my neck.”

Your heart hardens at his words. “So my job meant nothing?”

“That’s not true!” he insists, leaning forward, desperation carving lines into his brow. “You know my feelings for you. I didn’t want to lose you either.”

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence; the clock ticks loudly in the background, echoing your heightened pulse. You think back to how you’d met in the first place: the spark of connection in board meetings, the shared coffee breaks, the way his laughter lit up even the dimmest of corporate landscapes. But then you also remember the power dynamics, the silence of the office when the affair went from whispers to reality. There was still that chilling fact hovering over your heads: the 29-year age gap.

“It feels like I was just some toy to you, Hugh, something you could play with until the director got jealous,” you say, your words sharper than intended.

His expression softens, and suddenly he’s standing, pacing your small living room. “That’s not how I see it. You’re not a toy to me, Y/N. You were… you are everything to me. But this—” he gestures between you, “it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you scoff, feeling the sting behind your eyes as frustration morphs into hurt. “I can’t afford complications right now. I was fired because of you, because of us. You think it’s easy for me to handle the fact that I have to start over, all because you couldn’t protect me in front of the director?”

His gaze hardens for a moment before it softens again, sorrow painting his features. “I get that you’re angry—”

“Angry? I’m furious, Hugh! I took a chance on you and us, and this is what I get?”

He takes a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as if he’s preparing for a confession. “What if I told you I didn’t just let you go to save myself? What if… what if I told you that I pushed him hard to keep you?”

You raise an eyebrow, the disbelief palpable in the air. “Why should I believe you? You were right there.”

“I know, and I regret not being more forceful,” he admits. “But there’s something more at play here. Do you really think it was just about our affair? It was politics, Y/N. You’re brilliant, and he knew that. You posed a threat.”

Your heart races at his words, a mix of confusion and bitterness swirling inside you. “So what, I’m a pawn in a game?”

“Not like that,” he says quickly. “I mean it, I never wanted you to be caught in the crossfire. I care about you, more than you can understand. But I also care about keeping our relationship safe, especially if the wrong people find out.”

Safe? You want to laugh, but it dies in your throat. “And this is how you protect me? By throwing me to the wolves?”

Hugh steps closer, his eyes pleading. “Can’t you see? If I stood up to him, I’d have lost everything—my job, my credibility… and ultimately, you. I had to think strategically.”

“Strategically,” you repeat, the word tasting sour on your tongue. “You sound like a politician.”

“You know me better than that!” he exclaims, frustration coloring his words. “I didn’t want to lose you! Can’t you understand that?”

You throw your hands up, the weight of the world above you pressing down harder. “Do you think I came into this thinking we’d end up here? That I’d lose everything working alongside you?”

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

“Fix what?” You step back, your breath heavy. “The age difference? The possible backlash? Do you think someone like me could ever really have a future with someone like you?”

His expression drops, the harsh truth hitting him like a wave. “It can work,” he insists, the passion behind his words undeniable.

“It won’t work!” you shout, tears beginning to blur your vision. “ You’re twenty-nine years older than me! The world is against us before we even start. I can’t go back!”

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration but steps closer daring to bridge the gap between you. “You’ve got to trust me, just give me a chance to make things right. I didn’t mean to—”

“Just stop! For once, just stop!” Your voice softens, breaking as you feel the pain boiling to the surface. “I wanted this to work. I really did. But I can't live in this uncertainty anymore.”

He looks lost for a moment, his face a mixture of emotions you can’t quite decipher, but the sincerity behind his gaze makes you falter.

“Life is uncertain,” he says quietly. “But I want to build something with you—even if it’s complicated.”

You stand there, caught in the whirlwind of emotions, wondering if love can really conquer all.

In that moment, you realize it might not be just about you or the age gap. It’s about truth and bearing the weight of consequences you hadn’t wanted to face.

You meet his gaze, the flicker of hope igniting alongside your fears. “look Hugh, this is hard for you too I know that but, I shouldn't have said those things, I am just angry at the moment okay?” you whisper, needing to gather the broken pieces of your heart.

His relief washes over him like sunlight after rain, and for the first time, you see a glimmer of determination mirrored on his face.

“we can do this together okay?” he asks softly.

You nod slowly, not knowing where this path leads to but willing to take the risk.

Hugh leans down and softly lays his hand on the side of your face. He kisses you softly and the anger flows out of you, Hugh is not just a fling.

You kiss him back, your bodies pressed together as you explore each other's mouths. Hugh's hands roam over your body, and you can feel his growing arousal through his pants.

"I want you," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I want you too," you reply, your voice trembling with desire.

Hugh leads you to his bedroom, your bodies still entwined. He lays you down on the bed and starts to undress you, his fingers lingering on your skin as he reveals more and more of your body.

"You're so beautiful," he says, his voice full of admiration.

You reach up and undo the buttons on his shirt, your fingers brushing against his chest. Hugh's skin is warm and smooth, and you can feel his heart beating fast.He removes his shirt and starts to undress you completely, his eyes dark with desire. He kisses you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam over your body.

You moan as he touches your breasts, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipples. Hugh's mouth follows his hands, and he starts to suck on your nipples, his tongue swirling around them.

You arch your back, your body begging for more. Hugh's hand travels down your body, and he starts to rub your clit. You moan louder as he increases the pressure, your hips bucking against his hand.

"I want you inside me," you beg, your voice trembling.

Hugh doesn't need any more encouragement. He reaches for a condom and puts it on, his eyes never leaving yours. He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the tip of his cock probing you.

He enters you slowly, his cock filling you up completely. You moan as he starts to thrust, his hips moving in a steady rhythm."Yes, yes, yes," you chant, your hips meeting his with every thrust.

Hugh leans down and whispers dirty talks in your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine.

"You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice low and husky. "You like it when I fuck you hard."

"Yes, yes, I do," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hugh starts to thrust harder and faster, his cock pounding into you. You feel the familiar tension building up inside you, your orgasm just within reach.

"I'm close," you gasp, your fingers digging into Hugh's back.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice full of authority.

And you do, your orgasm exploding through your body. Hugh follows shortly after, his cock twitching inside you as he reaches his own climax.

You lay there, your bodies entwined, your breathing heavy. Hugh kisses you softly, his hand tracing your face.

"I think I'm falling for you," he says, his voice full of emotion.

You smile, your heart swelling with happiness.

"I think I'm falling for you too," you reply.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Saccharine Expressions.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - enjoy 8k words of Harry grieving his wife.

trigger warnings - mentions of car crashes, hospitals, mentions of miscarriage and a shit load of angst. if you notice anymore triggers please let me know asap!

word count - 8k

in which, your husband postpones his american leg of tour because you get involved in a road traffic accident, resulting in you ending up in a medically induced coma, your husband and four year old comes to visit you everyday and they always have something new to tell you. this is everything that Harry experiences whilst you asleep, speaking to you whilst holding your hand, getting forced to eat because he doesn’t want to move and reassuring your son that mummy’s going to be fine.

12th August, 2022. — 14:47pm.

You had been looking forward to this moment all day. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow as you sat behind the wheel, cruising along the familiar roads on your way to pick up your four year old son, Alfie from school. The car hummed softly, the radio playing a cheerful tune in the background. The anticipation of reuniting with your little one filled the air, your heart light with the prospect of his laughter and stories from his day.

As you turned onto the street leading to the school, you imagined his face lighting up when he spotted your car. He would come running, his backpack bouncing against his small frame, his smile infectious. You couldn't wait to envelop him in a tight hug, his energy and innocence providing a welcome escape from the adult world.

The plan was to head to your husband's music studio, where he was getting everything ready for his American Leg of tour. It had been a while since the three of you had spent quality time together there, surrounded by the melodies that had woven into the fabric of your life. You had ordered takeout from his favourite restaurant, a little treat to celebrate a simple yet special evening.

The studio was your sanctuary, a place where your husband's creativity flowed freely. The walls were adorned with framed memories and records, a testament to his journey as a musician. Walking in, you'd inhale the familiar scent of music equipment and the subtle mix of coffee and old books. You'd settle into the cosy corner, watching as your son explored the room with wide-eyed wonder.

You'd listen to your husband's stories, sharing in his triumphs and frustrations. The music playing softly in the background would create a serene backdrop to your conversations, each note a reminder of the bond you shared. You'd laugh, you'd dance, and you'd cherish the time spent as a family.

But as the sun began its descent and the car continued down the road, fate had other plans.

Out of nowhere, a truck materialised in your path, its imposing presence casting a shadow over your joy-filled thoughts. Panic surged through your veins, your heart racing as you attempted to react, but time seemed to slow.

The impact was sudden and brutal, metal colliding with metal in a deafening symphony of destruction. Your world spun, and for a fraction of a second, everything went black.

Harry sat in the dimly lit studio, his fingers dancing across the keyboard of his laptop as he worked on everything that would be needed for the show in upcoming days. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

But then, a sudden interruption shattered his focus – his phone began to ring insistently, its vibrations causing it to skitter across the table.

Frowning, Harry picked up the phone and saw the school's name on the caller ID. He furrowed his brows, a sense of unease fluttering in his chest. He swiped to answer the call and held the phone to his ear.

" ‘ello?" he said, his voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Hi, Is this Mr. Styles?" a voice on the other end inquired.

"Yeah, this is ‘im," he replied, his brows knitting tighter.

"I'm calling from LakeRidge school," the receptionist explained. "It seems there was a mix-up, and no one came to pick up Alfie today."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Wait, what? No one picked him up?"

"That's correct. We were trying to reach your wife earlier, but it seems no one was answering," the receptionist explained, her voice apologetic.

Harry's mind raced as he glanced at the time on his watch. You and Harry took it in turns to pick up Alfie from school. You did Mondays, Wednesday and Harry did Tuesdays and Thursdays. You both picked him up on Fridays. He ran a hand through his hair, his worry deepening.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I'll be right there t’pick him up."

"Of course, Mr. Styles. We'll make sure he's safe until you arrive," the receptionist assured him.

"Thank you," Harry replied, his tone earnest. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

12th August, 2022. — 15:12pm.

The tires of Harry's car screeched as he quickly manoeuvred into a parking spot near the school. He barely had time to turn off the engine before he was out of the car, his long strides carrying him toward the school building. Panic surged through him with every step, a mix of worry and guilt propelling him forward.

As he burst through the doors of the school reception, his eyes frantically scanned the room for a familiar face. And there he was – his son, Alfie, standing near the reception desk, his face a mixture of relief and excitement as he spotted his father.

"Daddy!" Alfie's voice rang out, and he sprinted toward Harry with open arms.

Harry's heart swelled with a rush of emotions. He crouched down, his arms outstretched, and Alfie practically leaped into his embrace. Harry held his son tightly, a mixture of relief and remorse flooding his senses.

"I'm so sorry, buddy," Harry murmured, his voice filled with regret. "Me and Mummy should have been here t’pick y’up on time."

Alfie squeezed Harry even tighter, his small arms wrapping around his father's neck. "It's okay, Daddy. I knew you'd come."

Harry pulled back slightly, looking into his son's eyes. "Still, I should have been here f’you. I promise this won't happen again."

Alfie's face lit up with a bright smile, his forgiveness and trust shining through. "I love you, Daddy."

Harry's heart ached with love as he pressed a kiss to Alfie's forehead. "I love you too, more than anything."

After a moment of holding his son close, Harry straightened up and swung Alfie onto his hip. He gathered his son's backpack with his free hand and draped it over his shoulder.

"Ready t’go, bud?" Harry asked, his voice gentle.

Alfie nodded enthusiastically, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck. "Yeah!"

With Alfie securely perched on his hip, Harry made his way back to the car. He settled Alfie into his car seat, making sure he was buckled in safely. As he closed the car door, he leaned in to meet Alfie's gaze.

"M’really sorry about today, Alf," Harry said sincerely. "From now on, Me and Mummy will make sure were here on time t’pick y’up, n’matter what."

Alfie's smile returned, his eyes filled with trust. "I know you will, Daddy."

Harry smiled back, his heart full as he ruffled Alfie's hair affectionately. With one final glance, he closed the car door and walked around to the driver's seat.

Just as Harry's hand touched the ignition to start the car, his phone lit up with an unknown number. A sense of unease washed over him, but he quickly connected the call to the car's Bluetooth system.

" ‘Ello?" Harry said, his voice projected through the car's speakers.

"Is this Mr. Styles speaking?" a calm voice inquired.

Harry's brows furrowed as he gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Yes, this is ‘im."

"Mr. Styles, I'm Dr. Parker from Willow Creek Hospital," the voice introduced itself. "I'm calling because you are listed as the emergency contact for (Y/N) Styles."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his wife’s name, his thoughts racing as he tightened his grip on the phone.

"(Y/N)?" he repeated, his voice shaky.

"I'm afraid there's been an incident," Dr. Parker explained gently. "It would be best if we discussed this in person. Can you please come to Willow Creek Hospital as soon as possible?"

A surge of panic coursed through Harry's veins as he turned to look at the backseat, where his four-year-old was sitting. He reached out and gently grasped his child's small hand, his mind racing with worry.

" ‘hat happened?" Harry asked, his voice quivering.

"I understand your concern, Mr. Styles," the doctor replied, his tone compassionate. "I assure you, we will explain everything once you're here. Please, make your way to the hospital as soon as you can."

Harry swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion.

"Yeah, ‘kay," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

12th August, 2022. — 16:09pm.

The hospital loomed before Harry like an imposing fortress of uncertainty. He had hurriedly dropped off Alfie at his manager Jeff's house, making sure his son was safe and away from the unsettling environment of a hospital. Now, his heart raced as he rushed through the sliding glass doors, the sterile scent hitting him like a wave as he stepped into the hospital's bustling foyer.

His eyes darted around, scanning the signs that pointed the way to different wards and departments. But his mind was a blur, and he found himself striding over to the reception desk, his voice hurried and tense.

"S’cuse me," Harry began, his voice tinged with anxiety. "M’looking f’m’wife, (Y/N) Styles. Can y’tell me where she is?"

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, looked up from her computer screen and offered a sympathetic smile. "Of course, sir. Let me check for you."

Harry's fingers tapped nervously on the counter as he waited, his gaze flitting around the lobby. The distant hum of footsteps, the occasional murmur of conversations – it all blended into a surreal symphony that only heightened his unease.

After a moment, the receptionist turned back to him. "It says on her notes that her doctor wants to speak to you before you l are updated on your wife, I’ll page her doctor and let him know your here, be will be out to speak with you shortly about your wife’s condition"

Harry's shoulders slumped slightly in frustration, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "Right. Thank you."

As he paced back and forth near the reception area, his mind raced with scenarios and questions. What had happened? Was (Y/N) okay? The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, a doctor emerged from the corridor beyond.

"Mr. Styles?" the doctor called out, his white coat billowing slightly as he approached.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he turned toward the doctor. "Yes, that's me."

The doctor extended a hand, his expression a mix of professionalism and empathy. "I'm Dr. Parker. Please, come with me. We have a private room where we can talk."

Dr. Parker led Harry down a series of hallways until they reached a small, private family room. The air inside felt heavy with anticipation, and as Harry stepped through the door, he could hardly ignore the sense of foreboding that settled over him.

Taking a seat, Harry's hands trembled slightly as he looked at the doctor, his eyes wide and expectant.

"I appreciate your patience, Mr. Styles," Dr. Parker began, his tone gentle. "I know this is a difficult time, and I want to provide you with as much information as I can."

Harry nodded, his heart pounding as he held onto every word the doctor spoke.

"Your wife, (Y/N) Styles, was brought in unconscious after the car accident," the doctor explained. "Upon evaluation and a CT scan, we discovered a small bleed on her brain. It's causing increased pressure, and we're closely monitoring her condition."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his fingers clenching into fists as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. His wife, the person he loved more than anything, was facing a critical health challenge.

"Additionally," Dr. Parker continued, "she has sustained multiple injuries. Her ribs are fractured, and she has also broken her femur."

The weight of the doctor's words seemed to press down on Harry's chest, his mind struggling to process the extent of his wife's injuries. Images of her vibrant smile, her laughter, and the moments they had shared together flashed through his mind, a stark contrast to the reality he was now facing.

"What... what’re the next steps?" Harry managed to ask, his voice quivering.

"We've already begun treatment for the brain bleed," Dr. Parker explained. "She's under close observation in the Intensive Care Unit. Our priority is to stabilise her and manage the pressure on her brain. Once that's achieved, we'll assess the best course of action for her other injuries."

Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He wanted to be strong, for both his wife and their family, but the weight of the situation threatened to overwhelm him.

"Can I... can I see ‘er?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Parker nodded understandingly. "Of course. We're preparing a room for you to visit her briefly. Please keep in mind that she's still unconscious, and we're closely monitoring her condition."

As the doctor led Harry through the hospital corridors, the journey felt like a surreal blur. He couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart, nor the deep sense of longing to see his wife's face, to hold her hand and offer his unwavering support.

The door to the room swung open, revealing you lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and monitors. Your face appeared peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil within Harry's heart. He approached the bed, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead.

"(Y/N)," Harry whispered, his voice laden with emotion. "M’here. I love you."

He held your hand gently, his grip offering both reassurance and a silent promise that he would be by your side throughout this challenging journey. As he looked at you, his heart swelled with a mixture of love and determination, a reminder that your bond was unbreakable, even in the face of adversity.

The soft beep of machines filled the room as Harry stood by your bedside, his gaze fixed on your still form. Dr. Parker joined him, his presence a mix of professionalism and empathy.

"Mr. Styles," the doctor began, his tone gentle, "I need to explain that due to the severity of (Y/N)'s injuries, we made the decision to place her in a medically induced coma."

Harry's heart sank at the doctor's words, his eyes widening as he turned to look at Dr. Parker. The gravity of the situation seemed to deepen with each passing moment, and the reality that you was facing a critical condition hit him like a ton of bricks.

"A coma?" Harry repeated, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," Dr. Parker confirmed. "Given the head injury and the need to reduce pressure on her brain, we initiated the coma to allow her body to heal and to give her the best chance of recovery."

Harry's hands trembled as he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, his heart heavy with worry for his wife.

"I know this is incredibly difficult," Dr. Parker continued, his voice compassionate. "But the induced coma is a crucial part of her treatment plan. It will help minimise any further damage and allow us to closely monitor her brain activity."

Harry nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving your face. He felt a mixture of helplessness and determination, the need to be there for you overwhelming his thoughts.

"M’here f’er," Harry said, his voice firm. "Whatever she needs, I'll be here."

Dr. Parker nodded, his expression one of understanding. "Your presence and support are invaluable, Mr. Styles. We'll continue to keep you updated on her condition and progress."

Dr. Parker remained in the room, his expression a mix of concern and professionalism. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice measured yet compassionate.

"There's one more thing I need to discuss with you, Mr. Styles," the doctor said, his tone somber.

Harry's head shot up, his eyes locking onto Dr. Parker's. A sense of dread gripped him, his heart pounding as he awaited the doctor's words.

The doctor's gaze met Harry's, his eyes conveying a mixture of empathy and gravity. "Were you aware that your wife is pregnant?"

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion, his mind racing to process the question. He shook his head slightly. "No, I wasn't."

Dr. Parker nodded, his gaze steady. "According to our initial assessment and subsequent scans, (Y/N) is approximately 13 weeks pregnant."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, his thoughts a jumble of emotions. The news hit him like a tidal wave, the realisation that not only was you facing a critical condition, but your was also carrying yours and his second child.

"She... she’s pregnant?" Harry managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alfie was going to be a big brother.

"Yes," Dr. Parker confirmed. "The baby appears to be fine, given our initial scans. However, I need to be transparent with you, Mr. Styles. The circumstances surrounding the accident do pose a higher risk of miscarriage."

Harry's heart ached at the doctor's words, the weight of the situation heavy upon him. The room seemed to close in around him as he processed the reality of the delicate life that hung in the balance.

" ‘hat can we do?" Harry asked, his voice trembling.

Dr. Parker's expression softened. "Right now, the focus is on (Y/N)'s recovery. We'll continue to monitor both her and the baby closely. While the situation is delicate, we'll do everything we can to support their well-being."

Harry nodded, his thoughts a whirlwind of worry and determination. He glanced back at you, his hand instinctively moving to rest on your abdomen, as if trying to protect the life that was growing within her.

"Thank you, Dr. Parker," Harry said, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Please, do whatever y’can t’take care of them."

The doctor offered a reassuring nod. "We're committed to providing the best care possible, Mr. Styles. We'll keep you updated on any developments."

As the doctor left the room, Harry's gaze remained fixed on you, his heart a mixture of hope and fear. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but he knew that the love and strength the two of you shared would be his guiding light, illuminating the path toward recovery for both you and their unborn child.

Dr. Parker's steps had barely faded when Harry found himself whispering to the still room, his voice a mixture of desperation and raw emotion.

"Y’can't leave us," Harry murmured, his fingers gently brushing your hand. "We need you. Alfie needs you."

His voice cracked as he spoke, the weight of his words heavy in the air. He looked at your face, so peaceful yet distant, and a lump formed in his throat.

"Alfie can't grow up without a mother," Harry continued, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I'll do without you."

Tears welled in his eyes as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. He took a shaky breath, his fingers gripping your ones tighter.

"Y’everything t’us," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "We can't lose you."

The room was silent, the machines and monitors offering a haunting backdrop to his plea. Harry's heartache felt like an ache in his chest, a reminder of the fragility of life and the depth of his love for you and your unborn child.

DAY ONE. 13th August, 2022. — 07:54am.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow across the hospital room, Harry roused from his light slumber. He had spent the night in the chair beside your bed, his presence a steadfast symbol of his unwavering support. The machines continued their soft symphony, their rhythmic beeps and hums creating an almost surreal backdrop to the uncertainty that hung in the air.

A nurse, her footsteps soft and purposeful, entered the room. She moved gracefully, her experience evident in the way she approached your bedside and began checking her vitals. The machines responded with gentle beeps, their cadence familiar to Harry's ears by now. He watched the nurse's actions with a mix of hope and apprehension, his heart pounding in his chest.

As the nurse worked, her gaze shifted to Harry, and she offered a kind smile. "Good morning. Did you stay the whole night?"

Harry nodded, his voice hoarse as he replied, "Yeah, m’didn't want t’leave ‘er."

The nurse's gaze held a mixture of understanding and reassurance. "She's in safe hands here, Mr. Styles. We're doing everything we can for her."

Harry's grip on (Y/N)'s hand tightened, his gaze unwavering as he looked at the woman he loved. "I know, but I just... I can't leave her side."

The nurse nodded in understanding, her demeanour empathetic. "It's understandable that you want to be here for her. Just know that if you need anything – a drink, a meal, a moment to step outside – the nurses' station is just outside the door. Don't hesitate to reach out."

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I appreciate that."

With a final nod, the nurse completed her assessments and left the room, her presence a brief yet comforting interlude in the otherwise tense environment. Left alone once more with (Y/N), Harry's gaze returned to her face, his emotions a tumultuous mix of concern, love, and longing.

"Y’not alone in this," Harry whispered, his voice gentle. His fingers traced over her skin, the wedding band on her left hand a poignant reminder of the life they had built together. "We're in this together."

14:17pm.

Later in the afternoon, Harry's phone rang, shattering the quiet stillness of the room. His heart jumped at the sound, and he quickly retrieved the device, seeing his mum Anne's name on the screen. With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he answered the call.

" ‘Ey, Mum," Harry greeted, his voice laced with a hint of anxiety.

"Harry, love," Anne's warm voice came through the line, tinged with concern. "I saw the announcement about the tour. Is everything alright?"

Harry's eyes welled up with tears, his emotions still raw and close to the surface. He took a deep breath, his voice shaky as he replied, "No, Mum. Everything's not alright."

Anne's voice softened with worry. "What happened, sweetheart?"

Harry's voice quivered as he began to recount the events of the past day, from the car accident to (Y/N)'s injuries and the delicate situation with their unborn child. As he spoke, the emotions that he had been trying to hold back surged forth, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I just... I can't lose her, Mama," Harry choked out, his voice breaking. "And Alfie... I don't want ‘im t’go through this. I don't know what t’do."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, a pause that carried a weight of empathy and understanding. Then, Anne's voice came through, filled with unwavering support.

"I'm catching the first flight out, Harry," Anne said firmly. "I want to be there for you, for Alfie, and for (Y/N)."

Harry's heart swelled with gratitude, his breath hitching as he wiped away tears. "Mum, y’don't have t’ I know y’have y’own commitments."

Anne's voice was resolute. "Harry, you're my son. Family comes first, always. I want to be there for all of you."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes once more, this time fueled by the overwhelming love and comfort that his mother's words brought. He took a shaky breath, his voice heavy with emotion.

"Thank you, Mum. I... I really need y’right now."

"Of course, love," Anne replied gently. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Take care of yourself and Alfie."

18:30pm.

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm and soothing light across the hospital room, Harry remained rooted in his seat beside your bed. His unwavering presence was a testament to his devotion and concern for you, a quiet guardian watching over you as machines softly beeped and hummed in the background, a symphony of hope and uncertainty.

As the day's shadows grew longer, Harry turned his gaze to your serene face, his fingers still delicately entwined with your frail ones. With a tender smile, he began to speak, his voice a soothing balm in the hushed room.

"M’sun," he began, his words a blend of affection and determination,

His voice carried a note of eagerness, a glimmer of the future he envisioned. Gently, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against her hand as if conveying his sentiments through touch.

"When y’better we’ll go back t’England," he continued, a touch of excitement in his tone. "We'll leave everything behind f’a’while – the tour, the noise, the schedules. It can all wait. We can wait."

His gaze then shifted to her stomach, where their child was growing, a symbol of their love and resilience.

"N’this lil’one," he said softly, as though speaking directly to their unborn child, "we'll take y’to the places y’never seen. The countryside, the beaches, the parks. We'll have picnics and adventures. Your mum, I, and your big brother, Alf, we're going t’show y’the world."

A tender smile played on Harry's lips as he imagined the joy that such simple moments would bring to their son's life.

"We'll watch the sunset by the sea," Harry murmured, his voice an intimate whisper. "It'll be just the four of us, wrapped’n’blankets, sharing stories’n’laughter. We'll make memories that'll last a lifetime, (Y/N)."

His hand gently left hers and reached out, his palm resting tenderly on her stomach. The connection felt tangible, a bridge between the present challenges and the future joys they were determined to experience.

"We'll have all the time in the world," he promised softly. "Time for us, f’our family. No rush, no pressures. Just our love and the life we're creating."

DAY TWO. 14th August, 2022. — 08:03am.

The next day's gentle light filled the hospital room, casting a sense of quiet hope. Anne, Harry's mother, entered with a mixture of concern and determination etched on her face. Her gaze fell upon Harry, who remained hunched over in his chair, his fingers tightly interwoven with yours, and his eyes red-rimmed with sleeplessness. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she took in his exhausted appearance, noticing the telltale signs of strain.

"Harry," Anne's voice held both care and worry as she walked over. She crouched down next to him, gently touching his shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, love."

His eyes blinked open at her touch, his gaze filled with a mixture of surprise and relief as he registered his mother's presence. He managed a small smile, grateful for her being there.

"Mum?" His voice was hoarse, a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.

Anne offered him a soft smile, her fingers brushing a wayward strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, Harry."

He pushed himself up in the chair, a mixture of relief and emotions washing over him. He looked at his mother, his eyes red and heavy with sleepless nights, his exhaustion painted across his features like a canvas of worry.

Anne's eyes flickered with concern as she took in his appearance. "Harry, love, you look exhausted. How long have you been here?"

His gaze dropped, a mixture of guilt and weariness weighing heavily on him. "I... I haven't left ‘er side."

Anne's voice was a gentle mix of understanding and concern.

"Oh, Harry." She reached out, her hand gently lifting his chin, guiding his gaze back to her. Her fingers brushed away the tracks of tears that had silently fallen down his cheeks. "You can’t do this alone, my love."

He looked at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his emotions finally bubbling to the surface. "I know, Mum. But I can't leave her. I can't..."

Anne's touch was soft as she cupped his cheek, her eyes brimming with motherly warmth. "Harry, you need rest too."

He turned his gaze back to yours, his expression one of intense worry and fear. "M’scared, Mum. Scared t’leave ‘er."

Anne's voice held a comforting note as she spoke. "I understand, H. But you need to recharge so you can be strong for (Y/N) and for Alfie."

His eyes met hers, his vulnerability shining through as his voice cracked. "Thank you, Mum. F’being here."

Anne's smile was tender, her thumb brushing his cheek as she wiped away a lingering tear. "Always, Harry. Always."

As their gazes held, the room seemed to fill with a sense of connection, the unbreakable bond of family reminding them that they were not alone in facing the challenges ahead.

Anne's voice held a reassuring note as she spoke once more. "Listen to me, Harry. You need to go home, get a shower, and spend some time with Alfie. He's probably got a lot of questions about where you and (Y/N) are. You can come back right after."

Harry hesitated, his eyes drifting back to you. "But ‘hat if something happens?"

Anne's hand rested on his cheek, her touch warm and grounding. "I'll be here the whole time. I promise, if anything happens, I'll call you right away."

The weight of Anne's reassurance settled over him like a comforting embrace, giving him the permission he needed to take care of himself and his family.

"Okay," he finally nodded, his voice soft and weary. "Okay, Mum."

08:58am.

Harry's car pulled into his manager Jeff's driveway, the engine's soft hum fading into the tranquil neighbourhood. He sat there for a moment, his thoughts a maelstrom of worry and uncertainty. This visit, intended to be a routine pickup of Alfie, had taken on a weight he hadn't expected. He took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening briefly before he finally turned off the ignition. For a few lingering seconds, he sat there, his hands resting on the wheel, gathering his strength.

With a deep sigh, Harry opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement. Each step to the front door felt heavy, a silent acknowledgment of the upheaval that had consumed his life. Before he could fully process it, he stood before the door, his knuckles poised to knock. In that fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, as if hoping to find solace in the darkness behind his lids.

The knock resounded through the door, a signal of his presence. As he waited, his heart seemed to echo the rhythm of the universe, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. The door swung open, revealing Jeff, his manager. The lines of concern etched on Jeff's face reflected the tumult that Harry carried within himself.

"Hey, H," Jeff greeted, his voice a mixture of understanding and empathy.

Harry managed a faint smile, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed the facade. "Hey, mate. M’gonna pick up Alf and then take ‘im t’see ‘is mum."

Jeff's eyes softened, recognizing the weight Harry carried. "Yeah, he's inside. Come on in."

Harry stepped into the familiar surroundings, the walls of Jeff's house offering a silent embrace. He took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of his emotions press against his chest. A mixture of memories and apprehensions filled the air, an intangible current that Harry navigated with each step he took.

"Alfie, it's your dad!" Harry's voice carried a blend of warmth and longing, the words directed down the hallway where his son would soon appear.

From within the depths of the house, a small voice responded, "Daddy?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his son's voice. He waited, his gaze fixated on the hallway, his breath caught in his throat.

And then, as if from a distant dream, Alfie burst into view. His face lit up like the sun breaking through the clouds, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he saw his dad. "Daddy!"

A rush of emotion overcame Harry as Alfie ran towards him, his little arms wrapping around his legs in an enthusiastic hug. Harry's own arms encircled his son, holding him close as if he were his anchor in the storm. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, a mixture of relief and tenderness flooding his heart.

" ‘ey, buddy," Harry murmured, his voice tinged with both love and weariness. He knelt down, his fingers ruffling Alfie's hair with a gentleness that only a father could muster.

Alfie looked up at him, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Are we going somewhere, Daddy?"

Harry managed a small, affectionate smile, his heart a tapestry of emotions. "Yea’ Alf. We're going t’go home and then go and see someone."

Alfie's face lit up with a radiant smile, his excitement contagious. "Yay!"

09:16am.

Harry's car rolled to a stop in front of their home, the engine's soft purr fading into the tranquil surroundings. The journey from Jeff's house had been a mixture of quiet conversations and Alfie's enthusiastic recounting of his day. As Harry stepped out of the car, he glanced up at their home, a mixture of warmth and heaviness settling over him. The familiarity of the place was a welcome comfort, yet the weight of the situation cast a shadow over everything.

Alfie bounded out of the car, his small steps carrying a youthful exuberance as he rushed towards the front door. His laughter filled the air as he fumbled with the keys under Harry's watchful eye.

"Alright there, buddy?" Harry's voice carried a mixture of amusement and tenderness.

Alfie looked up at his dad, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Yeah, Daddy! Can we play pirates when we get inside?"

Harry's smile was fond, a genuine reflection of his love for his son. " ‘f’course, mate. We can play pirates."

With the door unlocked, Alfie swung it open with a triumphant grin, his youthful energy infectious. As they stepped inside, the house enveloped them in a familiar embrace, the creak of floorboards and the soft hum of appliances a testament to the life they had built together.

"Daddy, look!" Alfie's voice carried from the living room, his excitement tangible even from a distance.

Harry followed his voice and found Alfie standing amidst a makeshift pirate ship of cushions and blankets. A sense of warmth filled Harry's heart as he watched his son play, the innocence of childhood a precious balm against the storm of emotions that had consumed their lives.

"Great job, Captain Alfie," Harry said with a playful salute, his heart aching with both sadness and a fierce determination to be strong for his son.

As Alfie continued his pirate adventures, Harry's gaze lingered for a moment before he turned and quietly retreated down the hallway. He stepped into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click. The sound of the running water provided a gentle rhythm, a backdrop to the thoughts that had been hovering at the edges of his mind.

The water cascaded over Harry's body, the warmth soothing his muscles but doing little to ease the ache in his heart. As he stood under the spray, his head bowed, tears mingled with the water, the release of his emotions a quiet catharsis.

He lathered up a razor and carefully shaved, the rhythmic motion offering a small sense of normalcy amidst the chaos. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for another to dry his hair.

As he moved through the motions of getting dressed, his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror. The image that stared back at him was a complex tapestry of emotions – a father, a husband, a man who was holding onto hope amidst uncertainty.

The tears he had shed in the shower had left traces on his face, a silent testament to the pain he was carrying. But as he looked at himself, there was a quiet strength in his eyes, a resolve to be the pillar of support that his family needed.

With one last glance in the mirror, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, his footsteps carrying him back to the living room where Alfie's laughter echoed. The journey ahead was uncertain, but in the simple moments like this, Harry found the strength to navigate the storm, determined to be the anchor that held his family together.

10:01am.

As they sat in the back of the car, the engine's gentle hum providing a comforting backdrop, Harry stole a glance at Alfie. His son's curious eyes were fixed on the passing scenery, his mind likely filled with questions that he didn't yet know how to voice. Harry took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the task ahead.

" ‘ey, buddy," Harry began, his voice gentle yet tinged with a mixture of sadness and reassurance.

Alfie turned his head to look at his dad, his expression a mix of curiosity and trust. "Yeah, Daddy?"

Harry smiled, his eyes warm with affection. "Y’know how Mummy's not at home right now? She's in the hospital."

Alfie's brows furrowed slightly, his young mind processing the information. "Why is Mummy in the hospital, Daddy?"

Harry sighed softly, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel for a moment before he continued. "Well, y’remember when we talked about how sometimes people get hurt or sick, and doctors help them feel better?"

Alfie nodded, his gaze fixed on his dad's face, absorbing every word.

"Exactly," Harry affirmed. "Mummy got a lil’hurt, ‘n’the doctors are taking care of her t’make sure she gets better."

Alfie's expression shifted to one of concern, his eyes widening slightly. "Is Mummy going to be okay, Daddy?"

Harry's voice held a soothing tone, his hand reaching back to briefly squeeze Alfie's knee. "Ye’,buddy. The doctors are doing everything they can, and we're going t’visit her right now."

Alfie nodded slowly, the weight of the situation evident in his gaze. "Can I see Mummy, Daddy?"

Harry smiled softly, his heart aching at his son's innocence. " f’course, Alf. We're going t’see her together."

As they continued on the journey to the hospital, the atmosphere in the car was a blend of quiet anticipation and unspoken emotions. Harry's grip on the steering wheel was steady, his thoughts a mixture of concern for (Y/N) and a determination to provide comfort and reassurance to Alfie.

"Buddy," Harry said after a moment, his voice gentle, "if y’have any questions or if y’feeling worried, y’can always talk t’me. I'm here f’you."

Alfie's small hand reached out to grasp Harry's, his fingers curling around his dad's hand. "I love you, Daddy."

Tears pricked at the corners of Harry's eyes, his grip on the steering wheel momentarily tightening. "I love you too, Alfie. We're a team, okay? We'll get through this together."

10:35am.

Harry walked into the hospital room, Alfie nestled in his arms, their footsteps quiet against the linoleum floor. The room, typically a place of healing, was filled with an air of uncertainty and tension. Harry's gaze shifted from the floor to the sight that awaited them – you lying still on the bed, your eyes closed, your form a stark contrast to the vibrant woman he knew.

As they entered, Alfie's eyes widened, his gaze immediately drawn to the figure on the bed. He also noticed Anne sat next to the bed,However, this time, the usual excitement that would accompany seeing his grandmother wasn't present. His little body tensed in Harry's arms, his eyes fixated on his mother's still form, the weight of the situation settling over him.

"Daddy," Alfie's voice was a mere whisper, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

Harry held him a bit tighter, his heart aching at the realisation that Alfie was trying to process what he was seeing. "Yea’, buddy?"

Alfie's small hand pointed toward the corner of the room, where Anne stood, her gaze filled with a mix of sympathy and love. Typically, Alfie would have dashed over to her with the energy only a child possessed, but now, he seemed frozen in place.

"Is that Grandma, Daddy?" Alfie's voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Harry nodded, his own eyes briefly meeting Anne's before he turned his attention back to his son. "Yea’, that's Grandma."

Alfie's gaze shifted back to you, his eyes filling with a mixture of emotions that were too complex for his young heart to fully understand. He looked back at Harry, his voice carrying a request that seemed beyond his years. "Daddy, can I go hold Mummy's hand?"

Harry's heart swelled with both sadness and pride at Alfie's resilience. He walked over to the bed, carefully lowering Alfie to the edge of it. "Of course, Alf. Y’can even give her a little cuddle, j’gotta be careful."

Alfie's tiny hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before he gently placed it on your hand, his eyes studying her features as if searching for a sign of life. His other hand rested on your arm, his touch gentle yet filled with an innocence that brought tears to Harry's eyes.

As Alfie leaned in, his small body pressed against his mother's, Harry stood beside them, his emotions a tempest within him. He watched as Alfie's head rested on your chest, his breaths steady, as if seeking solace in the closeness of his mother.

"Y’doing great, buddy," Harry whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Alfie's voice was soft, a mixture of curiosity and longing. "Is Mummy asleep, Daddy?"

Harry's heart ached at the innocence in his son's question. "Yeah, Alf, she's asleep right now."

Alfie's gaze remained fixed on yours, his small fingers curling around your cold hand. The room held a fragile sense of connection, as if time itself had slowed down to honour the moment. In that stillness, Harry watched his son, his heart both heavy with grief and full of hope for the future.

DAY THREE. 15th August, 2022. — 14:12am.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the hospital room. Harry sat by your side, his gaze fixed on your still form, his thoughts a jumble of hope and uncertainty. Anne had taken Alfie back to the house, giving Harry some time alone with his wife.

As he sat there lost in his thoughts, the door creaked open, and a doctor entered the room. Harry looked up, his eyes meeting the doctor's with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

"Good morning," the Dr Parker greeted, his voice gentle and reassuring. “How’re you holding up?”

Harry managed a faint smile, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and fatigue. "Doing m’best, thank you."

Dr. Parker nodded understandingly, his gaze shifting to your form before back to Harry. "I'm here to talk to you about the next steps. Given the circumstances, we'd like to perform an ultrasound to check on the baby."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the baby. The mixture of hope and fear that had been his constant companion intensified. "F’course, whatever y’think is best."

A nurse entered the room, carrying the necessary equipment for the ultrasound. She smiled at Harry as she prepared for the procedure. "Hello, I'm Chloe. We'll make sure everything goes smoothly."

Harry offered a small smile in return although it never fully reached his eyes, his eyes shifting between the doctor and the nurse. "Thank you."

As the nurse prepped the ultrasound machine, Dr. Parker explained the procedure to Harry. "We'll be able to see the baby on the screen and check for any signs of distress or complications. It's a routine precautionary measure."

Harry nodded, his fingers involuntarily tracing patterns on your hand. "I understand."

The nurse positioned the ultrasound device on your abdomen, and the monitor came to life, displaying the fuzzy image of the baby. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he saw the tiny figure on the screen – their unborn child, a symbol of hope amid the uncertainty.

He watched as the nurse moved the device, the image shifting slightly, revealing more details of the baby. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the soft hum of the machine.

"There we go," the nurse's voice was gentle, her expertise apparent in the way she manoeuvred the device.

Dr. Parker stood by, her gaze shifting between the screen and Harry's expression. "Everything looks good so far. The baby's heartbeat is strong."

A rush of relief washed over Harry at the doctor's words. He couldn't help but feel a swell of emotion, a mixture of awe and gratitude for the life that was growing within your body.

As the nurse finished the ultrasound, she smiled at Harry. "You have a healthy, strong baby here."

Harry's eyes were fixed on the screen for a moment longer, his voice soft. "Thank you."

The nurse and the doctor left the room, giving Harry some space. He turned his attention back to you, his hand gently resting on your abdomen. The image of their baby, captured on the ultrasound screen, held a promise of better days ahead. As he sat there, a sense of determination settled within him, a resolve to be strong for his family and to hold onto hope, no matter the challenges they faced.

15:05pm.

Later in the afternoon, the room was bathed in a soft, warm light. Harry sat by your bedside, his gaze shifting between your still form and the monitor that displayed the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. The room held a hushed stillness, as if time itself had slowed down in the face of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Harry's hand rested on your stomach, his touch gentle yet filled with an unspoken tenderness. As he looked at the monitor, his thoughts drifted to the tiny life that was growing within your – their unborn bundle. His heart swelled with a mixture of love and protectiveness.

" ‘Ey there, little one," Harry's voice was soft, his fingers tracing patterns on your abdomen. "Y’mum and I, we're here f’y’We're going t’be strong, just like y’mum."

His gaze shifted to your face, his heart aching at the sight of the bruises that were slowly starting to become more prominent. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Y’mum's the strongest person I know, y’know? She's been through s’much, and she's still fighting. Y’going t’be just as strong as her."

A soft smile tugged at Harry's lips as he imagined their future together as a family of four. He leaned down, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your stomach, as if to convey his love and hope directly to their unborn child.

"Y’not alone in this, lil’one," Harry continued, his voice carrying a mixture of reassurance and determination. "We're all in this together. And when y’ready t’meet the world, y’have a whole lot of people who love ye’."

As he spoke, the room seemed to hold a sense of promise, a quiet sanctuary where his words held the power to bridge the gap between the present and the future. Harry's hand remained on your stomach, his touch a physical connection to the life that were growing within her.

"We're going t’get through this, y’and me and y’mum," Harry's voice was a whisper, as if sharing a secret with the unborn baby. "And when y’mum wakes up, we're going t’tell her all about ye’. She's going t’love y’so much."

Harry's gaze shifted back to your face,his heart filled with a mixture of longing and hope. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Hang in there, love. We're all waiting f’you."

As Harry's words hung in the air, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the universe itself was listening to his heartfelt monologue. His hand remained on your stomach, his touch both tender and resolute. He leaned in, pressing a final kiss to your forehead, a mixture of emotions welling up within him.

And then, in a moment that felt like a miracle, your hand twitches in his hold.

Harry gasped, his heart leaping in his chest. He stared at your hand, disbelief and hope warring within him. Before he could react, the heart rate monitor suddenly went off, the rapid beeping filling the room with urgency.

With a sense of determination, Harry bolted out of the room, his heart pounding in his ears. He found Dr. Parker in the hallway and quickly explained what had just happened – how your hand had moved, triggering the heart rate alarm.

Dr. Parker's eyes widened in surprise and excitement. "Let's not waste any time. Come with me."

Harry followed the doctor back into the room, his pulse racing as they reached your bedside. A sense of tension hung in the air, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Dr. Parker approached the heart rate monitor, checking the readings and your vitals. His expression was a mix of concentration and cautious hope. He adjusted a few settings on the machines, his fingers moving with practised precision.

"She's trying to breathe on her own," Dr. Parker said, his voice carrying a note of astonishment. "Her body is responding to stimuli."

Harry's heart swelled with a mixture of joy and disbelief. He looked at your figure, his fingers gently brushing against your hand. "Y’doing it, m’love. Y’fighting."

Dr. Parker continued his assessments, his focus unwavering as he monitored the changes in your condition. The room seemed to vibrate with a newfound energy, a sense of possibility that had been absent for so long.

As the minutes ticked by, the heart rate monitor displayed a steadier rhythm, and Dr. Parker nodded in approval. "She's showing signs of improvement. She could wake up at any moment. It's a positive step forward."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank y’Doctor."

18:45pm.

The hospital room was cocooned in the gentle embrace of the night. The soft glow of the dimmed bedside lamp cast a warm and soothing ambiance, casting delicate shadows across the walls. The rhythmic beep of the heart rate monitor punctuated the stillness, a reassuring reminder of the life that pulsed within the room.

Alfie sat nestled on his father's lap, his small frame comfortably settled against Harry's chest. The hospital chair cradled them both, a makeshift throne where father and son formed an intimate fortress of love and togetherness. Harry's arms wrapped protectively around Alfie, holding him close as they shared the moment.

Alfie's concentrated expression was etched with a mixture of focus and determination. His tiny fingers clutched a pencil, his brow furrowing as he tackled the math problems that were laid out before him on the sheet of paper. Harry watched with a blend of admiration and amusement, his heart swelling at the sight of Alfie's dedication.

"Okay, buddy," Harry's voice was a gentle blend of guidance and encouragement, "y’got this. J’add those numbers together."

Alfie's tongue peeked out from between his lips as he concentrated, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The tip of the pencil move with purpose, crossing out digits and jotting down numbers. Every so often, Alfie would glance up at Harry, his gaze seeking validation and assurance.

Harry's fingers gently brushed the back of Alfie's head, offering silent encouragement. "Y’doing great, Alf. Keep going."

The two of them formed a heartwarming tableau, a portrait of fatherly support and shared effort. Amid the beeping monitors and the hushed hum of the hospital, Harry and Alfie created their own small world, a world in which challenges were met with determination and love was expressed through shared moments.

And then, in the midst of the quietude, a movement caught Harry's attention. His eyes shifted from the maths problems to the bed, where you lay, and his heart ricocheted against his rib cage.

Your eyes were open and staring at your two boys.

“(Y/N)?” Harry spoke in a hushed whisper as you tried to smile at him.

[heartfullofleeches]

OOOO moth darling? I wanna throw my idea in too. Maybe a super kind and caring goth moth darling? Especially when they look super menacing (bcus they wear hardcore goth fashion) but their favorite game is smthn like animal crossing or they like super relaxing hobbies. (Also adonis could literally suffocate in the big tittie from his goth partner.) I hope you see my vision. PLEASE.

[Yan Butterfly + Goth Moth Darling]

Adonis is so weak for Darling.... He probably sneaks invites them into the buildings/homes he cleans for his job especially if there's been a murder or the home owners had some decor he knew they'd like. Adonis makes a fair amount of money from his cleaning gig, even moreso on contacts that are more "under the table" ergo shady folks looking to clean up any evidence left behind - but he's always spending his cash on gifts he knows Darling will like because he knows their preferred style of dress ain't always cheap.

Darling tells him they don't need it, but how can he stop when they're so kind to him? Making sure he eats, takes breaks, sleep. Butterfly boy may have worked himself to death by now if it wasn't for them. The long, grueling hours are worth it so long as he gets to come home and rest on their soft, warm ti- pillows...

-

"Brought you some sandwiches. Nothin' special, grabbed them from that gas station around the corner, but I knew you had to have something since you've been here all morning. Promise I'll grab something more filling next time"

An angel....An absolute angel gifted from the heavens above. Here you were bringing him food and checking up on him, yet you had the gull to believe it wasn't enough.

"...thanks...." Adonis shyly takes the bag from you, tensing as your fingers brush against his. You gaze around the living room as he clumsily works to untie its strings. The couch, TV stand, and coffee table had all been pushed towards the far walls - dark stains embedded into the carpet close to where the legs of the table once stood. You crouch to get a better look.

"Is this...." Your voice grows quiet - barely a whisper as you extend your hand. "Where it happened?"

"M....Mhm..." Adonis mouths through bitefuls of bread and cheese. The sandwich wasn't the best, or worst thing he'd ever eaten, but knowing it came from you made every bite heaven. He had given you some details of the incident that had taken place. A burglary gone wrong resulting in the death of an innocent man. Nobody even knew he was gone until bills began piling up. Never had many friends or close family.... Adonis wasn't close with his parents either... If something happened to him... you'd probably be the first and only to notice...

"Adonis?..."

"Y...Yeah?"

The butterfly freezes as your arms fall around him, pulling him towards your chest.

"Promise me that no matter what you'll text me at the end of every shift you have. It doesn't matter how late it is...All I care about is that you're safe."

You actually care.... Adonis has always know that, but hearing you say it out loud even if muffled by his face smothered by your chest...He knew it was an inappropriate time, but it was hard not to obsess over the contact with every beat of your heart playing like a melody in his ear. An angel, his angel. His saving grace he'll never let go.

"I will... Every night... I promise to I'll let you know whenever I get home.. I promise."

"Thank you....."

Adonis looks down at his half eaten sandwich. "...My bosses said I could take anything I wanted. I think there's still some clothes in the closet still that you might like if you're interested?"

"Raiding a dead guy's closet wasn't on my list of plans today...but I think I have enough space in my schedule."

[doritochoi]

Sensual Heat | J. Y

pairing: boss!yunho x fem!reader

sumarry: Booking a room in Tokyo for your boss, not knowing that he wanted to show you something special.

genre: smut +18

warnings: mdni, fingering, eating cum?, shower sex, unprotected sex, yunho is obsessed with your boobs

word count: 4.3k

In the heart of vibrant and exciting Seoul, in an imposing and modern skyscraper, your story unfolded as a secretary for South Korea's biggest boss, Jeong Yuhno. You work at "Eclipse Dynamics", a corporation with diverse fields of activity, from technology to the entertainment industry. It was a world full of luxury and influence, and you were happy to be a part of this thriving story.

Jeong Yuhno, a charming and enigmatic man, seemed to have everything under control. His charming eyes exuded a magnificent power, and when he looked at you, you could feel it seeping through every layer of you. He had a charismatic presence and his hands really had a certain strength that you couldn't ignore. Every morning you would meticulously get ready at home, carefully selecting clothes to make sure they would catch Yuhno's attention. Even though you knew that your relationship was supposed to be strictly professional, you couldn't help but feel attracted to him. You made excuses to hang around him longer, to serve him his favorite coffee, or to bring documents directly to his office, under the pretense of being more efficient.

Today, unfortunately, you had an extremely important meeting scheduled for the first hour of the morning. You woke up early, prepared the necessary documents and left home early enough to reach the office on time. However, as you approach the building, you noticed that the streets were crowded with cars that were barely moving. The traffic was extremely heavy and the minutes ticked by mercilessly. You tried to find alternate routes or make daring maneuvers to avoid the jams, but it seemed like every attempt was doomed to failure. Your attempts to hurry were in vain and delay became inevitable as time relentlessly ticked away. Once you arrived in front of the imposing building of "Eclipse Dynamics", you ran towards the entrance, hoping that maybe you could still make it to the meeting on time. However, when you entered the elegant lobby of the building and looked at the commotion surrounding you, you realized that you were already too late.

With your heart pounding and a subtle hint of panic, you knocked lightly on Yunho's office door. As you waited for the answer, you smelled his distinct scent, a combination of woody and subtle hints of vanilla that always made you drift away and feel like you were in a dream. When the door opened and Yunho turned around with a slight smile on his face, his eyes seemed to search every inch of your body as if trying to reveal your innermost thoughts. Noticing your perfectly contoured skirt and slightly sheer shirt, his smile widened slightly and his gaze seemed to be somewhere between delight and curiosity. “I need an explanation for this…” he said in a slightly husky voice that reverberated through your soul like a hypnotic melody. Your legs felt like they were made of jelly, you had a hard time finding your words, absorbing his every move and word. Taking courage, you explained with concern and sincerity the reasons for your delay, mentioning the heavy and unpredictable traffic that messed up your plans. You apologized repeatedly, trying to keep your cool in the face of that all-powerful presence. Yunho continued to look at you, his eyes deep and mysterious, and in the silence that followed, you felt your heart beat faster and faster in your chest. You could feel your cheeks flush under his intense, piercing gaze, and the sensation was dizzying. After a tense pause, Yunho smiled calm and gentle with a controlled voice “I understand, but please be more careful in the future. It is important to keep your commitments and be on time for important meetings...". As you heard those words, you felt a wave of relief and gratitude that the encounter didn't end in a worse way. With a slight smile and heart still pounding, you left Yunho's office, promising yourself to never be late for such an important meeting again.

After leaving Yunho's office, you took the elevator up to your floor, thinking about the tense meeting and your promise to be more careful in the future. You walked into your office and sat down in your chair with a sigh of relief, opening your laptop to get down to your daily work. But while you were preparing your documents and emails, your hand slipped into your bag and you felt an USB stick you hid there. You take it out and plug it into your laptop, and Yunho's name appears on the screen. With a slight smile on your face, you opened the folder and started browsing through Yunho's pictures. You had pictures from prestigious business events, pictures of him in various poses, and even some more personal pictures with a charming smile on his face. Looking at him, your heart filled with gratitude that you had the privilege of working alongside such an influential and charismatic man like Yunho. However, a feeling of burning desire awoke your soul every time you looked at those pictures. You were mesmerized by his charming eyes, his charming smile and every detail of his well-proportioned physique. You spent some of the ten minutes of your break looking at those pictures, dreaming of a reality where maybe, just maybe, you could be more than just a secretary. It was a forbidden but stubborn fantasy in your heart.

While you were lost in Yunho's pictures, the light knocking on the door instantly made you flinch and the USB stick fell to the floor without you realizing it. Before you could react or realize what was happening, the door opened and Yunho entered the office. You tried to quickly regain your composure and started opening your documents, letting him see that you were busy and not sitting around. However, watching him out of the corner of your eye, you felt your heart beat faster and his every move made you tremble inside. Yunho walked over to your desk and leaning slightly over you. You smelled his divine perfume that made you melt on the spot. It was a smell that hypnotized you, and you couldn't help but breathe it deep into your chest. "We need to discuss some details for our bussines party in Tokyo," he said with a breathy voice and a slightly flirtatious smile. "I need you to reserve two hotel rooms for us. And of course I want to make sure everything is perfect for the event." As you were focused on your task, you could feel his watchful gaze on you and the sense that there was a subtle connection between the two of you. As you noticed with disappointment that the hotel you had chosen already had rooms booked, your questioning look did not escape Yunho's attention. He immediately understood that you had a question or a problem and moved closer, getting behind you. Feeling his left hand on your shoulder, you felt a wave of warmth and comfort, even in the midst of the tense situation. Then he leaned over you a bit, placing his right hand over yours, which was holding the mouse, and you realized he was practically holding your hand. As you two searched for other hotel options, you felt a vibration between you and him, a connection you couldn't ignore. With his hand on yours and his eyes intent on the screen, you felt like you were working as a team, and that feeling made you feel more confident and relaxed. "We should explore more options," you suggested shyly, turning your head slightly to him to read his reaction. "Perhaps we will find another hotel that will be suitable for our bussines party in Tokyo." Yunho looked at the screen for a few moments and then turned his attention to you with an encouraging smile on his face. "You're right," he replied in a calm, soothing voice. "Let's see what other options we have and find something that's perfect."

Finally, Yunho found the right hotel for the party named "Celestial Tokyo Grand Hotel". It was a place of refined elegance where only the most distinguished guests could afford to stay. The exclusive atmosphere and impeccable service perfectly matched Yunho's sophisticated tastes. While he was looking for available rooms and finalizing the reservation details, he said it would be best to you to pack up and head home to rest before the next day. In an elegant and delicate gesture, Yunho lifted you from the chair, letting him sit in your place. As he continued to attend to the details, he would occasionally glance at your skirt. You felt his gaze penetrate deep into you, causing a wave of conflicting emotions in your soul. While you had already left, Yunho stayed to turn off the laptop and arrange a few things on the desk. As he bent down to pick up a small object from under the seat, he noticed a USB stick. He thought maybe you accidentally dropped it and you didn't notice. He wondered what could be on that stick - maybe it was extra work materials you brought for that meeting.

With a mixture of curiosity and speculative thoughts, Yunho decided to insert the stick into the laptop. But the moment he opened the folder, his expression suddenly changed. There were pictures of him. Pictures of him, in different situations and places, in ways that surprised and perplexed him. The pictures seemed to be taken discreetly without him noticing or being aware of it. As he flipped through the pictures, he did his best to keep his composure and not show the surprise and amazement inside him. He was shocked to see that you had such a deep attraction to him, even more than he thought. Despite the initial surprise, a smile appeared on his lips, understanding that the feelings were mutual.

Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you started getting ready for a new day to go to the airport. You chose your outfit carefully, opting for a crisp white shirt and an elegant skirt, slightly shorter than the one you wore yesterday. You put on a little make-up, accentuating your natural beauty, and applied your favorite perfume to feel confident and charming. As you prepared to leave your apartment, your phone vibrated, announcing the arrival of a new message. To your surprise, you discovered that it was a message from Yunho. Surprisingly, he tells you that his car was already parked in front of your apartment and that he was waiting to take you to the airport. You were surprised and a bit confused by this initiative. Later, another message came from him, mentioning that if he picks you up, maybe you won't be late like yesterday. This observation made you smile slightly and think that maybe you should take him up on his offer, especially if it could prevent a delay like yesterday. With your heart beating slightly and a smile on your face, you decided to respond positively to Yunho's message and grab your bag to leave for his car, thinking that this trip to the airport could be different and enjoyable. You entered in Yunho's car and immediately felt that the inside of the car smelled just like him - a divine scent that made you feel surrounded by luxury and elegance. The drive to the airport was quite peaceful, and you were captivated by the beauty of the scenery passing by the windows. However, once you got to the airport, you noticed that you weren't heading to a regular departures area. Instead, Yunho led you to another gate where an impressively sized plane was located - Yunho's private plane. Realizing that it would be just the two of you flying with him at that moment, you felt your heart pound with excitement and anticipation. It was an incredible feeling to know that you would be flying with Yunho in his private plane, a unique and extraordinary occasion.

As the airplane approached Tokyo, your eyes were captivated by the beauty and elegance of the city below. From high above, you could see the tall buildings, bright lights, and the bustling atmosphere typical of a cosmopolitan city. Tokyo seemed to shine in the afternoon sunlight, and you couldn't help but admire every detail of the urban landscape. The animated streets, modern architecture, and fascinating blend of cultures and traditions created a breathtaking panorama, making you feel like you had entered a whole new world. Looking out the window, you admired the Japanese gardens, ancient temples, and well-kept parks, all framed by imposing skyscrapers and dazzling lights. Every corner of the city seemed to hold a fascinating story, and you couldn't wait to explore every aspect of this wonderful city.

While you waited for the taxi outside the airport, you noticed how the afternoon sunlight reflected in Yunho's eyes, accentuating their beauty and mystery. The warm air and the subtle scent of cherry blossoms floating in the springtime air created a charming and romantic atmosphere. In that moment, you felt captivated by his charismatic presence and enveloping aura. You arrived at the hotel and went to the reception. When you spoke to the receptionist that you had made a reservation for 2 rooms, you were shocked to hear her say, "I'm sorry, but under the name Jeong Yunho, we only have one room available." Your mind was reeling, it couldn't be...There couldn't be only one room, you couldn't stay in the same room with him..

Despite your uncertainty and desire to be in the same room as Yunho, you decided to explain the situation. “The reservation is only for one room and not two,” you shyly told Yunho. However, Yunho calmly and understandingly replied, "It's no problem, it's too late to search for other rooms now. We'll manage." The receptionist gave Yunho the keys and you felt a mixture of emotions at that moment. With your heart pounding, you went to the elevator with Yunho. As the elevator ascended to the top floor, you couldn't shake off the thought of whether Yunho deliberately chose this room. Were his actions intentional? Lost in contemplation, a sudden influx of people came into the elevator, pressing you and Yunho closer together. With limited space, you found yourself standing snugly against him, feeling his presence radiating warmth behind you. When the elevator abruptly halted, you stumbled, almost losing your balance. In that moment of instability, Yunho's hands instinctively encircled your waist, securing you in a firm yet gentle hold. You could feel his touch enveloping your small waist, providing a sense of safety and comfort amidst the crowded lift. Once you left the elevator, you felt a strange uneasiness inside you. You wanted to be closer to him, to feel his touch, but at the same time you were stumbling with fear and uncertainty. Looking around, you noticed that you were in an elegant and bright hallway, and you felt like every step you took was taking you away from the intimate moment you had just experienced in the elevator. In the end, Yunho opened to door and he let you in with gentlemanly politeness. As you walked into the room, you were stuck by its elegance and sophistication, which seemed to perfectly reflect Yunho's personality. However, when you noticed the double bed, you felt a knot in your stomach. This wasn't your plan and the thought of that intimacy made you feel a little uncomfortable. Yunho slightly caught your hesitation, but didn't mention anything, merely stating briefly and clearly . "I'm going to take a bath. Get ready in 30 minutes. We have to be there at 8pm." With that he disappeared, leaving you to deal with your own preparations, and you felt the time ticking by with incredible speed, putting pressure on you to get ready in a hurry for the upcoming party.

As you placed your dress on the bed and prepared your makeup on the table, you felt a presence beside you… It was none other than Yunho, his wet hair falling on his forehead and drops of water running down his well-defined chest. Your eyes slowly lowered, admiring his attractive abs, and your gaze then stopped even lower… He only had a towel wrapped around his waist. You swallowed hard, looking at him with a mixture of awe and delight, unable to control your inner reactions. But just as you reached out to open the door and enter the bathroom, you felt yourself being pulled slightly by the wrist, ending up bumping into his chest. Looking deep into your eyes, he says to you in a calm, deep voice that pierced your soul "How much longer do you think you can hide this?" His penetrating gaze runs through your every shred of thought and emotion, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. You looked at him, confused, not knowing what he was referring to and what had suddenly taken hold of him. "I don't understand what do you mean..." you said with a slightly shaky, questioning voice. With a sly smile and a flirty and sexy tone of voice, Yunho looked you deep in the eyes “Oh, my little one, don't be so surprised. I found the USB stick and I was curious to see what's hiding in there. And look what I found...pictures of me. Someone's pretty into me, right?", your eyes widened in surprise as you realized he was referring to the discovery of his pictures. You tried to hide your slight panic but your look said it all and Yunho noticed immediately. With your mouth dry and your heart pounding in your chest, you were speechless. Your gaze locked on Yunho and he smiled slightly, noticing the effect he was having on you. Yunho continued, letting his gaze play over your face and settle on your dry lips. "Are you sure you don't have anything to say? Maybe you should share your thoughts. I can't promise I won't be…intrigued by them," as he spoke, Yunho was slowly getting closer to you and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. It was hard to find the words, but his charming gaze and physical closeness made you feel overwhelmed. Yunho moved even closer to your face, gently caressing your cheek and speaking sweet words that made you feel butterflies in your stomach "I know you want me, my love. I can feel your desire, and I know it's as strong as mine." As he kissed you, you could almost feel your heart pounding in your chest. The kiss was passionate, and as your tongues intertwined in a dance of desire, you felt completely immersed in the moment. It was as if every move, every touch of his lips, were made especially for you. In that moment, time seemed to slow down, the world around you completely disappearing as you enjoyed the intimacy and passion of the moment. When the kiss grew wilder, the desire for more grew in both of them. You felt like you couldn't get enough of his touch, the taste of his lips, and you wanted more of this intense connection. Yunho gently pushes you against the bathroom wall. He closes the door with a determined gesture, and your moment of desire continues quietly. When you're almost out of breath, he stops and looks deep into your eyes, strengthening the bond between the two of you. As his lips met yours again, you could feel the flames of passion burning stronger and stronger. It was exciting and your burning desire made you unable to stop. Especially since you were already turned on and responding to Yunho's every touch with a surge of intense pleasure. With a yearning sigh, Yunho gently stopped next to your ear and whispered in a husky, sensual voice “You're only mine… completely and utterly.” His words echoed in your mind, amplifying the shivers that ran through your body.

Gripping your breasts firmly, his hands massaged them through the thin shirt, sending waves of pleasure. In a determined gesture, Yunho gently unbuttoned your shirt, revealing your firm and luscious breasts. "God, I've waited so long to do this," he murmured as he leaned down, beginning to caress your sensitive nipples. At the same time, you moan in pleasure under his skillful touches, savoring every sensation caused by his talented hands. With his deft hands, Yunho focuses his attention on your breasts, the rush of pleasure you felt was astounding. With every touch, every firm massage, and every hug, you felt overwhelmed with desire, and your body reacted accordingly. Meanwhile, your arousal had grown even more as Yunho felt how wet you already were. “Oh, you're wet already?” Your breathing was ragged and your thoughts were a haze of pleasure, but you suddenly remembered that you have to go to the party." Y-yunho, wait..The party..." you managed to stutter as you tried to res and speak at the same time, fighting all of your awake senses that were absorbed in pleasure. "Fuck the party, i want you now," Yunho spoke with determination and desire in his voice. With an encouraging voice and his firm tone, he conveyed unequivocally that the moment between you was far more important than anything else. His hands continued to explore, wanting more, wanting to feel you completely. He undid your skirt with determined movements and then slipped his hand between your legs, feeling how wet and turned on you were. He began to circle the material of the panty, teasing you, and before you knew it, he pushed the material slightly to the side and inserted a finger, amplifying the sensation of arousal and desire electrifying every fiber of your being.

The rhythmic movement of his fingers deepened the pleasure and the desire to have him inside you. With each quick movement of his fingers, you felt the pleasure intensify and all worries about the party and any other responsibilities seemed to evaporate. “Just like that, let your pleasure pour over my fingers,” Yunho spoke, and you felt yourself being carried away by the heightened sensations, letting go of all inhibitions. You felt your senses open up to the pleasure and he continued to move his fingers in a firm, challenging rhythm. In a moment of ecstasy, you lost control and released your pleasure, and without it being so intense you were in ecstasy. " Oh yes... go like that", he murmured, and you felt that unusual and much-desired pleasure. His fingers were now covered in your juice and he brought them to your mouth. You licked every trace of ecstasy off them, tasting your own juice in a way that added a new and erotic element to the whole moment. Then he kissed you, passing on your divine sweet taste. His lips were passionate and thirsty, and the kiss was so deep and satisfying it seemed to bring two souls into a tender and intimate union.

As the warm water flowed around you in the shower stall, Yunho's light and delicate movement made your heart beat faster. You loved how his wet hair fell perfectly on his forehead, when his lips lightly touched your earlobe you felt a pleasant shiver run through your entire body. Looking at him, you felt his eyes light up with desire and your lips spoke passionate words. “There's something special about you, something that totally captivates me,” you confessed, feeling the flame of desire rise between you. Yunho replied with a charming smile and an intense gaze. "Lucky is on my side to have you now. You are truly irresistible." You felt the towel wrapping Yunho fall at his feet, revealing his extremely aroused cock drenched in the liquid of desire. It was so big you could feel it kicking you, exuding overwhelming power and dominance. At that moment, he cupped your chin with his hand, looking up and looking deep into your eyes. "On your knees now," his strong, determined voice rang out. Your gaze met his cock, which looked so dominant and provocative. As you lightly stroked your fingers along its length, you were mesmerized by the perfect size and shape of his cock. Without hesitation, you took it in your hand and began to slowly lick the tip, feeling Yunho's strong pulsations of pleasure. Then, with expert skill, you began to suck him with passion and desire, satisfying him in the most pleasurable way possible. Yunho's moans, encouraging you even more, fueled the flame of passion and pleasure burning between the two of you, turning the moment into one of intense ecstasy and arousal.

In a moment of intense passion, Yunho quickly lifted you up and slammed you against the shower stall window on your back, placing a hand on your breast and carefully guiding his cock into you. You felt a surge of pleasure as you took him in, and the filling sensation made you feel complete and satisfied. His cock was so big, you wondered how it fit inside you. “Ahh…Yunho…I am close…fuck,” you moaned, your voice full of desire and anticipation. You wanted to make him feel as good as you felt in those moments of hot passion. "Me too, baby, just a little bit more," Yunho replied with a voice full of desire and passion. As you neared the climax of ecstasy, you felt Yunho's body tense up and fill your insides with his hot, hot liquid. The feeling of complete satisfaction and ecstasy filled the shower stall as you both attempted your intense and satisfying orgasm. With a satisfied smile on your face, you let yourself into Yunho's arms, feeling protected and loved. He picked you up bridal style and carefully wrapped you in the towel, carefully carrying you to bed. When he sat down next to you, he kissed your forehead lightly and his melodious laugh filled the room. "I don't think we're going to make it to the party," he said, grinning widely. "But I think I have everything I want here." With feelings of contentment and happiness flooding you, you replied, "Me too. You're all I want." Looking at each other with loving eyes, you knew you had everything you needed to feel fulfilled and happy at that moment.

[awkward-walking-potato]

The Red in the Rainbow

Deadpool stood at the entrance of the small, cozy coffee shop, its pastel pinks, baby blues, and mint greens standing in stark contrast to the gritty urban chaos outside. He tugged at his mask, muttering to himself as he tried to blend in. "Why do I keep coming back to this place? I’m Deadpool, dammit. I should be at a bar, shooting something or blowing something up. Not sipping on chamomile."

But there he was, stepping inside, the doorbell chiming softly as the scent of fresh pastries and herbal tea filled the air. He scanned the room until his gaze fell on you, seated at a corner table, surrounded by an aura of pure, unfiltered sunshine. Your flowing dress, a mix of soft pastels, fluttered gently as you leaned over your cup of tea, steam curling up into the air like a delicate ribbon. A rainbow-colored hair clip held back your soft waves, and even from across the room, Deadpool could see the way your eyes sparkled as you smiled at the barista.

"Alright, Wade, time to up the charm," Deadpool muttered under his breath, straightening his posture. He sauntered over, trying to look casual, though casual had never really been his style.

"Hey, sunshine," he greeted you, his usual gravelly voice softened slightly in your presence. It was strange; normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw in a snarky comment or a crude joke. But around you, the human embodiment of everything sweet and gentle, even Deadpool felt the need to tone it down a notch. "Mind if I join you?"

You looked up, your eyes lighting up as you saw him. "Wade! Of course, please sit down," you said, your voice soft and melodious, like the first few notes of a lullaby. "How are you today?"

He pulled up a chair, his red-and-black suit looking comically out of place in the soft, pastel environment. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Sliced up a couple of bad guys, saved the day, yadda yadda. How’s life in Candyland?" he asked, flashing you a grin that was visible even through his mask.

You giggled, the sound like a sweet melody. "Life is wonderful, Wade. I was just thinking about you, actually."

"Oh yeah?" Deadpool raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what was the rainbow queen thinking about little ol’ me?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes softening as you spoke. "I was wondering if… if you ever get tired of it. The violence, I mean. It’s so different from who you really are, Wade."

He blinked, taken aback. Of all the things you could have asked, that wasn’t what he had expected. He was Deadpool, after all—violence was what he did best. But here you were, looking at him with those big, innocent eyes, seeing something in him that no one else did.

"Ah, well, it’s complicated," he began, scratching the back of his head. "The world’s a messed-up place, and sometimes, the only way to fix it is to blow up a few things—or, you know, a lot of things. But…"

"But?" you prompted gently, leaning forward with genuine interest.

"But," he sighed, "I guess, sometimes, yeah, I get tired of it. The blood, the gore, the endless cycle of it all. It’s exhausting. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone else, of course." He paused, his voice softening further. "But then I see someone like you, all rainbows and sunshine, and I wonder what it’d be like if the world was more like you and less like… well, me."

You reached across the table, placing your hand on his gloved one. "Wade, you’re a good person, deep down. I know it. You just need to see it too."

He stared at your hand on his, a wave of something unfamiliar washing over him—something warm, something soft, something dangerously close to hope. "You know, most people run in the other direction when they see me coming. But not you."

You smiled, that radiant, all-encompassing smile that seemed to light up the entire room. "That’s because I see you, Wade. Not just Deadpool, but the person underneath all the masks and jokes. You’re special."

He snorted, trying to play it off, but the warmth in his chest refused to dissipate. "You’re gonna ruin my reputation, you know that? I’m supposed to be the bad guy, the merc with a mouth, not some sappy Hallmark character."

You laughed again, and this time, Deadpool couldn’t help but join in, the sound of your laughter infectious. "Well, maybe you can be both. A little bit of chaos, and a little bit of kindness. It suits you."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, squeezing your hand lightly, "maybe I could get used to that."

As the two of you sat there, the unlikely pair that you were, Deadpool couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was room in his life for a little bit of color—a little bit of sweetness. And as long as you were around, he figured he could deal with the pastel rainbows and chamomile tea.

After all, a little sunshine never hurt anyone.

[boyprincessarchives]

— ೀ from: your secret admirer [edward nashton x gn!reader]

︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶ summary: you're edward's newest penpal! ...unbeknownst to you. set in the riddler year one comics, in the midst of finding and fulfilling his purpose to rid the city of its impurities, edward finds that his biggest hurdle for his plans are the growing thoughts about the corner diner's newest regular. but he cant just come up to you!! maybe notes will have to suffice... contains: edward's usual creepy behavior, light stalking?, he just fantasizes about having a life with you/meeting you i guess, writer is horrible at riddles and attempts to make one word count: 1.5k tags: @nshtn writers note: heres that silly little fic i was talking about a few weeks back. im not sure why i feel more comfortable posting it on my second acc, but here we are! woohoo, its my first fic ever, so i hope you all enjoy some writing from a dyslexic and secondary english speaking writer♡ for that one person that said no, i humbly apologize hehe (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡

enjoy!! ︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶︶︶

♡ you two would definitely meet at the diner he frequently visits. during your first visit there, he was sitting in his usual spot, a booth in a forgotten corner, drinking a latte and solving his crossword puzzle. ♡ the diner is usually quite quiet at this hour, and he's frequented it to the point where he recognized the different usuals’ voices. so hearing you speak your order for the first time quickly stuck out at him, like a singular melody in the midst of his crowded mind. he immediately perked up at the sound; not much could really tear him away from whatever puzzle he brought to keep himself company but... you were so… different compared to everyone in this corrupt city. ♡ at first he’d try to brush off your presence, he might never see you again after all. but then you’d come in once a month, then every other week, then multiple times a week. ♡ he'd stare down at his lap, frustrated at himself. what was it about you that made you so different anyway? you were like a nagging habit he couldn't shake, like a stray that came crawling back that his heart couldn’t help but ache to tend to again. he sighed with his eyes shut, submitting to you every time, allowing his thoughts to be consumed by you once more. ♡ he was so lucky... having your closeness grace him. and each time you visited, you only seemed to fill more parts of his mind. at this point, he wasn’t even able to focus on his daily crossword puzzles. it annoyed him to no end but... that’s how he knew you were special. you brought a new light in his usual dark life. ♡ slowly, edward's mind didn't seem to care to search for the answer anymore. he didn't need to know why you were special, now he understood you just were special. he was losing his sense of logic, giving in to your beckoning presence, how good it felt love you. ♡ everyday he’d observe you from his own booth at the diner, now for once glad his spot was usually forgettable. he sipped away at his own cup as he watched and took note of every detail: the way you’d sigh after almost every sip of coffee you took, that polite, yet forced smile you gave to those who passed by, and his favorite detail? the fact that you never visited the diner with anyone else. of course he wasn’t entirely certain if you were single or not but, it made him more confident. like he actually had a chance. ♡ he’d immediately fantasize about the day where he was confident enough to go up to you and speak, figuring out the information he so desperately needed on his own, through your conversations, and not through speculation or crumbs of information he'd overhear through exchanges that didn't belong to him. in his mind he was obviously more confident, no stutters or awkward silences. then you’d go on dates, and maybe you’d see each other outside the diner, just the you two sharing a life together. oh, a man could dream...

♡ after finding and accepting his interest in you, he started frequenting the diner even more, just so he could broaden the possibility of seeing you more often. the time he spent there was practically unhealthy at this point. there was probably remnants of coffee in his lungs from the ungodly amount of hours he’d spend inhaling it secondhand. he would even bring in paperwork instead of his usual crossword puzzle. anything just to be blessed and catch glimpses of you. ♡ sometimes he would see you visit after an extra excruciating day of whatever you did for work. it would break his heart every time, watching you slump into your seat, your long sigh turning into a groan, before treating yourself to a sweet little dessert to drown out the sorrows long enough to at least get yourself home. ♡ he’d get lost in the thought of bringing you home— one you guys actually shared— scooping you up, running you a hot bath and taking you to bed, having you in his arms. he’d wished you didn't work, or at least not this hard. (though he found it quite admirable.) he wished that he could provide for you, so he could never see you this exhausted again. for once in his life he could feel adequate. like a worthy man, somebody's hero. ♡ at times he would feel guilty for borderline stalking you. he knew how you liked your coffee, but he didn’t even know your name! but it wasn't stalking... right? he was just... interested! preparing for the day he'd actually speak. its meant to be flattering... though he would never follow you home, or attempt to find every single piece of information the internet had to offer about you, of course…

♡ ...not yet at least. (thankfully for you, he held back for the sake of researching his newest death contraption.) ♡ but, while sat at that lonely booth, he allowed himself to completely indulge in you. he couldn’t help but stare, you were just so captivating from across the diner, even under the dim lighting it provided, and the late hours you frequented. he just had to know more about you… maybe after this was all over. ♡ you began consuming every part of his life. even outside the diner he would find his mind slipping to thoughts of you. he was starting to miss you. it frustrated him to no end. the color blue would remind him of that sweater you wore a few days back, and that dog he saw at that animal rescue had awfully cute eyes like yours. he even started associating the scent of coffee to your voice, only furthering his desire for caffeine. 'god edward, keep it together.' he'd think. it all led back to you. ♡ you were distracting him from his plans on wiping this city clean. he should be figuring out how to correctly wire this detonator, not fantasize about how soft your skin would feel on his!! but you also began becoming his newfound reason. he knew you were one of the only few good people left in gotham, maybe the hope this dump needed. he wanted you to live in a safe city, he needed you to thrive. you only deserved the best after all, to have the ground you walked on worshipped... ♡ sat in his usual seat, he would begin leaving riddles or crossword puzzles for you to solve, he would even draw doodles of flowers and hearts, instead of his consistent scribblings about batman and the lies of the government. even if he tried, all the riddles he'd come up with would be about you anyway. ♡ edward couldn’t help but stifle a giddy squeal. it felt like he was a teenager again, passing notes to his crush; writing them on the diner’s napkins and placing them in front of you when you looked away, quickly slipping past your line of sight. they would always have to do something with his love and adoration, how he’d reveal himself to you one day. he made them just for you. he even slowed his handwriting so you could read it better. ♡ for now you were endeared. confused, but endeared, while you looked around the room for the napkin's source. they were cute, simple things that gave you something to do, if you looked past the creepy part. it gave you something to think about and look forward to while you try and distract yourself for a little while. ♡ he wondered if you noticed him like he noticed you. he wanted you to notice him. for the first time in his life he wanted to be seen. just for you, he wanted to be somebody.

“ i am with a lock and you might be my key; when you find me, you feel complete. i’m a rare treasure that brings happiness and joy. what am i? ”

♡ and at times he was frustrated at how oblivious you were, but that didn’t deter him away from you or find you any less intelligent as he thought you were. the day you two would properly meet would eventually come. he idolized you, you were his sunshine in all the gloominess of the city. his one bright light. ♡ he would secretly cheer you on from his seat behind you, marveling at just how smart you are. anticipating the amount of time it would take for you to solve everything he had laid out for you, like a rat in a maze. would it take you five minutes? two? or maybe would you take that little napkin home today? ♡ he loved watching you struggle, your eyebrows knotting together as you looked down at the ink on the page. he could barely contain his giggles as you proudly smiled to yourself as you filled out the words of his puzzles. he was just as proud of you as you were of yourself. he knew you could do it.

“ …a soulmate…? ”

♡ you solved his riddles! how were you not perfect for him?

[colormepurplex2]

Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop | MYG

▻ Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop ↳ ArtProfessor!Yoongi x Artist/CoffeeShopOwner!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Cozy Romance ⤜ Coffee Shop/Art AU | fluff, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 8,028 ⤜ Summary: It’s like clockwork; you receive the same online order every weekday morning at eight o’clock: large decaf iced Americano, picked up promptly shortly after. His face has become familiar, as a part of your routine as the hiss of the espresso machine. Until, one day, that routine takes an unexpected turn, and you find yourself getting familiar with more than just his face. ⚠️ Very mild language, panic over student/teacher potential date (reader is a student, but she's the same age as Yoongi, just taking classes later in life than most), oral m receiving, fingering, kissing, mild dirty talk, cum swallowing, confessions of the heart

A/N: This is part of my 'Heartbeat Melodies' mini-series, where I write fics that are inspired by songs. If you'd like to hear the song that inspired this, you can find it here! A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi & @moonleeai for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

“Large decaf iced Americano,” you call out, barely glancing up from behind the counter.

A deep, familiar drawl pulls your attention, “That would be mine.” It’s only familiar for the fact you’ve heard that voice nearly every day for the last six months.

Your eyes snap up from the tablet, where the next online order has come through, to meet warm brown ones. “I should have known,” you reply before you can think better to bite your tongue. Heat suffuses your cheeks. You pull your lips between your teeth to stifle the groan of embarrassment that begs to be released.

The man chuckles, absently using a knuckle to push up the hornrimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if I should be offended or honored by that comment. But, I guess I do come here a lot.”

Nearly every day for the last six months, at least. That’s how often he comes here—to your coffee shop. It’s tiny, barely big enough for a handful of small tables and chairs. But it’s yours, and you’re proud of it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to seem…” you trail off. Not sure how to finish that thought because you’re not entirely sure how you meant it or why you said it other than the fact you’re a bit frazzled this morning and apparently forgot your mouth filter at home. It was a late night last night for you. It's not an excuse, but still.

He waves a large hand in the air, dismissing your apology. “Please, it’s quite alright. I’ll take it as flattery; could use a little boost to my confidence anyhow.”

That almost makes you sputter in disbelief. There’s absolutely no way this man needs any flattery. Surely, he comes by it in droves. Because, well, he’s honestly so gorgeous it should be criminal.

His hair is fluffy, somewhere between charcoal grey and black, though the warm lighting of your cafe gives it a golden honey halo effect. The eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses are dark swirls of espresso that match his coffee order—a straight nose sitting above soft, pink lips that have a light glossy sheen to them.

As usual, he’s wearing a pressed slack and jacket combo, a cream-colored collared shirt underneath with a bold print tie. His choice of ties is what drew you to him in the first place, and made you pay a little closer attention to the mysterious man behind the large decaf iced Americano.

You clear your throat, daring to be bold, while it seems you’ve no filter to stop you. “Well, if you ever need further flattery, you know where to find me.” It’s clear that you give him an assessing once over, his eyes locked onto yours as you do so.

“Do you paint?”

The question throws you off, nearly making you drop the tablet in your hands. Your fingers flex against the case, your thumb brushing along the glass screen. Busying yourself with reviewing the next order on the screen, you turn, giving him your back as you decide how to answer his random question. You’ve never actually had a conversation with him; this man that you feel like you know yet is a complete stranger.

“Why do you ask?” you deflect as you go through the motions of scooping grinds and swapping out the portafilter for a freshly filled one. However, you know it’s not always polite to answer a question with a question; you’re just not sure how to decipher his curiosity or where it came from to begin with.

The bell above the door rings, and you wince as the espresso machine gurgles and hisses loudly as you mechanically pop a cup in the machine and hit the brew button. The noise fills the quiet space of the coffee shop. It’s not until the cup is filled, you’ve added two lumps of sugar, and you’re grabbing a lid that the man responds.

“There’s paint under your fingernails. Or, at least, what I would guess is paint.”

Glancing down at the cup in your hand, you take in the colorful myriad of flecks coating your skin. The colors fill the grooves of your knuckles and hug around the bed of your nails.

“Double espresso with two sugars,” you announce, ripping your gaze from your hand to the interior space of your cafe. A woman steps around the man, giving you a hurried smile as she holds out her hand to receive the cup. You hand it off. “Have a good day.”

Giving the cafe's inside a quick glance, you ensure all the customers within are taken care of. A college student is busy pounding away at their laptop keyboard in the corner, utilizing your free wifi. A half-empty cup of hot cocoa sits cold and abandoned beside them. A trio of friends sit at your only table big enough to seat more than two people, laughing softly and sipping hot lattes and teas. No one seems to need your attention; except the man still standing there, large decaf iced Americano in hand.

You lick your lips, a nervous habit you picked up after endless stressful nights pouring your heart, soul, blood, sweat, and tears into opening the small cafe. Most believed it would flop; others rallied to your side and helped your dream come true.

“Look, sorry if I’ve overstepped somehow,” he begins, but you shake your head, letting him know he’s not.

Gesturing at the wall behind the man, you finally answer, “In my spare time.”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes zigzagging across the giant unfinished mural covering the windowless back wall of the cafe.

“That?” he asks. “You’re painting that?”

It’s hard to decipher if that’s disbelief or awe coloring his voice.

“I am,” you answer a bit hesitantly.

“Wow!” he exclaims, a giant grin spreading across his face, crinkling his eyes at the corners. “I’ve been meaning to ask after the artist every time I come in and see something new added, I just uh,” he brings his free hand up and rubs it across the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor under his feet, “well, could never bring myself to.” It’s pretty, the way his cheeks take on a flush of color as his eyes cut to you from over the frame of his glasses. “It’s wonderful work.”

“Thank you.” You can’t help your own flush of shyness at his praise.

“So, uh,” he lifts his cup and gives it a swirl, the ice sloshing around inside, before taking a small sip through the straw, “I know you probably see it on the order, but for the sake of propriety, my name’s Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi, to be more precise, you know. It’s a name you’ve read so many times it’s ingrained in your mind. However, it’s still nice for him to offer it to you. Willingly establishing your connection one step further than his coffee order.

You feel so silly tapping the name tag on the front of your apron, but you do it before you can think better of it, mumbling your name as if he can’t read it for himself after you brought direct attention to it. “Sorry, I’m not normally so weird,” you give a shaky laugh, willing yourself to shut up before you chase him off from how awkward you’re being.

Something changes in his demeanor, his eyes taking on a light twinkle that sits somewhere between mischief and wonder. “I like weird,” he offers casually as if that doesn’t make your stomach swoop and your heart beat a little harder. “Maybe we can talk more about your art sometime. Maybe over dinner? Or lunch if dinner is too forward.”

If you were a cartoon, you’re confident your tongue would actually be tied into a jumbled knot right now with you frantically trying to talk around it, a comical scene for sure. Yet, there is no knot, just a thick feeling that you have to swallow past. “Um, yeah, sure. That would be great. Dinner…or uh, lunch. Both. Either one. Though, dinner might be better considering my hours.”

Yoongi glances at the vinyl hours printed on the front window by the door. They’re backward from his vantage point, but you assume he has no issue reading them, considering he turns back to you and asks, “How does seven work for you?”

“Tonight?” The beating of your heart lurches again, and you can barely hear him over the rushing in your ears.

“Yeah, if that’s not too soon. Perhaps next week, if that’s better? I don’t want to come on too strong. Or well, rather, what I mean to say is, don’t feel pressured.” You can tell he’s feeling hesitant now, trying to backtrack and offer you a way to politely decline his offer for dinner tonight. You didn’t mean to come off sounding so put out. You just weren’t expecting his request to be for tonight.

Mentally, you dig through your schedule. You’re not closing today. Marvin comes in at noon to help with the lunch rush, and then you leave at four to make it to your five o’clock class. It would be today of all days that your new art class starts. It’s the beginning of the fall semester at the local university, and you just so happened to decide to take a few art classes they were offering, the first of which starts tonight.

The class should only be around an hour long, with plenty of time to get home and change before the date. Is it a date? Or just strangers getting together to talk about art? Isn’t that what a date is anyway, though?

“Seven. Tonight. That would be great.”

“Okay, perfect. Can I pick you up? Or we can meet here if that works better.”

It’s endearing he’d offer, both picking you up and meeting in a familiar place. Considering you live above the coffee shop, though, it makes no difference. Though, he doesn’t necessarily know that.

“Here is fine.”

“Wonderful. Have you tried that steak house on the corner yet?”

“The new one that opened last week?” He nods. “I haven’t, no.”

“Perfect.” Yoongi smiles. “Here, at seven. Consider it a date.” His smile falters, and his brows pinch, forming a line between them. “Not that I…well, it’s not that…it doesn’t have to be…if you don’t want this to be a date, that’s—”

“It’s a date,” you confirm, giving him what you hope to be a warm smile to ease his mild panic. “I’ll see you then, Yoongi.”

“See you then,” he responds, tacking your name on at the end in his deep drawl. The way it sounds coming from his mouth should be added to one of those spicy erotica audiobooks you may or may not have downloaded on your phone.

Just as Yoongi is leaving, it’s like the world finally takes a breath, and the exhalation that follows brings with it a rush of early morning commuters seeking their morning fix. The everyday bustle and hubbub of the day filter back in, and you’re soon lost to the sway of the shop, coffee, tea, and cocoa. It all comes alive beneath your nimble fingers, much reminiscent of the way holding a brush makes you feel: a thrill of the soul with each pour.

☕☕☕

Yoongi

In all Yoongi’s years of teaching, he’s never been late to a class, especially on the first day of the semester. Yet, he’s nearly fifteen minutes late getting into his classroom this morning. Students are already filled in and scattered around the theatre-style seating. No one says anything. It’s far too early in the morning for smart mouths and snarky remarks about his tardiness. Not that he would expect that from any of the students anyway.

“Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min.” He drops his bag and coffee off on his podium at the front of the classroom. Turning to the large chalkboard behind it, he scrawls his name to the side and then begins to write directions. “We will begin with Chapter 1, ‘Mediums and Forms’, in your textbook. Please read quietly, and I’ll be with you all in a moment.”

The day goes on, class after class, and the familiar monotony of it brings Yoongi a sense of peace. This is familiar territory; he’s in his element, not like this morning in the coffee shop. He felt totally out of control and swept up in the swirl of uncertainties and possibilities.

To say he’s relieved you agreed to go to dinner with him would be an understatement. From the moment he decided to change up his routine to check out the cafe Namjoon wouldn’t shut up about, he’s been hooked not only on the impeccable decaf iced Americano, nor the beautifully decorated and painted interior but on the smiling face behind the counter.

Yoongi feels a bit self-conscious thinking about how much he thinks about you. He’s always been too intimidated by the idea of speaking more than a few passing words to you. It’s like every time he gathered up the courage, it would abandon him at the last moment. Namjoon calls it a crush, Yoongi calls it frustrating.

The whole conversation this morning is a bit of a blur to him. Yoongi swears once he opened his mouth it was nearly impossible to stop the word vomit from gushing out…and the next thing he knew, you were agreeing to a date with him tonight.

The day's last class rolls around, and Yoongi feels much lighter as he steps out of his adjoining office and into the classroom to welcome the new students. A few offer him quiet hello’s, some he’s seen from other art classes he’s monitored across the entire department and fine arts program. 

Turning his back as the last few students filter in, he makes the same spiel he has at the beginning of every class. “Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min…”

And so it begins, the beautiful dance of teaching and introducing fresh minds to the concept of forms and mediums. Yoongi is sure he could recite the entirety of Chapter 1 from memory now, with as many times as he’s gone over it today.

“What if you decide you don’t like your form or medium halfway through the project?” a student from the front row asks after Yoongi explains the medium and forms requisite for the final project for this class.

“We’re going to spend plenty of time during the first part of the semester testing out different mediums to know which best suits each of your individual tastes and needs. Regarding the form, I recommend choosing something you most likely won’t tire of. Something that means something to you but also isn’t so complex that you frustrate yourself and burn out before you can complete the project. You’re welcome to, at any time, bring me an idea of the form you’re considering, and we can talk about the intricacies and any potential issues that might arise with using it.”

Another question comes from somewhere in the middle, “Can we choose people, too?”

“A form can be anything that inspires you. If that happens to be a person, then of course. However, note that portraiture isn’t covered until Art 322, but I’ll do my best to help if that’s what you choose.” Yoongi glances at the clock, noticing there are only a few minutes left of class. “Let’s take the last few minutes to wind down, pack your things. If you have any further questions concerning your final project forms and mediums, please don’t hesitate to email me. Also, my office hours are open Tuesdays and Thursdays from two to six.”

As Yoongi turns to begin putting his things away from his podium, his eyes slide across the faces of his last class students, trying to cram them into his mind for the sake of remembering. He always likes to be as personable and approachable to his students as possible; knowing names and faces is always a good place to start.

He has to do a double take as his eyes flick over the very top row. The shock is felt throughout his entire body. It’s not that he’s surprised to see a face he already knows. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting it…wasn’t expecting to see you. Mild panic makes him jerk around, hands gripping at the papers on his podium, shuffling them mechanically.

The first thought that crosses his mind is he can’t possibly be going on a date with one of his students. Surely you’re just here to…to what? He turns over one of the papers, quickly scanning his roster that he hadn’t bothered to check yet. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to snag on your name.

Unease settles across his shoulders. He hates to cancel the date, as he was really looking forward to it, but it’s just…not right, right? There’s a line he shouldn’t cross with his students, even one who he is sure is his age and not the typical college freshman. Yoongi knows this because maybe, perhaps, he might have spent his lunch hour googling you and the cafe. You’re in your early thirties, given the birth year that was viewable on one of your social media pages, and own the coffee shop, have for several years now…a full-ass grown adult—the perfect person to date.

Except now you’re his student. There’s some moral code there somewhere, something about the skewed power dynamic. The thought of going on this date should have red flags flashing in his mind. Yet…yet, no matter how much he tells himself to cancel, he honestly doesn’t want to. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt that much, right? A harmless date.

That’s what he’s still telling himself as he dismisses the class a few minutes later. He intentionally avoided looking in your direction, unsure if you’d be comfortable with him acknowledging you as one of his students or not.

Much to his surprise, as the bubble of sound dissipates, a soft voice reaches his ears from a few feet behind him, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Yoongi has been so consumed with his own feelings about going on a date with a student that he hasn’t even thought about how you might feel. Are you about to cancel on him? Does he try to convince you not to?

He slowly turns, the stack of papers clutched in his hands, glasses slipping down his nose, yet he doesn’t want to pry his fingers from the bundle to fix them. “Look, I understand if you’d rather not—”

“I’m fine as long as you are.”

He’s relieved for your interruption, for keeping him from saying those words out loud. “Are you sure? If I had known this morning that you’d be one of my students…” he trails off, because he’s not so sure that would have stopped him after all. Considering he’s wanted to ask you out for at least the last four months.

“I’m glad you asked me. Student or not. I promise not to make it weird if you don’t.” You give him a brilliant smile, coy and full of mirth but light enough to make his heart jerk inside his chest.

“No weirdness, got it,” he agrees, unable to help his own teasing smile.

“So, I’ll see you then?” you ask, hefting your canvas bag on your shoulder. His eyes flick to it, noting the splashes and swirls of fabric paint that cover the outside. Yoongi wonders if you painted it yourself.

He nods, letting his eyes drink you in one last time before you turn to go. You’re still wearing the same jeans and thin cable knit sweater from the coffee shop this morning. Even in such casual clothes, you are stunning. A work of art all your own. He doesn’t stop staring until the door to his classroom shuts behind you.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. It’s not out of irritation or anger, just an acknowledgement of how truly and utterly he’s got it down bad for you.

☕☕☕

Seven can’t come soon enough. It only took you thirty minutes to get ready, putting on a simple black dress and flats. It’s not too fancy, but it makes you feel far more put together than just jeans and a t-shirt.

At five til, you make your way down into the coffee shop from your upstairs apartment. All of the main overhead lights are off, leaving only the warm accent lights that line the menu board and the display case lights on. Even now, the space smells delightedly of coffee.

It’s kind of funny, the fact that you’re not a coffee drinker. Everyone finds it odd that someone who doesn’t drink coffee would aspire to open a coffee shop. What they fail to realize is you love the smell of coffee. The warm, roasted, mildly sweet notes are what you thrive on, better than any shot of espresso in your mind.

There is a street lamp right outside your shop, flooding the sidewalk with a pool of yellow light. Standing just within the glow is Yoongi, his back to the shop door. You watch as his head swivels, looking down both directions of the sidewalk, completely unaware that you’ll be coming from behind him instead.

The sound of the lock turning over startles him. He jerks around and laughs softly, taking a step back, hand to his chest, as you pull the door open. “Can’t say I expected you to come from inside the cafe.”

“I would have been down sooner had I known you would be a bit early,” you say, locking the door behind you. “I probably should have given you my number or something.”

Yoongi eyes you, his gaze sliding up and down your body like he’s drinking you in. You hope he likes what he sees. “I think I was so excited about the date that I forgot even to ask,” he admits, giving you a sheepish smile when his eyes finally land back on yours. “You look,” —he gives you another quick once over, shaking his head and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip— “gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you preen under his praise. “You look quite handsome, yourself.”

You’re not just saying that to return the compliment, either. Yoongi is wearing the same thing he was this morning, except the tie is loosened, and the top button of his shirt is undone, giving you the slightest peek at his prominent jugular notch.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm.

You slip your hand into the bend of his elbow, falling into step beside him. The walk to the steak house is short, just enough for pleasant exchanges. He asks how your day at the coffee shop went, and you ask after his first day of classes. Neither of you bring up the fact that you were part of one of those classes.

“I’ve been meaning to check this place out. I’ve heard excellent things.”

Yoongi hums, nodding his head at your words. “I’ve also heard good things, though it might perhaps be biased considering all the praise I’ve heard has come from the owner himself.”

“You’ve spoken with the owner?”

“He’s one of my best friends, actually. This will be the first time I try it out. I kept telling him I’d stop by, but it always got away from me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “I can’t believe you know Seokjin.”

“Wait, you know Seokjin?” Yoongi asks, surprised.

“I’d say know is a relative term. We get deliveries from the same produce truck. He tried to take my apples one time. I had to set him straight.” That makes Yoongi laugh along with you. “We chat sometimes, mostly about the quality of produce and the best places to get ingredients. I had no idea he was your friend.”

“Small world,” Yoongi says. His smile is warm and inviting. You’re sure you could get lost in it if he’d let you. It makes you wonder what his lips taste like. They have a slight sheen to them like they did this morning. Cherry chapstick? Maybe mint? A nice subtle vanilla?

You’re not sure the last time you laughed so hard you had tears in your eyes. But Yoongi has your sides in stitches and your cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much during dinner.

“Oh gosh,” you wheeze between fits of giggling, clutching your stomach. “Ow, ow. Don’t make me laugh again. I can’t take it.” It just makes you laugh even more, the huffs trailing off as Yoongi reaches across the table toward you.

You pry your hands from your abdomen and slide them into his. His fingers are warm against yours, his thumbs rubbing across the backs of your knuckles. It’s a gesture he’s done several times tonight, silently asking for your hands any chance he could.

“Sorry, you just have such a beautiful laugh,” he says. “I could listen to it all day.”

His flattery hasn’t stopped. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two glasses of wine he had with dinner were going to his head. But, he speaks so assuredly and looks in your eyes like you’re truly something special.

Feeling so intimately connected with someone you barely know might be absurd. Yet, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. If you’re being honest, the attraction started long ago, and tonight has just made it blossom into something so much more.

Yoongi has been the perfect gentleman. He’s not tried to railroad the conversation or make decisions for you like other guys you’ve gone on dates with. Whenever a server approached the table, he would defer to you and your needs before his.

“You’ve been so wonderful to me tonight. Please let me repay you with coffee and dessert. If you’re up for it.”

Yoongi squeezes both your hands before letting them go and sitting back in his chair. “There is no need to ‘repay’ me,” he says, emphasizing the word repay. “But, I wouldn’t say no to a date after this date, say in fifteen minutes, coffee and dessert?”

“Fifteen minutes? Coffee and dessert?” You give him a thoughtful look, tapping your fingers against your chin. “Hmm. I think I’m available.” You both break into more fits of soft laughter, contrasting so highly to the high energy from before; it’s intimate, if laughing can be such a thing.

It’s easy being with Yoongi; he’s attentive and curious. “What made you want to open a coffee shop?” he asks as you unlock the door to the cafe.

“I liked the idea of having a space that could cater to people from all walks of life. Businessmen in a hurry? Get it to go. Students needing a place to study? I have a quiet corner for that. College professor looking for his daily decaf Americao fix? Would you look at that? I got that covered, too.” You usher him inside, closing and locking the door behind you. “It also doubles as a great place to have a private coffee and dessert date after a lovely dinner date.”

You watch as Yoongi looks around the cozy space, his attention ending on the mural wall. “What’s your favorite kind of coffee?”

“Would it be weird if I said I don’t like coffee?” you ask.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “Really?”

You shrug. “I love the way it smells, though.”

“Acrylic?” Yoongi asks, nodding toward the mural.

“Good eye,” you assess, stepping behind the counter to start making the coffee. You grab two pecan cinnamon twirls from the dry storage where you keep extra treats to take up to your apartment at the end of each shift and pop them into the small convection oven along the back wall. “You teach art, but it might be presumptuous of me to assume you also create. So, do you?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to. Pastels and charcoal are my favorites to work with. I like the mildly messy, chaotic feel of them. There are few things better than the feeling of taking something so uncontrolled and turning it into a thing of beauty.”

“Charcoal, huh?” Your mind instantly goes to the framed collection of pieces you have in your apartment upstairs. “I can appreciate that.”

“Maybe I can show you sometime.” Yoongi turns from his appreciation of your mural to watch you work behind the counter. He gestures to a few frames hung up on either side of the giant menu on the wall. “Arfé, right?”

You glance up, moving with automated motions to load the portafilter into the espresso machine. “Oh,” you laugh. “Yeah. An experiment. I wanted to try something new and needed some new decor. I thought it was appropriately on theme.”

The half-dozen pieces are all made with swirls of various shades in brown and tan and depict a mix of cups, mugs, bags of grinds, lumps of sugar, and piles of roasted coffee beans.

“Very appropriate. They’re lovely. You’re an exceptional artist.” You’ve lost count of the amount of compliments Yoongi has paid you tonight. You might have been the one flattering him this morning, but it seems he’s making up for that now.

“Thank you. Truly. That means a lot coming from you.” The hiss of the brew machine fills the air, and the soft gurgle of espresso trickling into the small mug follows. “One decaf Americano for one of my best customers,” you say, carefully carrying the steaming cup over to a table beside Yoongi. “Please, sit.”

Yoongi settles at the table, bringing the cup of coffee up to his nose and giving it an appreciative sniff. “Wonderful,” he murmurs before taking a tentative sip. “Thank you, that hits the spot.”

“If you think the Americano is good, wait until you try this,” you say, scooping the twirls out of the oven and onto a plate. They’re perfectly warm and gooey. “You’ve never tried any of our pastries, have you?”

You sit across from him. The table is small enough that you could reach out and cup his cheek if you wanted, and set the plate on the table before Yoongi. He whistles low, “Wow, these do look amazing. Maybe I’ll become a pecan twirl and coffee guy every morning instead.”

Your eyes track his movements, watching as his fingers pinch and slightly sink into the edges of one of the twirls. Some of the warm glaze and cinnamon sugar filling squishes from between the layers.

Yoongi’s lips part and the tip of his tongue peaks over his bottom teeth as he brings the pastry up to take a bite. The moan he lets out surprises you both. His eyes flutter before landing on you and going wide. He chews methodically, his gaze not leaving yours. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips before he swallows.

“Well?” you ask, settling your elbows on the table and leaning into him, expectant.

The smile that tugs at his lips is coy. “Might be one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.” There is a heat in his gaze as his eyes search yours. “What other surprises do you have up your proverbial sleeve for me?”

“Now, if I told you, they wouldn’t be surprises anymore, would they?”

That makes him laugh. “Fair point. You know,” he glances around the coffee shop, “I never knew just what it was about this coffee shop I loved so much, but I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah?” you say, feeling positively giddy.

“Mhm. So,” he mirrors your pose across the table, his elbows nearly touching your own, fingers toying with yours where they’re folded in the air in front of your face, “is it too soon to ask you on a second date?”

“I thought this was our second date.” You raise a teasing eyebrow, a smile quirking on your lips.

“A third then,” he offers, eyes hopeful.

Of course, you want to say yes. And in the spirit of trying to be coy and playful, you lean in with the full intent of showing him instead of telling him how much you want to go on another date.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker to your lips, watching as you deliberately lick them as you lean in a bit closer. Acceptance lies within their dark depths, a flash of hunger at the impending response that’s only a breath away.

As you advance, your elbows slide on the table, accidentally knocking the coffee cup. Liquid goes everywhere; it floods over the table and pours off the side…right into Yoongi’s lap.

“Oh fuck!” you yell, jumping up from the table and rushing around to his side. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance? Does it burn?”

Yoongi pushes back from the table, holding his arms up off his lap as he assesses the mess. “No harm done. It was already cooled off. It's just a bit of a mess, that’s all. I’m fine,” he laughs. “Truly, I promise. Do you have any towels or anything?”

“Oh god, your shirt, it’s going to stain,” you lament, staring at the dark splotch soaking through above his trousers. “Towels? Yes. Yes. Okay. And some baking soda. Come on, let’s hurry. Again, I’m so sorry!”

“Should we clean this up first?” he asks, motioning at the coffee-covered floor.

“I can mop in the morning. Please,” you fret, guilt making you a bit frantic and flustered.

Yoongi lets you lead him up the stairs in the back that go to your apartment. “You live here?” he questions. “No wonder you were coming out of the coffee shop earlier. That’s very cool.”

You make a noncommittal sound. “It’s cool if you like the smell of coffee and don’t mind rising early every day to open shop.”

It’s so hard to think right now, your mind solely focused on cleaning up the mess you’ve made of Yoongi’s clothes. That’s what you get for trying to be sly and answer his date question with a kiss. You’ll be lucky if he still wants that date now, surely.

The bathroom is barely big enough for the two of you. You insist Yoongi sit on the lip of the tub while you dig under the sink for the baking soda that you use for cleaning and removing your own coffee stains.

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly, grabbing your attention. You glance at him over your shoulder, bottom lip clamped between your teeth in an effort not to fall apart entirely. “I promise it’s okay, alright? You don’t have to stress over it. It’s just an accident. It's a pretty funny one if you ask me. If I’d have known we were getting wet on the first—I mean, second date, I would have planned accordingly.”

His words hang between you, full of static and charged with intention. He’s trying to lighten the mood…and it’s working. It’s also making you feel a certain kind of way. Words shouldn’t have the power to do that. Yet, here you are, flustered for a whole different reason now.

“Date’s not over yet,” you respond, unsure where the bold attitude came from, but you’ll take it. His eyes flicker with something like surprise mixed with desire, though it’s gone before you can really be sure. “Do you mind?” You gesture to his shirt. “It’ll be easier if I can soak it in the sink.”

Slowly, Yoongi undoes the buttons on his shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. Somehow, you weren’t expecting him to be naked underneath, but every open button reveals another swath of flesh. He shrugs out of the shirt, revealing a toned chest and taut belly. His nipples are hard, dark chips, standing out in contrast to his smooth, creamy skin. Yoongi is absolutely breathtaking.

In fact, you have to remind yourself to breathe, taking in a large lungful of air that’s so much it makes your chest ache. He holds the shirt out to you in offering. Your fingers tremble lightly as you take it, quickly turning back to the sink and the distraction of scrubbing at the stain.

Reading over the garment tag quickly, you make sure what you’re about to do is okay. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on your back, like heated dagger points pricking beneath your skin. You turn on the water, letting the tap run until it’s hot, before quickly swishing the area of the shirt covered in coffee under it. The hot water alone makes a world of difference, the dark liquid swirling away down the drain.

“Do you want my pants, too?” Yoongi asks, startling you.

Your eyes flick up to the mirror, looking at him through the reflection. He’s talking to you, but his attention is zeroed in on your backside. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware that your dress has ridden up dangerously high. You can feel the cool air of the bathroom kissing the crease between your thigh and asscheek.

Turning off the water, you slowly turn to face him. Your chest rises and falls as you try to take deep, even breaths, but with the way your heart is revving inside, it’s impossible to do so. “Let’s see the damage,” you say lightly, raising an eyebrow in question, giving him a chance to call you off.

When he doesn’t comment further, you close the distance to where he’s sitting and ease down onto your knees. You mentally tell yourself it’s so you can get a better look at the coffee that’s saturating the dark fabric, but you know better than that.

Being so close to him, you can feel the heat of his body. His chest rises and falls as rapidly as yours, and when you look up and meet his gaze, there is no mistaking the fire that you see blazing there. “Don’t think I forgot you still haven’t answered my question,” he murmurs, lips barely moving as he watches you.

You lift a hand, hooking your index finger under his chin and using it to angle his face toward yours. “I’d love that,” you respond, your lips brushing over his with every syllable.

He kisses you. Or maybe you kiss him. It’ll be something you tease each other over for many years to come. You open yourself to him, welcoming the glide of his tongue against yours. The kiss tastes mildly of coffee, yet for the first time in your life, you don’t mind the flavor.

“For me to take my pants off, or the date?” he teases, alternating between nipping and consuming kisses. Yoongi’s hands frame your face, holding you to him as he continues to ravage your mouth.

“Mm, both,” you manage to get out. “Definitely both.” Sliding your hands down his torso, you marvel at the softness of his skin and the already very prominent bulge that your fingers dance over as you try to get a grip on the button to his slacks.

Yoongi breaks away from the kiss long enough to help you with his pants, standing up from the edge of the tub and bringing you up with him. He toes off his shoes, leaving his pants puddled on top of them. “Good answer,” he chuckles.

You let out a tiny squeal as he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs and hauls you up, your legs automatically winding around his waist. Thick erection pressed right against your panty-covered pussy, he slowly walks you out of the bathroom and into your adjoining room. You land on the bed with a soft oomph, Yoongi following you down. His weight is a comfort, settled over your body in a warm, hedonistic embrace.

“I’ll change classes,” you pant, flexing your hips against his. “As long as our next date is to an art gallery.”

“Is it weird for that to turn me on?” he responds, groaning as you roll your hips against him again. “The art part, not the dropping classes part. You don’t have to do that if it’s too much trouble. I know your schedule must be pretty set with the cafe.”

You press your hands against his chest, giving him a gentle push until he’s rolling over and you’re hovering over him. “I’ll make it work. I want to make it work. Everything tonight,” you pause and sit back on your heels, dragging your hands along his torso as you do, “I want more. You’re driving me crazy in the best of ways.”

“Says the woman who’s been running through my thoughts for the last several months now.” Yoongi’s lips part in a gasp, turning his last word into a breathly plea as you trace the tips of your fingers over his straining erection. The fabric of his grey boxer briefs is slightly sticky when you brush your thumb over the head.

“It reminds me of making art,” you casually say, curling your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and tugging until he lifts his hips and lets you drag them down. You toss them to the side, marveling at the glory now resting against his belly. Yoongi’s cock is a gentle upward curve, all smooth steel and thick veins. It throbs, bouncing against his stomach, leaving behind a thick smear of precum. “The way you make me feel.”

“Art?” he asks, breathless. His eyes flutter behind his glasses, his chest hollowing as he sucks in ragged breaths.

“Being with you gives me the same feeling as viewing a Duncanson or a Matisse, calm and full of joy. Though, you can also make me feel the chaos of a Kandinsky when you touch me.” To emphasize your words, you wrap your fingers around his girth, angling it up, watching the emotions on his face. The tip of his tongue works at the corner of his mouth, lips parted with every pant and soft moan. “Is this okay?” you ask, leaning down and gently blowing over the leaking tip before tentatively giving it a kitten lick.

“More than,” Yoongi moans. His eye slide closed as you wrap your lips around the head and suck. The flavor of him bursts across your tongue. You can’t help but moan yourself at the idea you’ve made him like this, hard and leaking.

Working as much of his cock into your mouth as you can, you delight in the shuddering convulses you can feel from his body as he loses himself in the sensations you’re bringing him. Yoongi always seems like such a collected individual. He still appeared so well-kept even when he stuttered over his words asking you on the date this morning. Now, though, he’s unraveling into a puddle of debauchery.

It’s a satisfying feeling, similar to when you get into a perfect rhythm when working on a project, bringing him to the edge. You work your mouth and hand in tandem, never leaving an inch of his cock free of your touch.

“Mmm,” you moan, the head of his cock resting in the back of your throat. Yoongi jerks under you, half raising onto his elbows, his eyes zeroing in on where you’re wrapped around him.

His fingers twist into the duvet, bottom lip puffy and flushed as he worries it with his teeth. “I’m going to cum,” he grunts, throwing his head back and moaning his pleasures, deep and throaty.

You quicken your pace, hollowing your cheeks as you suck in earnest. Yoongi cries out a second before liquid warmth floods your mouth. It’s greedy, the way you swallow and continue to lave your tongue over him, eliciting tiny tremors and more moans.

“Just like art,” you whisper, finally letting his cock slip from between your lips. You’re riding your own high, wet and throbbing between your thighs. You can feel the ache in your clit, begging to be touched. All it would take is a few seconds, a few well-placed swirls of your fingers, and you know you’d be floating in orgasmic bliss.

Before you can even think of bringing your hand between your thighs to find relief, Yoongi is sitting up and urging you backward. Your back hits the mattress, and he settles on his side beside you. Somewhere between there and here, he pulled off his glasses. Despite having just found his release, his eyes are still so full of hunger and desire.

“May I?” he asks, pressing a hand against your inner thigh. You nod, eyes locked with his as he slowly trails his hand upward until his fingers brush over the soaked fabric of your panties. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. Your lids flutter closed, consumed as you are by his touch.

Yoongi takes his time, toying with the edge of your panties before tugging them down past your knees. They pool around your ankles as he pushes your thighs apart, exposing your weeping pussy to the air of the bedroom.

“Yoongi.” His name is half moan, half curse as he brings his hand back up and cups your heat. The meat of his palm rests against your clit, right where you need to be touched, but the pressure isn’t enough to satisfy.

“An exquisite work of art.” His lips strum against yours, plucking and teasing just the way his fingers do through your wetness. The tips of his fingers briefly kiss your clit, dancing away before returning; a slow build of decadent pleasure.

It’s not above you to beg. “Please. Yoongi, please!”

“Open your eyes, look at me. Let me watch you fall apart so I can brand it into my memory.”

You snap open your eyes the exact moment he slides two slender fingers into your pussy, thumb finally giving the needed pressure to your clit. You’re so worked up that your body pulses around the intrusion, a tiny fluttering orgasm rippling through you.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

Yoongi gives you a wicked, knowing smile. “It’s not over yet, beautiful,” he assures you in a whispered promise.

His fingers are long, able to reach the perfect, special place inside you. As he strokes his fingertips, moving them in an undulating wave, his thumb swirls in a circle around your clit.

The next orgasm is less surprising, building to a heightened peak that has you crying out as you careen over the edge, entirely at Yoongi’s mercy. “Yoongi, fuck!” you babble, your whole body alive with sensations of pleasure.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “So beautiful.”

Your body shudders around his hand, his fingers slowing down their rhythm until you finally recover. The slide of his fingers along your walls as he withdraws makes you wish he’d put them back in…or maybe something else. The bereft feeling lasts only a moment before Yoongi gathers you into his arms. He’s completely naked, and you’re still wearing your dress, but you feel just as exposed as he is…only, it’s your soul on display for him instead of your body.

You wait for the feeling of vulnerability to filter in, that broken feeling of uncertainty. But, it doesn’t come. The only thing you feel is complete and utter content. It’s not even the post-orgasmic bliss that’s clouding it, either. No, there’s plenty of that, but it feels different; he feels different.

“Yoongi,” you begin, resting your cheek on his chest. You want to confess to him, but the words get choked in your throat. Is it too soon? Are you completely crazy? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Fuck. Here goes nothing. “This feels good, really good. Is it too soon to say…?”

“Too soon to say?” he prompts.

You absently trace haphazard swirls and lines across his chest, trying to think of how to word it. “I, well…”

“Too soon to say that I think possibly, maybe, I’m falling for you?” You look up at him, surprised by his words. Yoongi looks at you with so much warmth and affection in his eyes. “Because that’s exactly how I feel, too.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2023-12-30 ColorMePurplex2

[m0chisenpai]

P.Y.T ( Pretty Young Thing)

Spiderman Across the Spiderverse

42!Miles Morales x black!reader

Warning(s): nothing too crazy. just a bit of cursing

Honestly it’s giving Poppy and Branch

You stuck out like a sore thumb in Miles’ life. A bright pink, bedazzled thumb. He’ll never forget the first moment he saw you, well saw you again. He was out after school with some of the boys, and he saw you with your girls. You two crossed paths once or twice in middle school before you transferred for a bit to one of those downtown academies.

He recalls how you were the oreo that could answer any chem question without flinching at the sheer amount of conversion and what not involved.

You didn’t bag an eye or flinch at the harsh comments, the nickname that made Miles grind his teeth. How’s it your fault you were top three in the science department?

Yet here you were, your hands covered your glossy pink lips that spilled with a laugh that Miles wanted to hear more of. Your nails gleamed with bright charms and some cartoon characters and your other hand tossed a loose bang from your face.

You changed but he still saw the bright pink braces girl with various cartoon charms dangling from her purple kanken.

You all headed into the bodega and he and his boys followed in behind you. One of them said he needed to hit your friends up about something and it was coincidence because the two of you were reintroduced.

Miles found it endearing how despite your loud and boisterous behavior when the two of you got introduced, here you stood quiet as a mouse looking anywhere but at Miles.

You held a pack of candy in one hand and a bottle of water in the other while your groups spoke behind you as you stepped up to pay. But Miles caught your frustration as you dug into your purse.

“I got you” he stepped in and tapped his phone before you could protest.

“Thanks Miles I’m so sorry, next time it’s on me” you give him a smile as you slide the back into the book of your arm.

And it's then when he realizes how much he's missed you since middle school.

“Nah it’s all good you know I got you” his eyes watch as you fidget with your nails and he can’t help but smirk and gently bump you. “Why you acting shy? Used to hear you all the time in the halls.”

You gawk up at him and smack him in the arm. And he notes how your hand lingers a bit. It’s all the confirmation he needs.

“Morales how dare you! You look annoyed I didn’t want to bother you.. and who said you could get so tall.” You crossed your arms.

“I don’t think you could bother me.” And the way you look up at him is enough to know he’s got you wrapped around his finger just as you do him.

“And no one told you to stink your growth with all that coffee.”

“Hey!”

Before you part ways Miles gets your new number and makes sure to save his into your phone.

You slowly find yourself bleeding back into Miles’ life. Short texts get longer. You’re sending hearts within four months, and Mama Rio knows your special knock when you enter the apartment to wait for Miles. She feeds you when you stay the long nights and Mr.Morales doesn’t want you going home for your safety.

When he comes home from his shifts he would stop you before you were heading out and tells you that you might as well stay the night. He was the same gentle giant you remember from back in middle school and he welcomes you into his home with open arms just as he did before.

He’s always quick to give your pops and mom and text when you do stay the night and they’re more than appreciative.

Miles bought a blanket just for you when you slept over on the couch. It’s fleece, pink and covered in a my melody pattern. He even provides a silk pillow in a matching shade cause he knows you won't sleep with a mix matched set. He pulls it up and tucks it in when he sees you fast asleep coming in from a job, and fixes your bonnet before it slips off.

You go from Y/N in his phone to Mi Tesoro.

You’re leaving lip gloss and lashes on his desk and taking jackets of his with you. He’s walking you to the bus and won’t leave till he sees you on it safely and watches your location till you’re in the house.

You begin to show back up in his sketches but he won’t show you. His sketchbook is intimate and when he does slowly show you his pieces your heart swells up.

You always were done up, but on the days when you weren’t Miles still swore you were beautiful. With lashes and without. With a full face or bare. Nails on and off. You were his whole world.

Miles knew about the dudes you used to mess with. He was smart when he could apply himself and he knew that while the relationships ended in good terms and there was no bad blood you settled. And he wasn’t going to build your relationship with him off of settling.

No, you deserved the world and therefore he was going to give it. Because you have him the same treatment in return with zero hesitation.

So when he’s planning to ask you to be his girl. He goes all out.

After school, as always, he asks if you can come by tonight. You agree but today he wants to go up on the roof and you quickly agree. But when you go up it’s different. It’s illuminated and the trail of candles lead you to your usual spot near the edge. But it’s set up with a blanket and atop it are a bouquet of roses and the large strawberry hello kitty you were raving on the phone about last week.

“I’m not the best with words or my emotions. But I know that I couldn’t let this feeling est me anymore. So I had to draw it.” Miles nods his head and you look up at the brick wall and gasp at the sight of…you. But it’s more ethereal, you want to ask Miles how he did such a beautiful portrait but he’s guiding you to look back at him with misty eyes.

“Be mine, please? My girl, my baby.”

And your hand covers your mouth like the first time but your nodding quickly and throw your arms around him and tuck yourself under his jaw.

“Miles you're lucky I used my good setting spray!” you smack his chest as he pulls you into his chest and guides your lips to his in a gentle peck.

“Sorry love I couldn’t help” he smirks down at you.

“Don’t look at me like that” you pout and push softly against him. And he tilts his hand to look down at you.

“Like what hm? How am I looking at you?” And you rolls your eyes and pull him to plant another kiss to his lips.

Tonight he doesn’t chide you about the residue your gloss leaves behind. He’ll wear it with pride. Tonight and the next days to come.

He wonders if they’ll always be like this. He hopes they are.

Because moments like this are always fleeting.

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Cravings

Summary: Spencer admires Reader while pregnant and in the depths of her cravings.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content warnings: Pregnancy, eating

Word count: 848

Spencer can’t pinpoint when he’s loved you the most. Hearing you groggy over the phone when he was on the jet heading home would’ve been the obvious moment, considering he blurted the three special words out in the middle of you talking about your upcoming work day. You and the team, who also witnessed it, were stunned into silence. But he still spoke to you after, whispering like he was alone the entire time.

Your wedding day would be another appropriate answer. He didn’t tear up as any groom would. No, he cried. His tears collected at the brim but took time to overflow, blurring his view of you gliding down the aisle with thoroughly-planned elegance. He had to block them to gather himself, as one would shield themselves from the sun.

But this moment tugs at his heart: when he opens the front door with the classic, “Honey, I’m home,” and you emerge from the bedroom with a swollen belly hidden under an old sweatshirt. The joy on your face is a moment he won’t forget. Granted, a portion of said joy might be thanks to the greasy bag and styrofoam cup he’s clutching desperately in one hand. Nevertheless, he savors the look and the feeling that must have felt similar to men who graced their families with bountiful hunting results.

Except in this case, the “bountiful hunting results” are chicken tenders with fries, extra honey mustard, and a large hot fudge sundae from your favorite restaurant that happens to be in the middle of nowhere and roughly 30 minutes away. But cravings are cravings, and they’ve been relentless throughout the second trimester. He’ll scope out the specific restaurants, local or corporate, if it makes you happy and appeases the baby girl (hopefully) inside you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” A kiss on the cheek sufficed as you waddled toward the kitchen. You put the sundae in the freezer for now and barely waste time getting a plate and napkins, but it’s less to clean up. And less for Spencer to double-clean later.

Before you sit down, Spencer takes the plate from you, and he swears for a minute he saw motherly instincts kick in.

“You don’t have to eat at the table," he says. “Come on,” he tilts his head toward the couch as he walks, the obvious not mentioned.

“We don’t eat on the couch.” You reply.

He’s still walking.

“You don’t like it. Crumbs, lingering nastiness, and other science-y terms you’ve used.”

He puts the plate on the coffee table. “I’m willing to make exceptions. Plus, with a baby, mess is inevitable.” He leans down, revealing the breakfast tray he bought. You clearly never saw it before. Because the way your open mouth morphed into a smile, he would've thought he unintentionally did magic. He pulled out the small legs. “I figured it’s best to adjust slowly while I still can.”

You walk toward him, your hands resting on your belly. “But this is your couch.”

“In our apartment.” He takes a pillow and fluffs it, setting it against the arm. “Sit.”

You eventually comply. There’s still a look on your face, indicating second-guessing, like you’re somehow doing this without his knowledge. Meanwhile, the breakfast tray is in his hands, and he makes sure you’re settled. You lay across the couch.

Spencer puts down the tray, asking if you want a drink before devouring. You shake your head, eyes staring down at the fatty American dish in front of you. While you begin, he picks a vinyl from your shared collection. The one thing he won’t waver about is the classics.

As in classical music.

As in Mozart. Spencer has noticed your familiarity with the symphonies over the past six months. He loves it, regardless of whether it’s just because he’s insisted you listen to classical after you told him the news.

When the melody flows, Spencer finds a seat on the couch. You slide your feet toward you to make room. As soon as he sits down, he puts your legs in his lap, letting you stretch out again. His lips disappear into his mouth for a minute as he suppresses a giggle.

All the chicken was either swallowed or mush in your mouth and specks of salt littered your lips and hands along with honey mustard drippings. This. Spencer's in love again. As you suck the sauce off your own fingers like it’s the only sustenance you’ve had in days. The comfort he feels here, knowing the woman basically attacking her dinner will be the mother of his child. This is something even his three PhDs are unable to put into words.

“Do you want some help?” Spencer leans over, takes the napkins under the plate, and wipes the corners. You continue chewing, polite enough to keep your mouth closed and manage its volume. “There.” He puts the napkin down. And he looks at you, realizing just how much you've changed his life.

“What?” Your mouth is so full.

“Nothing.”

You swallow almost everything. “Something.”

He shrugs. “I just love you.”

[alxtiny]

Lego Flowers | Park Seonghwa x Reader

Synopsis: where you and Seonghwa celebrate his birthday

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x gn!reader, idol au

Genre: fluff, comfort

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: maybe some sad thoughts

Notes: Posted at 11:17 pm 🥹🥹

masterlist

Seonghwa had been looking forward to his birthday for weeks. He anticipated spending his special day with you, relishing in the joy of having you all to himself. He had celebrated with the boys and other friends before, but this year was special, it was your fifth year together and he wanted it to be just the two of you.

However, as he returned from KCON in Hong Kong, he noticed the lack of mention of his birthday. You talked to him like usual but you never told him about your elaborate plans for his birthday as you did every year. Disappointment clouded his thoughts, he brushed it off at first , thinking perhaps you were planning a surprise for later, but as the time passed and the evening before approached, the absence of any acknowledgment gnawed at him.

With a heavy heart, Seonghwa wondered if your job had consumed you to the point of forgetting his special day. Doubt crept in, clouding his mind as he tried to reason with himself. Maybe you had just been too busy to remember. But deep down, a small voice whispered, "What if she forgot?"

As the night wore on, closer and closer to midnight, Seonghwa found himself at the company with the rest of ATEEZ, talking about old memories and trying to distract himself from the disappointment eating away at his insides.

Then, just as Seonghwa's hope began to fade, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. His heart skipped a beat as he saw your name illuminated on the screen. With trembling fingers, he answered, holding his breath in anticipation.

"Hello?" he spoke, his voice betraying the mix of emotions swirling within him.

"Seonghwa!" your voice rang through the line, sounding excited despite the heavy sleep lacing it. "Happy birthday!"

Relief flooded Seonghwa's senses, washing away the doubts and insecurities that had plagued him throughout the day. A smile spread across his face, genuine and heartfelt, as he listened to your words.

"Thank you," he replied, his voice light with gratitude.

"I wanted to be the first one to wish you, but I fell asleep," you said, yawning as convincing as possible “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you continued before ending the call abruptly, leaving a confused Seonghwa to stare at his phone, as more congratulatory messages popped up.

Finally, at three in the morning, after finishing up the small party at KQ, Seonghwa stepped into his dark, empty apartment, a pang of loneliness tugged at his heart. The lack of warmth irritated him, but the lingering scent of your perfume welcomed him, bringing a small smile to his lips, as he wondered if you were here in his absence. Seeing no point in turning on the lights, Seonghwa took off his shoes and with weary steps, he made his way further inside, his mind filled with thoughts of you and the day that had passed.

Turning away towards his bedroom, he heard a soft melody break through the silence, drawing Seonghwa's attention. His heart rate picked up, as your familiar oice softly singing "Happy Birthday" filled the air, growing louder with each passing moment. Turning slowly, his breath caught in his throat as he laid eyes on you, dressed up prettily in his favourite pink dress.

A gasp escaped his lips as he took in the sight of the cake in your hands, adorned with cute animal crossing characters that mirrored the joy in your eyes. "Surprise," you whispered, your voice filled with warmth and affection, beckoning him to quickly blow out the candles.

With trembling hands, Seonghwa leaned forward, his breath hitching as he extinguished the flickering flames. Darkness enveloped them once more, but this time, it was accompanied by the comforting glow of your presence.

As you turned on the lights, placing the cake delicately on the coffee table, you couldn't help but notice the glistening tears in Seonghwa's eyes. Panic surged within you, propelling you forward to wipe them away, concern etched on your features.

"What's wrong?" you asked softly, your voice laced with worry as you searched his eyes for answers.

Seonghwa's voice wavered as he spoke, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I thought you forgot," he admitted, his words laced with vulnerability.

A surge of guilt washed over you as you realized the impact of your actions, shaking your head gently. "No no I would never," you affirmed, your voice filled with sincerity. "I could never ever let that happen, I’m sorry you felt that way."

You pinched his cheeks lightly, making him crack a smile and nuzzle his face into your hand. Pulling your hand away, you led him to the beautifully decorated dining table, Seonghwa's heart swelled with joy as he took in the beauty of the dining table, adorned with delicate lego flowers that brought a giggle to his lips. The sight of the freshly prepared food, each dish carefully chosen to cater to his tastes, filled him with warmth and gratitude.

As you both sat down to eat, the atmosphere was filled with laughter and conversation, the air tinged with a sense of contentment.

Seonghwa listened intently as you detailed the day out you had planned, animatedly explaining the reason behind each location and inciting excitement within him as his eyes sparkled at the prospect of an entire day with just the two of you. He thought back on the last few days and the wholesome moments he spent with you and the boys. Tears welled up in his eyes once again but they were no longer borne of sadness but of overwhelming happiness and gratitude.

After finishing the delicious meal, you served slices of cake and settled down on the couch together. With gentle hands, you passed him your gift, a painting that you had asked one of your friends to make. It was a wonderfully painted version of a candid picture Hongjoong took of the two of you a few months back, you both wore giddy smiles on your faces, while you looked at each other endearingly.

Seonghwa's breath caught in his throat as he took in the painting, his heart beating hard as he tried to control the surge of emotions he felt in that moment. Along with the painting was a small handmade album, a collection of all the beautiful moments you had shared together in the past year. Not just those but it held pictures that he didn’t even remember being taken, with you, he family and the rest of ATEEZ. The dam overflowed and tears sprung up from his eyes once more. He pulled you close, peppering your face with kisses and mumbling how much he loved you against your soft skin.

"You put so much effort into this," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You shrugged, smiling softly, your eyes sparkling with affection. "I wanted to make sure you felt loved and cherished on your special day."

Seonghwa pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "You've succeeded beyond measure," he said, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered, planting a kiss to your lips, his voice filled with emotion. "For everything. You've made this the best birthday I could ever ask for."

As you nestled against him, Seonghwa knew that there was nowhere else he would rather be than in your arms. In the cosy glow of the living room, with the early hours of morning getting nearer, you stayed curled up together, on the couch basking in the warmth of each other's presence. The hours ticked by, and you didn’t realise when exactly you fell asleep, listening to Seonghwa’s steady heartbeat, but you knew when you’d wake up, you’d be in the arms of your precious angel.

Seonghwa found himself feeling the same; he couldn't express this sense of contentment, he felt, unlike any other. He couldn’t wait for the morning to come, just so he’d be able to spend more time with you and subsequently make new memories for another birthday album to remember.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

Taglist:

[ruewrote]

𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠.

PAIRING: jj maybank x fem!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: just fluff SONG INSPIRATION: i love you baby by frank sinatra WORD COUNT: 341 NOTE: super short but i couldn't stop thinking about this

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you laid on john b's couch, flipping through the pages of the book you were currently reading. mostly engrossed in it, but not enough so you were able to hear jj say his goodnights to kie and pope.

hearing him chuckle as he walked through the front door, you still tried to concentrate on the words that were close to your face, but found it more difficult as you felt his gaze land on you, only looking up when he hovered beside you with a goofy smile on his lips.

no words were exchanged between you, but you knew what he wanted, so you folded the corner of the page that you were on, leaving you where you had finished. placing the book closed beside the two of you on the coffee table.

that's when he climbed on top of you and into your arms, entangling his legs with yours, his head resting against your chest.

"i missed you so much," he mumbled into the fabric of your shirt.

even though you had been together the entire day you knew exactly how he felt. you could also tell after getting back that you were both well beyond tired.

that's when you started running your fingers through his hair, feeling him melt into your touch. a smile appeared on your face, feeling accomplished at being able to make someone special to you so comfortable.

you started humming the melody of frank sinatra's i love you baby continuing to stroke the blonde hairs out of his face, it took little to no time for him to fall asleep to your voice and the buzz of the cicadas outside of the window.

you always felt a little bit uneasy going to sleep at night, the overthinking thoughts echoing loud in your mind, oh but that all stopped when you met jj.

he would protect you with his life, his arms wrapped tighter around you, moving slightly in his sleep as he snuggled into you. he made sure you knew that too.

© ruewrote.

[sweetcherryharry]

lunch

based on the song 'lunch' by billie eilish.

pairing: harry styles x reader

from the first moment i listened to the song i NEEDED to write something based on it. tbh it wasn't edited, so sorry if there are mistakes. hope u enjoy!

(masterlist)

I could eat that girl for lunch Yeah, she dances on my tongue Tastes like she might be the one And I could never get enough

The bustling energy of the party swirled around Harry, a kaleidoscope of laughter, music, and conversations. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on Y/N across the room. She stood amidst a circle of friends, her vibrant laughter ringing out like a melody that cut through the noise.

His eyes traced the elegant curve of her neck, the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, her hands painting vivid pictures in the air.  The way her eyes sparkled with amusement, the genuine joy radiating from her every inch of skin, made his heart quicken.

"I could eat that girl for lunch," he murmured to himself, the phrase echoing a sentiment far deeper than the words implied. It wasn't a physical hunger, but a craving for the essence of her – the wit, the warmth, the intoxicating energy that drew him like a moth to a flame.

The thought of Y/N danced on his tongue, a symphony of flavors that he yearned to savor. She was sunshine and spice, a tantalizing mix of sweetness and intellect that left him wanting more. Each encounter with her, each shared laugh and stolen glance, was a morsel that only fueled his appetite.

As he watched her toss her head back in laughter, a sudden realization struck him. Tastes like she might be the one. The thought resonated within him, a profound truth that he couldn't ignore. It wasn't a fleeting infatuation or a surface-level attraction. It was a soul-deep connection, a recognition that he had stumbled upon something rare and precious.

Their friendship had blossomed over time, a tapestry woven with shared jokes, heartfelt conversations, and unspoken understanding. Yet, from the very first moment their eyes met, Harry knew there was something extraordinary about Y/N. She possessed a magnetism that pulled him in, a captivating aura that left him utterly spellbound.

A slow smile spread across his face, a warmth blooming in his chest. And I could never get enough. The words whispered through his mind, a mantra that encapsulated his desire to delve deeper, to explore every facet of Y/N's being. The thought of spending more time with her, of unraveling the layers of her heart and mind, filled him with an exhilarating sense of anticipation.

I could buy her so much stuff It's a craving, not a crush, huh "Call me when you're there" Said, "I bought you somethin' rare And I left it under 'Claire'"

Harry found himself constantly thinking of ways to make her smile, to surprise her with little gifts and tokens of affection. It wasn't just a fleeting infatuation; his feelings for Y/N had blossomed into something deeper, more profound.

One afternoon, while browsing a vintage market, he stumbled upon a delicate silver locket engraved with intricate floral patterns. It was a piece of exquisite craftsmanship, a rare find that whispered of timeless elegance. He knew instantly that it was meant for Y/N. The locket seemed to embody her essence - delicate yet strong, beautiful yet unassuming.

With a surge of excitement, he purchased the locket and carefully placed it in a velvet-lined box. He imagined Y/N's eyes lighting up as she opened it, the surprise and joy radiating from her face. The thought of her reaction filled him with a warmth that spread through his chest.

He couldn't wait to give it to her, but he wanted the moment to be special, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. So, he decided to leave it at her favorite coffee shop, tucked under the name 'Claire'—a playful code they had developed in the early days of their friendship to protect Y/N's privacy from the ever-present media. It was a secret only they shared, a testament to their unique bond.

Dialing her number, he waited for her to answer, his heart pounding with anticipation.

"Hey, Harry!" Y/N's cheerful voice filled his ear, instantly calming his nerves. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking of you," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of mystery, hoping to pique her curiosity. "And, oh… I might have left you a little something special at our usual spot."

"Really?" Y/N's voice rose with excitement. "What is it?"

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Harry said with a chuckle, enjoying the anticipation in her voice. "Let me know when you get there."

He could practically hear the smile in her voice as she replied, "I'm already on my way!"

As Harry hung up, he couldn't help but grin. The thought of surprising Y/N, of giving her something that reflected his deep affection for her, filled him with a warm glow. This was more than just a crush; it was a craving, one that he knew would never go away.

So now, she's comin' up the stairs So I'm pullin' up a chair And I'm puttin' up my hair

A light knock on his apartment door pulled Harry out of his reverie. A wave of anticipation washed over him as he crossed the room, his heart beating a little faster. He took a deep breath, composing himself before opening the door.

There stood Y/N, her face flushed with excitement, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You wouldn't believe what I just found at the coffee shop," she exclaimed, holding up the velvet box.

"Oh really?" Harry feigned surprise, a playful smirk on his lips. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. "Come in, tell me all about it."

As Y/N walked into the apartment, Harry's eyes followed her every move, admiring the way she effortlessly filled the space with her energy. He felt a surge of warmth and affection, a longing to make this moment perfect for her.

"So," he said, pulling out a chair for her at the small dining table, "what did you find?"

Y/N eagerly opened the box, revealing the delicate silver locket. Her eyes widened with delight as she traced the intricate patterns with her fingertip. "Harry, it's beautiful," she breathed, her voice filled with awe.

"I'm glad you like it," Harry replied, his heart swelling with happiness at her reaction. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile like that, to be the reason behind her joy.

"I love it," Y/N corrected him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's the most thoughtful gift I've ever received."

As she reached for the locket to fasten it around her neck, Harry noticed a few strands of her hair falling loose from her ponytail. Without thinking, he gently tucked them behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. A moment of shared understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions that hung in the air.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he realized that this was more than just friendship, more than a mere crush. It was something deeper, something undeniable. He wanted to be the one to make her smile, to cherish her, to be her safe haven in a chaotic world. And as he gazed into her eyes, he knew that he would do everything in his power to make that happen.

Baby, I think you were made for me Somebody write down the recipe Been tryin' hard not to overeat You're just so sweet

Weeks had passed since the night of the locket, and the once unspoken feelings between Harry and Y/N had evolved into a palpable tension that hung in the air whenever they were together. Their friendship remained strong, but an undercurrent of longing and desire pulsed beneath the surface.

The pair –along with their group of friends– were illuminated by the dim lights of the bar, a lively mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic pulse of music washing over them. Harry leaned against the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, his gaze fixed on Y/N right next to him.  She was close, their knees occasionally brushing against each other, sending sparks of electricity through him.

"Baby, I think you were made for me," Harry finally blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. The alcohol had emboldened him, giving him the courage to voice the sentiment that had been echoing in his mind for months.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. The playful banter on her lips faded as she met his gaze, a flicker of recognition dancing in her eyes.

"Very funny," she retorted, her voice barely a whisper above the din of the bar, though her tone wasn't as lighthearted as her words suggested.

Harry leaned in closer, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Who said anything funny? I didn't." His voice was low and husky, sending a shiver down her spine.

A moment of silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken desires. The music seemed to fade into the background as their world narrowed to just the two of them, their bodies mere inches apart.

"Why would you say that?" Y/N finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. "That I'm made for you —I mean?"

Harry's hand found hers on the bar, his fingers intertwining with hers. He took a deep breath, the warmth of the whiskey emboldening him further. "Because it's true," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think we both know it."

He paused, his thumb gently caressing her hand. "We fit together, Y/N," he continued, his eyes searching hers for a sign of reciprocation. "In a way that I've never experienced with anyone else."

Y/N's heart hammered in her chest. She had felt it too, the undeniable connection that sparked between them every time they were together. The way their laughter intertwined, the way their thoughts seemed to align effortlessly, the way their silences were never uncomfortable but filled with an understanding that transcended words.

"I...I don't know what to say," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But I do understand what you mean– I also feel like you're meant for me."

A wave of relief washed over Harry, his heart swelling with happiness. He squeezed her hand, a silent reassurance that he understood her unspoken feelings. "You don't have to say anything," he whispered back, his eyes filled with love and adoration.

At that moment, words were unnecessary. Their shared gaze spoke volumes, a silent symphony of affection and desire. Harry leaned in, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers in a tentative, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with longing, a culmination of months of unspoken desires and a shared understanding that had deepened with each stolen glance and whispered conversation.

The kiss was electric, sending shivers down their spines. It was a moment of pure bliss, a confirmation of the undeniable connection that had drawn them together from the very beginning. As they pulled apart, their eyes met again, filled with a newfound understanding and a shared secret that only they knew.

"Finally!" one of their friends cheered from across the table, breaking the spell that had momentarily enveloped them.

Harry and Y/N turned towards the sound, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment and a shared secret. A wave of laughter erupted from their drunk group of friends, a joyful celebration of the love that had finally blossomed between them.

I'll run a shower for you like you want Clothеs on the counter for you, try 'em on If I'm allowеd, I'll help you take 'em off Huh

As the night went on, the air between them grew thick with unspoken desire. Every stolen glance, every accidental touch, ignited a spark that threatened to consume them both.

"Stay with me tonight?" Harry whispered, his voice husky with desire as he leaned in closer.

Y/N's eyes met his, a silent question in their depths. A smile tugged at her lips as she nodded, her heart pounding with anticipation.  While she had been to Harry's apartment many times before, it had always been as friends, platonic. This time felt different.

With a final lingering kiss, they reluctantly rose from their seats, their hands intertwined as they made their way towards the exit. The world outside seemed hazy and distant, their focus solely on the promise of intimacy that awaited them in the quiet sanctuary of Harry's apartment.

As they stepped inside, Harry kicked the door closed behind them. He turned to Y/N, and without a word, they melted into each other's embrace. His hands found her waist, pulling her close as his lips met hers in a passionate kiss. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, her body responding to his touch with a fervor that surprised even her.

They moved as one, their kisses growing deeper and more intense as the pent-up desire between them finally found an outlet. The world narrowed down to the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her skin, the sound of their breaths mingling in the quiet apartment.

But as Harry's hands began to roam lower, Y/N gently pulled away, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of desire and hesitation. "Harry," she whispered, her voice breathless, "maybe we should slow down."

He looked into her eyes, understanding dawning on his own. He nodded, a tender smile gracing his lips. "Of course," he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the outline of her lips. "Whatever you want."

The tension in the room shifted, morphing from fiery passion to a gentle intimacy. They stood there for a moment, their foreheads resting against each other, breathing in unison. The unspoken understanding between them deepened, a silent promise of a night filled with love and tenderness, a night where they could explore each other's souls as well as their bodies.

"I'll run a shower for you like you want," he offered, his voice barely a whisper, a gesture of care and intimacy.

Y/N nodded, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of shyness and excitement. The anticipation hung in the air, thick and sweet.

Harry led her to his bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the water temperature to her liking. He laid out a fluffy towel and a set of his clean clothes on the counter, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Clothes on the counter for you, try 'em on," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And if I'm allowed, I'll help you take 'em off."

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. "We'll see," she teased, her eyes locking with his, the air between them crackling with electricity. The night was young, and the possibilities were endless.

She's takin' pictures in the mirror Oh my God, her skin's so clear Tell her, "Bring that over here" You need a seat? I'll volunteer Now she's smilin' ear to ear She's the headlights, I'm the deer

A warm glow from the bathroom light spilled into the hallway, illuminating Y/N as she emerged, wrapped in a towel. Her damp hair curled around her shoulders, her skin luminous in the soft light.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, marveling at her natural beauty. He longed to reach out and touch her, to trace the delicate curve of her skin with his fingertips. 

But more than that, Oh, I just wanna get her off, he thought, the primal urge surging through him like a tidal wave.

Y/N caught his gaze in the mirror, a sultry smile playing on her lips. She let the towel drop, revealing her silhouette against the soft glow. "What do you think?" she purred, her voice husky with invitation.

Harry's eyes darkened with desire. "Come over here," he commanded, his voice low . He patted the edge of the bed, a silent invitation for her to join him.

Y/N walked towards him, her movements slow and deliberate, each step a tantalizing promise. She perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving his.

"Need a seat?" Harry offered, his voice thick with anticipation. "I'll volunteer."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. Y/N's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "I think I'd rather have you."

Harry's smile widened, a predator's gleam in his eyes. "And you shall," he murmured, his hand reaching out to caress the side of her face.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, all pretense vanished. The air crackled with electricity, their connection undeniable. Y/N was the headlights, blinding him with her beauty and allure. And Harry was the deer, caught in her irresistible pull, ready to surrender to the passion that consumed them both.

I've said it all before, but I'll say it again I'm interested in more than just bein' your friend I don't wanna break it, just want it to bend Do you know how to bend?

"I've said it all before in other words, but I'll say it again," Harry began, his voice low and husky, "I'm interested in more than just being your friend."

His eyes searched hers, a hint of vulnerability flickering beneath the desire. "I don't want to break what we have," he continued, his hand cupping her cheek. "I just want it to bend, to evolve into something more."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "Do you know how to bend?" he asked, his voice a soft whisper.

Y/N's heart fluttered in her chest. She knew exactly what he meant. The question wasn't just about physical intimacy; it was about their relationship, their connection, their willingness to take a leap of faith together.

A soft smile bloomed on Y/N's lips, her eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored his own. "I think I do," she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

With a shared look of understanding, their lips met once again, their kiss deeper and more passionate this time. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken truths and a mutual desire to explore the uncharted territory of their relationship.

Harry's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as their bodies melted together. Their kiss was a symphony of longing and desire, a dance of lips and tongues that ignited a fire within them both.

Time seemed to slow down as they explored each other's mouths, savoring the taste of forbidden fruit. Harry's hands roamed over Y/N's back, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened. She felt a sense of liberation, a freedom to express the emotions she had held back for so long.

He knew it was just a hunch, but as he held her in his arms and had her taste dancing on his tongue, he knew just one thing; she is the one.