#Please my heart won't be able to stand the angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coucouatoi · 7 months

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don't want to be alone | h.s.

Pairings: Harry Styles x Reader

Summary: Divorcing the biggest superstar on the planet is the hardest thing you've ever done. Almost as hard as marrying him was.

Warnings: Angst, couples therapy, a little bit of fluff, hopeful ending

A/N: I don't know why I'm feeling so full of angst... but, please enjoy!

Flashback are in italic and present day is normal text

Boxes are littered around the house. Some full and taped shut others still being stuffed with your items. It's a slow and torturous process, having to choose what to take, what to throw out and what things are a conversation waiting to happen "That's a wedding gift from my aunt" or "When have you ever used that?" or even better "I know it was a gift, but I paid for it so i'll keep it". It's like he knows exactly which buttons to press to get the fights started. Granted you might be doing the same thing... But it doesn't make him entitled to all the belongings you've ever shared.

You've managed to find all the picture albums, the ones you decided to make for sentimental value. The ones you gifted him in tender moments. The ones filled with so much love, so much hope and promises for a future together. The ones you're now highly considering throwing into a paper shredder and tossing into the nearest incinerator. The ones you won't be able to get rid of. The anniversary album you gave him on your one year, the wedding album, the honeymoon album, the many travel albums and, of course, your daughter's first album.

Little Anya, barely 9 months old just starting to babble her first words. Chubby legs working so hard to keep her standing and exploring. She can barely take 3 steps one after the other but she's a fighter. Your little girl that is now a cause for argument, no, fights. Custody battles. The true war between yourself and your husband, Harry Styles. Neither of you want to lose or call for a tie, it's not how either of you operate in conflict. That, most likely, is the reason for the downfall of your relationship.

Frustrated you put the albums back where you found them and you head to the kitchen.

Most kitchen items have been packed up, Harry had never really invested in worthwhile cutlery or electronics of any sort. You take some orange juice from the fridge and pour a glass for yourself. The fridge itself is barren, with only the essentials left... neither of you has gone to the groceries in weeks. Today is not going to be a good day.

From the rediscovery of your love-filled albums to the boxes you've spent most of the day doing, you still have one horrible thing to do.

Couples therapy, your first-ever session. You thought, well still think, that this is too far gone to save in therapy. There won't be anything new shared that you haven't already screamed in each other's faces and self-help talks aren't exactly going to do the trick. Anne, Harry's mother, insisted that your marriage doesn't only include two people anymore. Anya makes it worth trying, she is worthy of a stable home as she grows up. No matter how unstable having a superstar parent may be, divorced parents might just add to that an unruly amount. So, you've both agreed to try. Try your very best to reassemble your love no matter how shattered it has become. Love. Love hasn't manifested itself once since about your seventh month of pregnancy. Love has vanished from your husband's once warm and inviting eyes, it no longer lingers on his fingertips and doesn't even creep into the more tender moments you must share with your baby. Love feels like a complete joke to you now.

The waiting room is empty of other clients which is a blessing in disguise. This is the absolute last place you'd want to run into Harries. Even if the media has already been dragging you in the mud for "breaking their dear superstar's heart" and has been making all sorts of claims about you and your marriage. In the very beginning, Harry had spoken up about these articles and had gotten his team to shut some people up but he's been losing care for... well, you.

"Harry and Y/N?" you look up meeting the eyes of who you can only assume is your therapist. Without sparring your husband a glance you get up and follow her into her office. It's cosy and smells like vanilla. There's a yellow glow to the room, it bounces off her multiple frames and decorations. Very nonthreatening, immediately putting you a little more at ease. She gestures for you to take a seat on her velvet green couch and you sit down squeezing yourself onto the left armrest. Harry does the same to the right.

"Good afternoon to you both, I am Trinity Finch. Can I get either of you something to drink before I sit down?" She smiles politely as her eyes shift between both of you. You only shake your head as an answer not trusting your stomach at the moment.

"Water if it's not too much trouble, please" Harry's voice is strained, he had been at the studio all morning probably preparing a new album you aren't aware of.

Trinity nods and quickly grabs a water bottle from a small fridge she's got right behind her desk. Harry mumbles a thank you as she hands it to him. You don't realise that his hands are shaking as you're back to looking around the room. He takes a few big gulps before your therapist gets to sit in her chair.

"Today I would just like to start with a history lesson on your relationship. How it started, all important moments, how parenthood has changed your shared life and just how you two are as a couple" She starts getting things ready around her, notebook, pens, highlighters, some sticky notes and you swear that you spotted some bright childish stickers. Her long manicured nails tap against the glass of her desk a few times as the silence stretches. Neither of you taking the first step in this session. When she looks up again she doesn't look annoyed or surprised by the lack of an answer.

"Harry, how did you meet your wife?" Trinity asks him gently.

Harry seems caught by surprise to have been asked a question directly. He looks at you briefly before turning his eyes back to her.

"Um, we meet on the plane. For some reason, my private plane for that day was not available and they booked me on a regular flight. Premium ended up being full and I got an economy seat. I had the aisle and she had the middle we ended up bonding over our shared movie choice. Then I asked her out and um here we are?" He ends with a question. As if unsure if "here" is a good thing, it's definitely not but meeting has, unfortunately, brought you both here.

"And when was this?" she asks.

"April 2018" he answers quickly. She nods presumably writing it down.

"How was your relationship before marriage Y/N?" she looks at you now with kind eyes. They are big and dark. Staring right into your soul. It makes you slightly uncomfortable but at the same time you don't want her to look away she's your lifeline right now.

"It was very easy. I work remotely as a translator and an editor, so I've always been able to tag along on his travels and tours. He, um, he always insisted that he rather have me with him even if we couldn't see each other every single day. Just knowing I was near helped him..." you sigh. You don't want to shed tears this early into your session. You don't want Harry to see you cry any more than he already has over your lost relationship.

"I really loved following him around the globe" you add, looking down at your lap willing your wet eyes to dry.

"Any fighting? How did you deal with that?" Trinity is still talking to you maybe even sensing that you're about to cry. Is that what she wants from this?

"Well, yeah. I mean all couples fight, right? We fought over the same things all the time really. I wanted more affection I guess pressuring him to take some time away from the spotlight or he wanted me all to himself whenever it worked with him without thinking of my work. Our jobs were the main reason for fighting between us" Besides you, Harry scoffs before taking another sip of water. Your head turns to him

so quickly that a sharp pain forms in the back of your neck. Your posture immediately tightens, muscles locking and your breath gets heavier.

"What? You don't agree?" you question him in a much harsher tone than you were previously using. He meets your gaze and shrugs.

"I do but that's not all we fought over" he shrugs again not looking away. Is he trying to pick a fight right now? Here of all places?

"Then what? What am I missing?" you prepare yourself for the worst. Ready to feel like absolute shit at anything he might say.

"Your constant jealousy was a contender for the most appearances in our fights" his entire expression is accusatory but he does this thing with his posture. Gets all soft and somewhat blazé making you feel inferior and so incredibly small.

You want to storm out. Call Anne to apologise that it couldn't work out and immediately sign the divorce papers that are permanently placed right on your dining table.

Not wanting to fuel this energy taking over him right now you shrug as well before facing Trinity again. She's watching both of you like a hawk, processing the way you react to conflict with each other. Making mental notes as well as some physical ones all while hostility happens between her clients.

"We'll move on from this for now. Harry, how was the wedding? How did married life change your bond?" this seemingly calms his overgrown ego. His face is neutral again but there's a softness to it now, recalling the happy days.

"We had an Italy wedding. We, I love Italy. I flew everyone out, our families and friends, and then we stayed there for a month more for our honeymoon. The wedding itself was... amazing. We kept it small. Intimate. With my life it's always been hard to have that so, it was important to us" he sounds blissful towards the last part. Probably back there now in his mind. Ah, the good old days as they say.

"I don't think married life changed us much. We were living together before that and we'd been planning it since we got together practically" he stops talking again to take another sip of water. You look at the lady in front of you again and as she begins to open her mouth to probably question him more Harry starts talking again.

"I guess tension started about a year in. The media wasn't kind to her. They made up cheating rumours on both sides and manipulated things to make them seem like something else. Someone even showed up at our old house while I was out" he took a deep breath, cracking some of his knuckles at the same time, "We were always on edge around each other. Throwing these rumours at one another just to I don't know, get a reaction? Plus, we were stuck at home because of Covid and my tour was postponed. It was a real shit show" he laughs bitterly and you nod along to what he was saying. That was just a terrible time. For everyone.

"Then I got to go on tour, Y/N didn't follow along for all of it but she was there most of the beginning. It wasn't the same as before. There was this distance that just never got better. And then she got pregnant" he almost sounds exhausted. Maybe he is, you're not sure how much he's slept lately.

Shit. Fuck. This can't be happening now. Shit! The word "Pregnant" seems to be mocking you as you look down at it. Mocking the fact that you and Harry have not seriously spoken in two days and that you're flying back home tomorrow. Mockingly reminding you that this can only make things worse right now.

"Y/N, come on the car is waiting downstairs" your husband's voice is weak through the thick hotel bathroom door. He's performing in Toronto tonight. The second day, the last day before he flies to New York and you go back to London.

You walk out of the bathroom, straight past Harry, not wanting him to read your face and figure out that something is terribly wrong. You slip into your shoes for the night and take a deep breath, no scratch that, a huge breath. Willing your facial expression to cooperate before you turn to him and smile.

"Let's go superstar!" he smiles back and walks over to you. Grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his mouth so he can plant a kiss on the back of it.

"We just might have to cancel tonight if you look this good" his free hand wraps around you tightly glueing you to his body. You know he doesn't mean it but you pretend to consider it nonetheless.

"Mh what about all your adoring fans? Won't they be so utterly crushed?" you tease against his lips. He smiles wickedly before slowly nodding.

"I do have quite the engagement this evening... how about I make it up to you after?" he presses soft kisses to the sides of your face. Framing it.

"That's a pretty good offer, I just might have to tak-"

"HARRY STYLES GET YOUR ASS OUT OF YOUR HOTEL ROOM!!" Jeff's voice is full of annoyance as it cuts you off. Rude.

You laugh before getting pulled out of the room by your husband. The small plastic stick forgotten on the washroom counter for now.

You get a harsh reminder tho when you're back at the hotel after yet another amazing concert. You're laying on the bed completely stretched out and now only dressed in your underwear. Harry's currently using the washroom to try and get some of the remaining glitter off his face when he finds the secret you've kept all evening.

"Y/N, what's this?" his voice is so shaky that you barely even understood what he asked you. However, when you look up your brain catches up. He's in his boxers, left hand in his hair and right hand holding the test like it's made of glass as he looks at it as if it's going to explode. Fuck.

"No chance that you suddenly lost the ability to read?" you try and lighten the suddenly very heavy mood in the room. It fails.

"You're pregnant. How, I mean no I know how. Fuck, you're pregnant" he looks up at you panicked.

"We don't have to keep it" is the first thing out of your mouth. Probably as a panic response to his reaction. Not wanting this to turn into another fight.

"What?! Why wouldn't we, you don't want, I um" he takes a second. He's just breathing heavily while looking at you desperately. "You don't want to keep it?" he breathes out.

"You do?" is all you answer. You stand slowly, finding the clothes you just took off to put them back on. Whatever mood you were in is gone you're now filled with anxiety and a deep fear.

"You leave tomorrow... We won't see each other for what 3 months? In Mexico?" he hasn't moved an inch. Feet seemingly glued to the floor and limbs were frozen.

Pregnancy. One of the worst and best times of your life. Your gorgeous baby girl came out of all the pain you suffered. She gave a new meaning to the way you live, made you forget about all the physical pain you endured and...

"Why do you say it in that way? Like you still dread what the pregnancy brought" Trinity's voice almost startles you. You'd been so lost in your thoughts that you'd almost forgotten where you were.

"I don't! I love Anya" his voice is stern.

"What about your wife? What happened during the pregnancy?" she's digging. Wants to find the right buttons to push.

Harry stammers, but no answer seems to satisfy him. His hands are squeezed under his things, his right leg bouncing and his eyes avoiding either of you.

"We didn't plan her, I was right in the middle of my tour. We, um, we weren't doing very good and she was about to go home" he looks at you suddenly surprising you when he meets your eyes. You can't read him, can't understand what he's feeling. You haven't been able to read him in months.

"She- You, Y/N, she got really sick in February the seven-month mark. I was in Australia and I couldn't be there. It really strained us, we fought all the time over the phone and in person. I guess that's really when we went downhill" his jaw tenses when he looks away from you. Looks like he's not happy to have to have shared this with the room.

"Okay, thank you, Harry. I think now's a great time to take a breather. I'll meet both of you individually when we come back. So, see you both here in 20 minutes?" Trinity smiles at both of you and keeps smiling until you both walk out.

Harry doesn't come back. You wait 45 minutes in Trinity's office looking like an idiot. She dismisses you with a look of pity on her face before scheduling another appointment 5 days later, lots of work to do you assume. You rush out of the building humiliation creeping into every inch of your body. How could he do this on the first day? It was going fairly well, well you think so anyway... did he give up on your relationship right then and there?

As you make your way to your car you see him. Harry is pacing back and forth in front of his car as he seemingly argues on the phone. His free hand waves erratically in front of him, gesturing like mad for someone who can't even see him. So this is what he's been doing? Arguing over the phone while you sat in a therapist's office waiting to try and work on your ever-crumbling marriage. You scoff before turning away from him and to your car. But nothing seems to be on your side today as your husband hears you and immediately calls out to you.

"Y/N! Why are you leaving?" you hear him walk towards you, the clacking of his shoes getting closer to you but you ignore him and walk away faster.

You're completely focused on your black Subaru, the "You're so Golden" sticker catching your eye and making you more pissed off. Something that was put there because you loved the song, because of how beautiful your husband's voice is in the song but now all you want to do is rip it right off. So, that's what you do.

Your nails claw at the edges of it desperately. You don't want any reminders of Harry on your car, you don't want to think of him while putting the groceries away, while walking around the car after putting Anya in her car seat and you don't want to see it in your rearview mirror anymore. The top corner lifts as you're pulling at it giving you the perfect leverage to rip it right off. You throw it to the ground right before turning around to stare daggers into Harry's eyes.

"45 minutes, Harry. I sat there 45 minutes with our therapist looking at me like a beaten dog!" you hiss at him. He is now only about 2 or 3 feet away from you. His eyes are wide, in shock you guess, as he looks at the sticker. "What could you have possibly been doing for more than an hour that made you forget what we were here for?" you're sure you sound desperate right now. Your head is all over the place and your heart feels like it might explode out of your chest.

"An hour? I, no, that couldn't have been more than-"

"You can go back up and ask her if you want because I really really don't want to be around you right now" and now you're crying. Fuck. Why are you crying now? You need to leave.

While rummaging in your bag for your keys Harry grabs your arm. Well maybe not grabs, he just places his hand on you, resting it there delicately. If you weren't so aware of every single inch of your body right now you wouldn't have noticed. No matter how delicate the touch is supposed to be you flinch out of it aggressively.

"I'm, I'm so sorry Y/N. That was my mother, she, fuck" he sighs and runs a hand in his hair gripping it tightly. "She wants us to go up... she's rented a lake house or something I guess" his voice is so soft, shy even.

"Us? You mean you and Anya?" god you hope so.

"I'm so sorry" is all he answers.

Anne Twist is a very difficult woman to say no to. Actually, it's impossible to say no to her. In the many years you've known her, she's always been able to find a way to make you say yes. Always in a good way. She loves you, she has told you that countless times, and you love her but now that you're... the way you are with her son you don't know where you stand. Yet, she has still found a way to get you to agree to something you would have much rather not have gone to. You're in a small townhouse almost 4 hours away from your home in London with your mother-in-law, your daughter and your soon-to-be ex-husband. What has your life come to?

Anya is sitting in her high chair passionately eating banana slices as you watch her. She's already gobbled up the strawberries and pita bread slices she also had for her snack. She's such a good eater always so ready to try new things and taste whatever the adults around her eat. Especially the sweet treats her dad sneaks her.

"Do you want to go take a dip after huh? We should enjoy the water my love" you coo at her as she takes her final bite of food. She smiles at you like she understood what you asked and you chuckle wiping her chubby cheeks and hands. She'll be able to float around in the water for a little bit with you before you put her down for a nap. The steps of your morning are perfectly planned so that you can have your solo Zoom session with Trinity.

There is a small river behind the house you're staying in. The water goes up to just above your breast and it's the perfect warmth at this time of day. You've made your way down to it and are now setting up Anya's towel for when she'll be too tired to entertain you and ready for her mid-day snooze. She's currently lying right by you looking up at the sky with such curiosity, probably trying to figure out what the hell clouds are.

"You're so curious my love!" you shake her gently as you smile widely. "What do you see up there?" as you look up to join her sky-gazing you spot Harry making his way to the river as well. He's only got very short grey swimming trunks on meaning his entire chest, thighs, calves, and arms are out for the whole world to see. Maybe that's an exaggerated statement as you're the only one looking right now. You want to scold yourself for staring, you really really do but he's just so... so captivating and very enjoyable to look at no matter how much you resent him at the moment.

"Mind if I join you ladies?" his voice is more cheerful than when you heard it last. Must be because he's actually speaking to and looking at Anya.

However, when you don't answer his question he looks up at you. Expression now closed off again, how it's always been for the past few months. You smile politely and nod before turning your back to both of them so you can take your robe off. Your swimsuit isn't anything special; simple black one-piece that's high on the hips and low on your back. You think it looks pretty good on you but now you feel very aware of the amount of skin you're showing. You decide to just get in the water hoping its dark colour hides you. Hides away the skin your husband might be looking at.

"Looks like mummy is in a hurry, we should join her. What do you think sweetheart?" Harry picks your baby up and makes his way into the water. He holds her tightly to his chest as he climbs in, just in case he slips on the stones he uses as stairs. Once your daughter's chubby limbs meet the water her mouth forms into an adorable "O" shape. It's the second time Anya's been in the water now so she must still be unsure about this feeling. Harry turns her so that her front faces you and her back is against him. She smiles when she spots you reaching her arms out quickly which splashes some water around. She looks at you with a shocked expression and does it again with a giggle now.

"You little troublemaker! Trying to splash me!" you tease her sending some water her way. She answers with a sweet giggle and shakes her arms around as fast as she possibly can.

"Mh, my jokester gene is strong in her" Harry's voice is laced with pride. You playfully roll your eyes at him and hum affirmatively.

"And her love for singing too" you add remembering so many moments where she hums to any song playing. Her favourite thing to do is to harmonise with her father. His deep voice always gets her attention, always gets her to mumble and hum along with her own lyrics.

"Oh yes, she's the next big thing this one" he affirms kissing the top of her small head affectionately.

It's in moments like these that you tend to forget how bad it is between you. How many horrible things you've shouted at each other not caring how deep your words could cut. The accusations, the insults, the taunts and even the lies still weigh heavy on both of you. You like these softer moments, where you're reminded of how much love you both had for each other. Have? Had? You don't know anything about your feelings anymore, they are much too complicated to understand...

All three of you stay in the river for about an hour more before Anya starts yawning and fussing. When you exit the water you're quick to slip your robe back on still overly aware. Harry wraps the fluffy towel you had gotten ready around your baby. Her head rests in the crook of his neck, her eyelids already heavy as she blinks slowly. You all walk back to the house together silently. Might it be to keep the sleepy baby calm or to keep the peaceful aura around you and your husband, you don't know.

Harry insists that he will put the sleepy girl to bed and that you should take a shower first. After all, you have the first private sessions with your therapist. The mention of her does make the air in the townhouse tense again but Anne appears immediately to kiss Anya before she naps. You use that moment to sneak into your shared room with Harry. Luckily, it has two single beds so you don't have to share with him.

Signing deeply you rid yourself of the now damp robe you had on. Another blessing in disguise, this room has an en suite bathroom so you'll be able to jump right into the shower. Before that you do want to set up your laptop for the video call, you want to be as ready as you possibly can be. You grab your device from your backpack and make your way to the small desk in the corner of the room. There's a bunch of papers scattered around it, one glance at them and you immediately know what they are.

Lyrics. Drafts of songs and melodies written by your rockstar husband. You don't mean to read any of the words you really don't but as soon as you spot your name at the top of one of the pages you're doomed. You put your laptop down on Harry's bed which is right next to the desk and reach for that exact paper.

The words you read are full of longing, pain, sadness and fear. They mourn love, they are mourning your love. You pick up another sheet of paper, this one has no title but there are so many lines written. This one is reeks of self-hatred, of shame and guilt... it shakes the weak barriers you've built around your heart. All of the lyrics you read on different papers revolve around the same emotions. These are all about your relationship. About the death of it. About his desire to turn around. You don't realise you're crying until a tear falls onto the paper you hold. The ink bleeds into itself where it's been wet blurring the words slightly. You quickly wipe your face and put the papers down. You shouldn't be looking at these, you're invading his privacy.

"Thought you were showering" Harry's voice startles you out of the chair. You meet the floor with a loud thud. Your tear-filled eyes meet his sharp ones. Scrambling up to your feet you grab your laptop ready to explain, ready to apologise over and over again.

"At least tell me what you think" he sighs walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. This shocks you. What does he mean? He, he's not mad? Isn't disappointed that you invaded his creative space? Your mouth opens and closes a few times unsure what you should answer.

"I'm sorry" is all you're able to get out. Your brain is blank in absolute fear but tears keep falling from your eyes.

"I should be apologising... you, you weren't supposed to see those" he walks in your direction slowly, testing the waters of how close you'll let him get. He's closer than arm's reach when you flinch backwards slightly and he stops immediately.

"I was going to ask you for your permission before making any of those full songs but you know music is how I cope" he whispers now that he's so close to you. Silence takes over the room again, stretching out for too long. Your eyes somehow keep producing tears as you try and speak. Hopelessly searching for words to say.

"Do you really miss us? You miss me?" is what you come up with, your voice is so shaky that you're on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably.

This shocks Harry in place, seemingly not prepared for that kind of questioning from you. His mouth gapes and his eyes grow wide. This time you do see his hands start shaking. You're not entirely sure what this emotion is.

"Of course I do. Did you not think so?" while still whispering he reaches out to hold you but stops himself hands falling at his sides.

"Yo- Harry, you asked for the divorce. How was I supposed to know you miss me?" your voice breaks. You don't understand, why is this happening now, why is he saying these things?

"We should just get a divorce" Harry snaps at you as he fights back tears. Your expression immediately closes up, your body reacting before your thoughts and words do. Protecting you from what he just said, building walls around you and your heart as quickly as possible.

"Fine" you spit out as you turn away from him and walk straight out of your bedroom. If that's what he wants then so be it. You won't beg for anything now that he's made his decision.

"I know, okay? I know that I asked for it and that it's the reason why you don't talk to me anymore. Well, you do but not really" he sighs and sits down on his bed, damn swim trunks wetting the bed "We talk about Anya and when we're not we are yelling at each other... so when was I supposed to tell you that I missed you? That I regretted asking for the divorce..." he looks at you with a guilty expression, all his emotions are coming up at once.

"Why did you ask for it?" you ask him sitting back on the desk chair with your laptop still in your hands.

"I got in my head. You were saying we should take some time for ourselves maybe live apart... with everything that kept being said about us, I got so scared" he takes your laptop out of your grip and puts it down next to him.

"I thought you were going to fight me on it..." he adds as he grabs your hands tenderly. Like he's afraid you'll break.

You shake your head in disbelief not sure what to say. Your thoughts are all over the place, what should you make of this?

"It broke my heart" When did his face get so close to yours? You should really move away. You can't fall back into him, you can't let yourself do that. So you pull away from him roughly, your hands tugging out of his hold, face moving to the side, a sob making its way out of you as your back meets the chair-back.

When you meet Harry's eyes you can see the pain, the hurt, in them. They are brimming with tears that are so close to spilling out.

"Are we... are we too broken?" his voice has dropped to a whisper. He sounds so sad and scared.

"I'm worried" You take in a few breaths before you speak again, "What if we just end up hurting each other again? What if we can't go back?" you choke out the last few words. Tears spill endlessly out of your eyes and sobs rack your entire body.

It feels like you're running out of air and the little bits you get in are painful. Your eyes burn as you cry and your hands are shaking like crazy.

Harry might be answering or trying to communicate but nothing is making its way past your meltdown. What does make it through is the feeling of his arms around you. Him pulling you against his chest tightly, immediately rubbing your back as soothingly as he can. Your hands are grabbing his still bare skin desperately, wanting to anchor yourself in any way you can. Your face rests on his peck, right above his heart, the frantic beating bouncing around your head.

"Breathe, you have to breathe love" he speaks delicately in your ear, breaking through the barrier your body has put up.

"I'm- I'm, I can't... Harry I can't" your clawing at him almost trying to get under his skin, someplace you might be able to understand everything that's going through his mind.

He wiggles around a little before laying you both down as he keeps reassuring and encouraging you. He drags you on top of him your face now pressed up against the juncture of his neck. Your left-hand makes its way into his hair, pulling at it as softly as you can manage. Harry's hands run up and down your back, your arms, and your neck and he even pets your hair delicately. He's always known how to best calm you down... how to bring you back down to earth and out of the panic attacks you sometimes get when you're overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry" he repeats that over and over with a pained desperation. Harry's scared shitless too. He doesn't know how things will go with your relationship. He can't guarantee that you won't end up actually wanting a divorce one day... But he can love you. He has and will keep loving you. He hopes it'll be enough to save your marriage. He'll work incredibly hard every single day to prove his love for you... if you let him back in he won't ever let you go. He'll leave it all up to you. Your little family is all he needs, he'll spend the rest of his life proving that to you if that's what it takes.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fic

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pomefioredove · 5 months

Note

i crave angst and hurt/comfort/fluff maybe something like that with vil? maybe reader gets hurt pretty badly or something and vil gets upset?? hehe angsty scenarios>>

on my hands and knees rn... vil... save me vil...

summary: anger is an ugly emotion type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty..... mentions of bullying/abuse etc?? very open ended you can interpret that how you please, GOD this is indulgent

Anger is an ugly emotion.

So much is true even for Vil Schoenheit. If you asked him, there is nothing more undignified than losing your composure in front of others, especially those under your care.

No, Vil keeps such emotions to himself. If he feels the need to get a point across, or to settle a conflict, he will do so with grace and dignity. He won't even break a nail.

This is different.

This is seeing you turn away from him with tears in your eyes, and feeling as if the very world itself is crashing down around him.

He cannot stand it.

He cannot stand seeing you like this.

It shakes him to his very core. You've had bad days, evenings where you come crawling into Pomefiore looking as if the world had chewed you up and spit you back out at his feet, and he's tended to it.

He's combed your hair, cleaned the dirt out from under you nails, bandaged your paper cuts with a sort of gentleness he doesn't even reserve for himself, made you look new and whole again.

Vil can't help with this.

It drives him mad. It makes him feel like he's stuck inside his own ribcage with nothing but the sound of his beating heart, trapped in a flurry of confusion and anxiety.

He wishes you would just talk about it. It would make everything so much easier if you would let him help.

But he won't pressure you. He couldn't bring himself to. And, quite frankly, if he knew even the slightest detail about whomever had been making you feel this way, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop himself from finding them and mincing them to shreds.

As they deserved.

But Vil is not one to rush into anything. He is patient, cordial, taking his sweet time to understand a problem from all angles before enacting a solution.

And so, he doesn't ask.

He holds your chin between his delicate fingers and dabs at the corners of your eyes, hoping to brush away your misery along with your tears.

You sniffle. It's not a pretty sight- you're certainly no graceful crier.

He couldn't care less.

The only thing that Vil can think of now is how only one measly person could be your undoing.

After everything you've been through without even breaking a sweat, all it took were a few too-familiar words to melt you into a pool of bad memories and misery at his feet.

Sevens help whichever poor fool had done this to you.

"Now, now. That's alright," he coos, wiping your cheeks just as a new barrage of tears runs down them. "Don't worry about a thing."

You just barely manage to choke out a response. "I'm sorry, this is- this is embarrassing,"

"Nonsense. You have nothing to feel bad for. I promise I won't utter a word of this to the others,"

He cups your face in his palms, giving you a moment to compose yourself.

"Deep breaths," he instructs. "Seven seconds in, hold it, for just a moment, and then seven seconds out. There. Excellent job."

It's quiet. The sound of sobs and his own heart pounding seem to fade into quiet breaths shared between the both of you.

"Good," he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs. A repetitive, soothing motion. "How do you feel?"

"Guilty," you say. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

"You've ruined nothing. You're very important to me, you know. I would never want you to think I'm too busy for you," he offers a smile. "Now, how do you feel?"

You're quiet for a moment, likely mulling over his words. Your voice is softer when you reply. "Tired,"

"Oh... you poor thing. I can't have you dead on your feet tomorrow, now, can I?"

You shake your head.

He stands, pulling you up with him. "Come along, then. Let's get you to bed. I'll help,"

He begins guiding you away from the couch you'd spent the better half of the evening sobbing on. You respond in a quiet voice.

"Vil?"

"Mm? Yes?"

"You promise you won't say anything about this to the others?"

A look of utter softness crosses his face at your request, and he smiles again. "My lips are sealed,"

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #lalala #queued

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mariahcarreyyy · 7 months

Note

Hi!!! I absolutely adore your writing!!! Could I please request prompt number 8 from the angst dialogue list for Charles Leclerc? Thank you!!!

# prompt no.8, "what do you want from me? to throw away all i've worked for?" // "all i'm asking for is your time."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Change was something you did not lightly graze over or dismiss with a nonchalant wave of your hand. It slowly seeped inside the cracks of your monaco apartment walls, finding solace in your discomfort. But once even a portion of it was there, there was no denying its presence.

Not when the dent of Charles' curves is no longer easy to trace; yours was everpresent, wallowing and growing familiar with the ache in your bones every time you'd wake up to an cold, empty bed.

Not when, despite being allocated time off from work, Charles had let his job consume him. Nipping at his heart and head, wrapped in a frantic worry of not living up to his potential. Lately, it was as if it held greater priority than the peace you'd once been able to bring him.

He's slouched on his chair, fingers tightly wrapped around the wheel of the simulator; his movements are jerky yet cautious, risky, yet he is all but willing. Standing at the burgundy doorframe, you felt like you'd regressed to the age of a toddler—thrashing in your father's hold, begging for an ounce of attention, of care.

"Charles?"

The word drifts away, following the breeze of the opened window, swirling in the starry night sky. He does not answer. That's fine, nothing new. Your lips part to the shape of his name again, timid and picking dutifully at your fingertips. An exhasperated huff escapes his mouth, latching on to the side of his headphones and not-so-lightly placing them on the table.

With gritted teeth and a slight crane to his neck, barely allowing you to enter his peripheral vision, he mutters, "Yes, y/n?"

"Dinner's ready," you house your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting patiently for the dismissive 'not hungry right now' that would roll off his tongue in mere moments.

And Charles does not fail you or your expectations. He motions a hand to his simulator, sending you a pitiful excuse of a sorry smile that makes your palms furl into fists.

"Charles, I said—"

"I know what you said, mon amour," he sighs, and the pet name feels foreign on his tongue and bitter to your ears. "'Can't leave the sim."

Any shame you have left dwindles next to your bruised ego and non-existent dignity.

"One dinner, Charles, 'won't even take twenty minutes out of your day." Your voice is small, directed towards the back of his head, satisfaction pricking at your heart when his hands freeze, sending him crashing through the virtual track.

Desperate, do you even care anymore?

Abruptly, he stands up, arms extended on the table, to steady himself. The shift in atmosphere made you gnaw at your lip harder, and the metallic crimson made you wince. Your feet are glued to the floor.

Charles turns, standing up right to face you. He looks normal, you realize. You've been trying to figure out how to breathewithout him near you, and he looks normal.

"What do you want from me? To throw away all I've worked for?" He raises a predatory brow, malice dripping from his tongue. "Eat, y/n. I'll probably order something later, but I'm not wasting my time with—with."

He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

With you, is left unspoken.

"All I'm asking for is your time." You meet his hard stare and refrain from cowering at the sight. "But it's obvious you don't give a fuck to at least give me that."

You don't run, but you'd never walked so frantically out of a room before. A small part of you is waiting for Charles to scurry behind you, shouting a 'wait! wait, y/n!'. Which would probably not grant him immediate forgiveness but perhaps warm the shivers coursing through your body.

He doesn't.

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hannieween · 6 months

Text

after dark | city lights series | h.js

It all started with a deal with your next door neighbor, Joshua Hong. A little harmless deal that surprisingly led you to finding love; and a part of yourself that you were still discovering.

✮ pairings: joshua hong x female reader ✮ genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+) ✮ aus: rock singer joshua, boyfriend joshua, ldr ✮ word count: 16.4k

›🎧: habit – i.m | chi-ka – tabber ft. dean | singularity – v ♡ | restless – bibi | smoke sprite – so!yoon! ft. rm ♡

→ previous chapters

› nsfw tags under the cut

✮ warnings: alcohol consumption (no dubcon), smut with plot, obnoxiously long sex scene, hard dom joshua, brat reader, reader is on the pill, foul language, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, messy cumplay, body worshipping, jealousy, oral sex (m, f), multiple orgasms, manhandling, a bit of degradation kink, brat taming: pussy slaps, overstimming and crymaxing; aftercare, pet names: sweetheart, princess, baby, bunny (hers) handsome, baby, babe, baby boy (his)

✮ this is loosely proofread, i could've waited patiently for the brilliant @cvntrlseecvntrlvee to proofread this for me but i am, you guess it, impatient. haha sorry my sweet vee. i love u 🩵

✮ this chapter is for @beckyloveshannie, happy birthday, baby 🩵🥰

✮ a/n: the obnoxiously long sex scene is for me. it's a self indulgent thing, i won't apologize for how fucking long it is. you suffer with me kekekekek

✮ a/n 2: also, stick around for the announcement in the final author's note!! •⩊•

✮ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part viii — part two

The flight that was supposed to be short ended up extending over two hours in the air because of a weather issue. By the time you reached the airport you felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

You felt like you had failed the main purpose of going to visit Joshua. Which, in reality, wasn't your sole intention of visiting him. Mainly, you just missed him so bad it made your heart ache. The second intention was to try and make him clear his schedule for your book release party.

However Joshua couldn't do that. He didn't say why, he just said he was not going to be able to attend.

You tried to see reason within that. Joshua was extremely busy these days, recording session after recording session, meetings, networking, shows, you name it.

But, he said in the past that he wanted to be there with you on the day of the release. And you couldn't help but think that there was no way that he changed his mind in the span of a few weeks. Was recording more important than his words to you?

Again, you tried to give Joshua the benefit of the doubt.

Among all of the people coming and going in the vast space of the airport, you spotted a black haired man, wearing a bright pink sweatshirt, pacing back and forth before deciding to sit down on a bench, phone in hand, the screen so bright it illuminated his whole face.

"Mr. Yoon?" you called faking an overtly sweet voice.

He winced at the sound in surprise and lifted his brown eyes to you. "Oh, grandmaaa," he chuckled, standing up to wrap you in an asphyxiating hug, bringing a hand to your head, running his knuckles on your scalp.

"Jeonghan, stop it," you whined.

"I've been calling you, ever heard of picking up the phone when it rings?" he muttered through gritted teeth, pulling away from you almost aggressively.

"I just landed, Jeonghan. I didn't take my phone off airplane mode," you muttered with some annoyance but couldn't fight the smile that crept on your face when you saw his. "Stop it with the grandma thing."

"Don't tell me what to do," he scoffed, putting a hand on the crown of your head to ruffle your hair. "Come on, hurry, or your present's gonna die from suffocation in the car," he added with a low chuckle.

"My what?" you gasped but he immediately turned to the direction of the sliding doors of the airport. "Jeonghan!"

You had to hop quicker to catch his step. "You know for someone who's recently recovering from an ankle injury, you sure are fast," you said with a tired gasp.

"I'm not fast, you're slow," he muttered, turning to give you a look. "It comes with old age."

"Can you stop with that?!" you whined and felt more irritated when he just snorted with a laugh. "I'm younger than you."

"You might be on paper, but not in spirit," he lifted his pointer finger as if lecturing. "Did you tell your boyfriend you arrived safe?"

Your heart skipped. "Oh, I forgot," you muttered and got your phone from your tote bag.

"It's affecting your memory now," he tutted, getting the key to his black BMW M3 and unlocked the door for you, opening before stating: "And please don't sit on your gift."

"Oh, what is it?" you peaked inside the car before climbing into it. There was a large paper bag on the passenger seat. "Is it this?"

You lifted the paper bag with some reluctance as you slid onto the seat. Before you could turn around and look at Jeonghan, he was already closing the door to his car and going around it.

"Very funny," you muttered with a scoff, opening the bag to receive the smell of fries. "You said my gift was alive."

"I mean it had to be alive at some point," he pointed with a shrug.

"I thought I was going to find a pet or something like that," you muttered. "I hate your pranks."

"If you want that, I can get you a bunny," he nodded at you "Or a goldfish, so it doesn't run away."

"Someone hasn't watched Finding Nemo," you said in a mocking singsong tone.

"Pretty sure that's a clownfish, you clown," he let out a chortle and pointed at the bag with his nose. "I got you your burger."

"Oh! Thank you, Jeongjeong," you cooed happily, grabbing a fry but before you could stuff it in your mouth, it was quickly snatched away by his lithe fingers. "Hey!"

He cackled, chewing the stolen fry as his devious laugh filled your ears. "Put your seatbelt on," he started the car and immediately drove off the parking lot and into the road.

The click from the seatbelt resounded between the two of you, since you were busy munching on fries.

"I assumed you'd be hungry" you heard Jeonghan say calmly now, he maintained his eyes on the road.

"Yeah, I am. Thank you Hannie. Want a fry?" you offered.

"Please," he sighed, leaning to your side as you put a fry in his mouth. "You should try the burger, it's really good."

You nodded, though he didn't catch that. His eyes didn't leave the road until he heard the rustling noise of the paper bag as you took the burger with your hands, unwrapping it to sink a bite in.

"But not in my car!" he protested loudly, sending quick looks at you.

"You smoke in my apartment, I'll eat in your car," you quipped and laughed when you saw his jaw nearly dislocate.

"Those two are not equivalent!" he said with a look of disbelief.

"I decide they are," you said matter of factly, showing him a slight smile as you munched on the burger.

"You little–" he cut himself off with a laugh but he settled back on his seat with a small: "Brat."

You froze for a second, getting an odd feeling. Like an unsettling chill crawling down your spine. But Jeonghan was back with his eyes set on the road, paying no mind to what your reaction was.

"Oh, I forgot to tell Joshua that I'm with you," you muttered, trying to mask the alarming jolt in your stomach.

"Did you ask him about next Friday?" he pried, when he looked at you his eyes drifted to the fry you were holding in front of your mouth.

Jeonghan parted his mouth as you stuffed the fry in his mouth.

"He said he won't be able to make it," you muttered, trying to mask the pain constricting the tone of your voice, but it was too late.

Your heart deflated.

"Mmn," he hummed with some understanding. "Did he say why?"

"Nope."

You finished typing the text and sent it to your boyfriend, locking your phone to concentrate on the big burger that looked huge in your hands.

"This is really big, Hannie," you muttered innocently before taking another bite with a pleased groan.

"Yeah, they all say that," he said with a brief chuckle.

You nearly choked on your food. "Jeonghan!" you squealed, making him laugh harder. "You're gross."

"As if you didn't know me already," he scoffed and you told on his need to change the subject when he grabbed his vape pen from the cup holder as he asked: "So how was it? Were you able to tell him what was bothering you?"

"Uh, yeah," you frowned. "About that."

"Fuck me," he groaned, his arms going slack but his hands were still gripping the wheel. "You didn't tell him?"

"I was... busy," you muttered shyly and looked away. "We talked about other things, but I never got around telling him about my... insecurities."

The car came to a stop in the parking lot of the building and Jeonghan turned the engine off, a hand immediately reaching inside the paper bag to grab some fries.

"And how do you feel now?" his eyebrows lifted slightly.

"I feel like crap," you let out a sigh, trying to mask all of your emotions but the weight was too much, making you drop your gaze to your lap. "And now he's not going to be here when I release my book and it makes me question whether I want a stupid party or not because I know I'll feel bummed."

"Why? No! I'm already scouting a place for the party," he shook his head, grabbing more fries.

Your heart sank a little. "You are doing what?" you asked with a tiny voice.

"I'm looking for a nice place where you can have your party," he shrugged. "I think I found something, but I'm negotiating with the owner so we can have an enclosed section of the restaurant."

"Jeonghan you shouldn't have!" you muttered, your tone quivering with emotion.

"I'm not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. It's your boyfriend's instruction," he looked around aimlessly. "He might not be there, but he is putting the black card."

"You're joking," you scoffed. "Tell me you're joking."

"My jokes are funny," he tutted. "This is not a joke."

"Jeonghan," you said firmly, your head tilting to one side.

"I'm being serious!" he smiled the way he did when he knew he was getting in trouble. "He wants you to have a nice party for your big day."

"A party he's not attending!" you whined and your eyes brimmed with tears almost instantly and you had to look away in shame.

"You're not doing this for your boyfriend, you know that," he reprimanded. "Now quit being a sorry ass and eat."

You pouted and looked at your burger.

"What?" Jeonghan chuckled at the sad expression on your face. "What, why are you doing that face? Please eat that or I will."

At that, you raised the burger and took another large bite, the tears that had gathered in the corner of your eyes ran down your cheeks.

Jeonghan threw you a reproachful look, but a slow and awkward smile drew on his face. "You're unbelievable," he snickered, bringing the vape and tucked it between his lips, drawing a big intake.

"And you're mean," you retorted. "You're not a good friend."

"Now you're just making shit up," he laughed.

"I am," you smiled sheepishly, taking another bite from your burger. "Mmnph this has bacon in it," you delighted with big tears in your eyes.

"Yes, princess, it has bacon in it," he muttered aloofly, unlocking his phone and typing something quick.

"How did you know I liked bacon?"

"Everyone likes bacon," he rolled his eyes and sent you a look again.l "You told me you liked bacon."

"I did?" you squeaked out, mouth full of food.

"You were drunk," he muttered, still looking at his phone.

"Mmn," you hummed, pausing for some thought. "I've been doing that quite a lot."

"What, forgetting things?" he raised his head. "Yeah, that's normal in old people like you."

"Jeonghan, no!" you whined in frustration. "I mean, getting drunk."

"Please," he brushed off. "You get drunk two weekends in a row and start getting worried. You should loosen up more, grandma."

"What do you mean?" you asked in a high-pitched whine.

"I mean... you read too much into things," he dropped his phone between his thighs. "Relax. Don't worry about meaningless things. Eat."

"Pfft," you laughed. "Wow, that's great advice, Jeonghan."

"Yeah, it's not my best one," he looked out the window, biting the tip of his thumb. "Listen, I just don't like to see you like this, okay?"

"How?" you inquired, thinking that he might list emotions he saw on your face. Sad, disappointed, deflated.

"Insecure," he replied with a tone of obviousness. "It makes you irrational. That's why you can't sleep. That's why you turn to alcohol."

You swallowed, uncertain as to how to proceed with this conversation. It seemed hard to believe that in such a short time, Jeonghan has learned how to read you perfectly.

"I'm working on it," you replied with a small pout.

"I know," he replied with a warmth coating his tone, the understanding mirroring in his gaze. "But you're not canceling this."

You breathed out through your nose while you munched on your food. The only sound you heard beside you was the raspy intake of Jeonghan's vape.

"God, I've so many things to do," you said, leaning your head back on the headrest. "I don't even know where to start."

"Do you need help?" he asked promptly. "I can help if I can."

"Thank you, Jeonghan but," you sighed with some frustration. "It's stuff only I can do."

"Let me keep you company, then," he said with a reassuring smile. "Unless you want to be alone and you're too shy to tell me."

You looked into his kind eyes for a second, but it was long enough to make you feel an exhilarating jolt deep in your gut. You looked again, feeling a bit flustered and nodded to him.

"Company is okay."

Jeonghan helped you carry one of the boxes full of freshly printed and packed books and you carried another. He looked excited as you both made your way up to your apartment.

"I haven't read your books yet," he commented, weighing the heavy box in his arms. "Makes me feel excited."

"Uhm," you choked out. "Yeah... about that."

"What?" he raised his eyes at you. The elevator came to a stop and you hurried yourself out and to your apartment door.

"You don't know what I write?" you asked as you opened the door and let your friend in, who looked avidly interested in your books upon seeing your reaction.

"Should I?" he asked curiously.

"Joshua didn't tell you?"

"He just told me that you're a writer, that's it," he cocked his head to one side. "Was he supposed to tell me?"

"No, not at all just," you breathed out, putting the box on the round dining table.

"Why don't you just cut to the point?" he asked, sounding a little annoyed now and with a low grunt, he placed the box on the table too. "That shit is heavy. For someone your size, you carried it like it was nothing."

"The difference between you and me, is that I go to the gym so I can sleep," you huffed, feigning some pride but your joke was broken by your own embarrassed laugh.

"Yeah, whatever, grandma," he nodded with a playful smile plastered on his face. "I've heard your knees crack everytime you get up, so shut up."

"You shut up!" you whined like a child.

"Tell me what your books are about," he retorted while pushing the sleeves of his pink hoodie up to his elbows.

"Vampires," you muttered, but your tone fell flat.

"Tsk. I know that," he said, making his way to the kitchen and freely opening the door of your fridge, pulling out a bottle of soju and a can, which he left one day he stopped by. To keep you company as well.

"Can I get one?" you asked, nodding to the bottle of soju.

Jeonghan stopped, his eyes zeroing on your face and nodded. "You got it," he muttered, deciding not to make a comment about your newer alcoholic tendencies.

You went to your study to get your pencil case, coming back to Jeonghan sitting down on the dining table, popping the can of beer open with eyes on his phone screen, that were dragged to your frame when you entered within his line of vision.

"Do you want to watch TV while I do this?" you offered meekly when his eyes darted down your frame swiftly.

"I was thinking of watching you do whatever it is you have to do," he shrugged, leaning back on the chair, knees spread wide.

"Uhm, okay," you replied, sitting on the chair next to him. "You're going to grow bored."

"That's what the booze is for," he replied, pouring some soju on the pair of glasses, and then poured a bit of beer. His fingers moved the glass in circle motions on top of the table and then lifted the glass to you. "Drink."

"Thank you, Hannie," you whispered, taking the glass and holding it for him to clink together.

"Cheers," he said before drinking up. "Now, about your book..."

"Ah," you nervously opened one of the boxes.

The cover was pretty. Prettier than you ever expected one of your books to look like. Even when you were up all night writing the book, you never got to imagine it would sport a jacket so pretty.

You got a permanent marker from your pencil case and opened the book, to swiftly scribble your author's signature, plus a dedication note that read:

To Jeongjeong. Thank you for being the greatest friend and blessing I never knew I needed.

You closed the book and slided it across the table to his hand.

"What?" he asked, completely clueless, opened the book and quickly read the signature. His bright, sweet eyes lit up as he looked at you. "Aw, princess, thank you."

He turned the page over, his eyes reading over the book dedication, the one that the world would see. Your heart dropped, knowing what his eyes were reading, his expression changed a bit but then he immediately closed it.

"So, tell me what this is about," he insisted, trying to change the subject. "Go on, I'm not gonna read it right now."

"The book is about vampires, magic. It has a lot of blood, drama... and sex," you cleared your throat shamefully and drank from your glass deeply. "A lot of it."

A moment dragged on, Jeonghan kept the features of his face in check, but then he broke with a wheezing laughter.

"Don't laugh at me," you whined.

"Sorry, sorry," he recovered with a sniff and then drank from his own glass.

You narrowed your eyes and blurted out: "You knew."

"Of course I knew. Joshuji told me what his involvement in the making of your book was," he sent a cheeky look at you.

"Oh," you gulped. "He did? Why... when?"

"Before you guys got serious he... uh," he dropped his gaze, seemingly deep in thought for a second and then he shook his head. "I shouldn't be telling you this, anyway but he told me about you so, it's fair game."

"What are you talking about, Hannie?" you frowned, a deep remorseful feeling settling in your stomach.

"One night I got a call to come pick him up at Cheol's bar. When I got there, he was completely gone," he sighed and looked upwards to the ceiling, much as if he were uncomfortable by the predicament of being both Joshua's friend and now yours. "You had uh... you guys had a fight, or at least he told me you were taking some time to think about what you wanted."

"Hold on, when was this?" you inquired, your heart sank upon hearing this, and desperately wanted to pinpoint the time when this had taken place.

"I don't know, a month ago? Maybe. I know you guys weren't serious yet. I took him into my car, he was crying like a baby, telling me that he fucked up, that he ruined everything with you, blablabla," he rambled, only pausing to drink from his glass, emptying it completely and then started to refill it.

"Jeonghan, stop," you raised a hand. "Slowly, please."

He sighed again, adding a little grunt in the process. "The next day, he woke up in my apartment, hungover as fuck, he almost didn't know where he was, he didn't even remember being at Cheol's bar," he leaned back on the chair again, crossing his arms over his chest. "He told me everything about you because I wouldn't let him go without him explaining what got him like that."

"Did he..." you inhaled deeply. "Did he tell you why we fought?"

"Yeah, he told me," he whispered, nodding with his head and then he smiled at you. "He told me a lot of things. He told me more about you. And I asked him why you guys got into a no strings attached thing in the first place and he told me he was helping you write some scenes for your book."

You had to look away from him for a moment, squeezing your eyes shut to the image running in your mind, causing you a deep pain that sunk into your chest.

"God," you gasped. Your eyes brimmed with tears when you opened them again.

"Look, I know you wanted a fun, snarky response from me but... I'm telling you all of this because I want you to know, he loves you," he placed a hand on the crown of your haid, ruffling your hair in the process. "He's just dumb when it comes to showing it."

"He never told me all of this," you whispered, wiping a tear from your eye with the back of your hand.

"Of course he didn't," he said, shrugging off. "He probably didn't want you to know that he cried in my car, drunk off his ass."

You leaned your head to one side, sniffing loudly. "I've hurt him so much..." you sobbed, your voice was a mere whine.

"And he has hurt you."

He grabbed his glass and downed its contents in one go. He looked at you, chin raised, heavy lidded eyes now from the alcohol working fast in his system.

"But that's what you're getting for when you're in a relationship, right?" he asked, stretching his arms over his head. "Ups and downs."

"Right," you mumbled with some thought, feeling your gaze lose focus in the wall behind Jeonghan.

"Well, we were signing books, weren't we?" he said abruptly,

You scoffed, grabbed another book and opened its lap to sign the first page while Jeonghan watched you carefully.

"Do you have another marker in here?" he asked, rummaging in your pencil case and pulling out another black marker. "Nice."

"Jeonghan, what–," you blurted out, watching him take a new book, opening the first page and replicating your author's signature nearly to the point. "The fuck?"

"Yeah, I'm not proud about this," he muttered as he put another book in front of him on the table. "But it's coming in handy right now, isn't it?"

You smiled, the sound coming from your lips drew his eyes to your face. "Yeah, knock yourself off, you little humbug."

"Hehe."

The week went by slowly again. Slower than before, it felt like.

You continued to be on top of your work, trying to channel those days when you kept yourself so busy to even think about Joshua, back when he lived thirty seconds away from you.

So your days would look like this: wake up, tend to your needs, turn your computer on, get as much work done without dwelling on the fact that your boyfriend was far away, probably in a city you'd never been before.

Sometimes, he would have the time to call you; and you would talk for a good chunk of time. Sometimes, he wouldn't even return your texts, being so that he didn't have the time and when he did you were already asleep.

The biggest challenge for you was going to bed. But that was almost routine for you. Rolling in your bed, or trying to hold onto the pillow that no longer held the scent of your boyfriend's hair.

When the day of the book release rolled around, you lied in your bed, staring at the ceiling until your alarm beeped. You reached out to stop the annoying sound alarm from your phone and sighed, hoping that the day ahead of you wasn't as bleak as your sleepless night.

But maybe you were just being too much of a pessimist.

You hit off the day by checking your email, texts and such. Apparently your book was one of the most anticipated releases for the Fantasy genre, and the pre-release had also been a success. So you just checked if everything was going alright, not caring to see anything about reviews or anything pertaining to the reception just yet.

So you kept yourself busy towards the time when you had to start to get ready for the party later in the night. Your normal day to day tasks were only interrupted by a call from the smart doorbell ringing.

You approached the small screen and were promptly notified that someone had sent you flowers.

"Come on in," you replied politely and granted them access to the elevator.

The delivery service man was at your door in less than two minutes. The flower bouquet was arranged already in a pretty ceramic vase, a light pink bow wrapped around it, safekeeping a card.

You gently placed the vase in the middle of your dining table. Already knowing the one person who would send you flowers. But you took a moment before opening the envelope to see how pretty the bouquet was.

It was an assortment of all types of flowers and colors, white, yellow, pink, and blue. Then you grabbed the small envelope tucked beneath the bow.

Congratulations, baby! I wish I could be there to give you these in person. But I guess I can give you more flowers every day to make up for it, right?

I am proud of you, bunny. I love you and I miss you every second.

[19:32 PM] you: thank you for the flowers, Josh. I loved them 🥰

You waited for a few seconds in hopes that he would appear online, to receive a text back, a call, anything. But his last message was an I love you, bunny, that he sent more than twenty four hours ago.

Releasing a sigh, you decided to give up your phone, since you had been obsessing over it since Joshua left and it was causing you so much mental stress that you thought you would break soon.

Besides, you would have to be ready soon. Jeonghan had offered to come pick you up himself. More like he just instructed you to be ready, not giving you a chance to pass it up for mere politeness.

But Jeonghan had become your friend, he was no longer just Joshua's friend.

Standing in front of the long mirror, you debated whether to change your dress into a two-piece suit, thinking it might be more in line with the nature of the celebration. But the dress fitted you well, it hugged you in all the right ways. The color of the fabric complimented your skin and the length came just above your knees, legs covered by stockings too.

With a sigh, you grabbed your high heels and went to open the door.

Jeonghan stood there, hand raised in a fist and a startled look in his eye. "How did you know I was already here?"

"Takes me about a minute to get here from the lobby and you just rang the doorbell, so," you replied with a dark and gloomy air about you. "So, let's go."

"Wait," he muttered softly, blocking your way. "Fix your attitude first."

"What?" you grimaced. But he only crossed his arms on his chest, tilting his head to one side. "Jeonghan, I just want to get over this."

His eyebrows pushed up. "This?" he hissed, now looking more serious with a low tone, adding: "This is your party, celebrating your accomplishment. Quit being so hung up on Joshua not being here. This is your night. Come on, let's go."

"Fine," you huffed, following him down the hallway and into the elevator. "I'm so getting drunk tonight."

"Tsk, ah you're so dramatic," he replied, rubbing one eye with the tips of his fingers. "But if it makes you feel better I am in the mood for a drink. Or two."

"It does make me feel better," you muttered awkwardly after the reproachful look Jeonghan gave you, then you feel your face contort into a smile. "You can get really feisty."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," he muttered and broke into a chuckle himself.

"What," you blurted and his laugh became louder. "And I'm old? You're the one saying the grandpa stuff!"

"It's your influence," he finished chuckling, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I gotta stop hanging out with you."

"And deprive yourself of good company?" you mumbled under a breath, chest swelling with pride when you could see him choke on his words, a perplexed look on his face was the last thing you saw as you walked out of the elevator.

"Ah, they learn so fast," Jeonghan said with a long sigh, his tone rising in a sing-song manner as he closed the door to his car, you sitting on the passenger seat, smoothing out the skirt of your pretty dress.

The launch party was meant to be a small gathering between friends. Since you were an anonymous author, there was no point in having a public party or in a big library with readers so this party was just to celebrate the launch.

When Jeonghan pulled up at the drive in, the car doors were opened for both of you and you stepped out to a restaurant. The front was adorned with bamboo trees and low warm lighting.

"Hold on," Jeonghan called from behind you, and you noticed that he looked somewhat jittery, sucking in a breath through his teeth. "Do you think I'm still walking funny?"

You gasped at him in exasperation. "Stop trying to distract me, Jeonghan," you whined, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, you still have a limp, but nobody is going to notice. Now can we go inside?"

"Wait, no," he laughed uncomfortably, motioning you over with a hand. "Come here."

"What?" you asked, your face dropping when you saw the serious look on his face.

Jeonghan appeared to be struggling with the tiny brooch clasped on one side of his silk shirt. "I didn't know what to get you… you don't strike me as someone who likes presents," Jeonghan began to explain, casting a meek look at your face. "And after all, you're the first writer I've ever known to publish a book."

You laughed, and rolled your eyes at his bad joke. "What is it?" you asked with excitedness now as his lithe fingers approached you.

"Can I?" he motioned to the chest of your pretty dress and waited until you nodded at him.

It was a dainty gold brooch in the shape of a dragonfly. As you ran your fingers over its small wings, you felt the small stones embedded in them.

"It's supposed to symbolize good luck," he said with a hint of nervousness.

"Thank you. I love it, Jeongjeong," you showed him a smile.

The wind picked up a little, tousling his long black hair; the fringe tangled his eyelashes and made him blink repeatedly, making you giggle. He mirrored your smile and for an instant you thought you saw something change in his eyes.

But he took a step back, pleased with the view of his gift on you, which he placed on one side of your chest.

"Yeah, it's nothing. You don't have to thank me," he brushed off, putting his hand back into his pocket. "Let's go inside.

The section that was reserved for the party was a bar area secluded at the back of the restaurant. As you approached it, being led by Jeonghan walking in front of you, eyeing you every two seconds as if confirming you hadn't run away.

"Okay, are you ready?" he said, stopping before a sliding bamboo door.

"Yeah," you replied, but your tone was full of uncertainty.

"Just put on your best smile, pretend that all of this is a surprise," he coached you just before sliding the door open, doing a half bow and his arm pointing you inside the small bar area section.

You were instantly received with a loud welcome, some of your friends were there, cheering, clapping. It totally threw a blazing hot blush on your face, but you were quick to act surprised and overly cheerful.

Your best friend, Yena, came running to you to wrap you in a hug that almost had you stumbling backwards. She laughed and bounced grabbing your hands, her joy contagious.

"You made it, you made it, you made it," she chirped with a bright smile, but her pretty eyes dimmed upon reading your face expertly. "Are you not happy? What happened?" she asked and immediately knew: "It's him, right? He's not coming."

But before you could even open your mouth to utter a word, a glass of champagne was slided onto your hand. Jeonghan appeared from behind you, handing you the glass with a meaningful look in his eye.

"Come on, have a drink," he instructed and pressed his lips into a smile at Yena in a polite manner.

You immediately downed the glass in three big gulps.

"Oh, okay," Yena narrowed her eyes, understanding the situation. "We're not talking about it, right."

The room was elegant. The walls were painted a dark color, but the warm lights shone beautifully on the pictures hanging on them, also casting shadows on the high tables.

You assumed that the area was intended for parties such as this. It seemed like an extended part of the restaurant, except it was closed off to the general consumers.

The thing about having a party to celebrate something for yourself was that you had to be the center of attention. Luckily, a lot of your guests wanted to talk about your book, about the process of writing it, about how good it was that it was out, and about making numbers.

There were one or two people from the press, sent by your agency to answer some basic questions for publicity pieces and the like. They didn't take your picture, of course, as that would defeat the purpose of anonymity.

All you had to do was have a smile on your face, be polite, be friendly, but something was off. And you didn't want to think about it, but your fingers itched to grab your phone and check if there were any messages from Joshua.

"Okay, we have like one more hour to go," Jeonghan told you, probably reading in your demeanor that you ached to go home.

"What am I going to do in one more hour?" you said insufferably.

"I don't know, I've never been to a book release party," he shrugged.

"What do you do on opening nights of plays you've directed?" you asked him.

"You mean on closing nights," he corrected, pursing his lips cutely. "It's different because a play is more like a team project. I usually just thank the people that helped me make it happen."

"I don't want to make a speech," you quickly said, seeing the little glint in his eye. "I have nothing prepared."

"You'll figure it out," he muttered before turning to the room and clearing his throat loudly.

Jeonghan grabbed two glasses of champagne, gave you one and then gave you a small encouraging smile.

"Hi, everyone," you started, a chirpy nervousness quivering your tone. You cleared your throat and once you got enough eyes on you, continued. "I just wanted to thank you all for coming, and for sharing this night with me."

You looked to the man standing by your side. Jeonghan's lips were pressed in a smile, he nodded at you and placed a lithe, delicate hand on your lower back, as if giving you his support.

"I uh, refrained from doing this party, feeling like my obligation as a writer was done the minute the first copies were printed but, that's not true," you breathed out shakily. "You're all here because you've helped me throughout this process, even with things you're aware of, or things like just being a good friend to me."

You briefly looked at Jeonghan again, his smile had fallen, but his sweet eyes locked on yours.

"I have to thank Jeonghan here, whom without none of us would be here, because I don't know how to throw a party," you heard some muffle laughter, and continued anyway. "I wouldn't have done this without you, Jeongjeong."

Jeonghan dropped his hand from your lower back, blinked slowly at you, the ghost of a smile painting his pink lips.

"How was it?" you asked nervously afterwards, feeling your limbs trembling slightly, a side effect from speaking in front of a crowd.

"You're good with words. It's almost like it's your job," Jeonghan replied, his soft brown eyes lighting up when he saw you smile and heard you laugh.

"Please," you stammered a little.

"I'm being honest," he shrugged. "You know I can be honest sometimes."

"Mmn," you pushed your lower lip outwards, narrowing your eyes at him. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well," he pondered for a second, drawing in a slow breath. "I'm always honest to you, princess."

"Why do I find that more suspicious?" you jibed at him.

He tore his eyes from your face with an embarrassed smile. "Shut up," he scoffed, raising his glass up to you and you drank with him, hearing some people clinking glasses together, some people cheering and a very distinct voice calling your name,

"Congratulations, bunny."

You instantly turned to see your boyfriend, standing behind you, so close that you just took one step to him, his arms wrapping around your body, hugging you tightly.

Your mind instantly began reeling, a thrill of both excitement and frustration coursed through you, bubbling inside your chest. "How... what are you doing here?" you gasped, holding onto him. "I thought you weren't going to make it..."

Joshua kissed your head while he hugged you, his hands rubbing up and down your back until he heard you sob. He pulled back and cupped your face with his hands, looking at your eyes with a soft expression in his face.

"And miss your big day?" he asked, leaning closer to press a tender kiss on your lips. "Wouldn't dream of it."

All the words you've been meaning to tell him coiled in your throat again. The painful thoughts made you recoil, thinking that it was best to tell him in private. So you returned the soft kiss, pressing your lips on his lower lip, feeling his small smile.

"Thank you for being here, Josh," you whispered, pulling back to take a look at his face.

The bags under his dark beautiful eyes denoted not only a long and exhausting day but weeks of hard work and no rest in between. He even looked a little pale under the warm glow of the lamps on top of both of you.

You suddenly wished you could feel bad for him, for all the accumulated remorse, frustration and sadness of him leaving, for his lack of communication, for making you feel neglected, even if he didn't intend to do so.

Joshua pressed his lips, nodding at you with a knowing look when he understood the discontent on your reaction.

"We'll talk later, okay?" you mumbled, giving him a squeeze on his arm.

"Okay," he replied, his eyes drifting from your face and falling on a figure standing beside you. A tired smile drew on your boyfriend's face as he approached his best friend. "Hannie."

They exchanged a quick hug and Joshua thanked him for helping throw the party for you. With a pang of concern, you wondered then if Joshua had heard your brief speech before he decided to approach you.

Joshua let out a sharp exhale, pulling out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. "I have to take this," he told you, planting a kiss on your forehead and excusing himself out of the room.

You followed him with your eyes until you lost sight of him, releasing a sigh of your own, coming to grips with what was happening, you turned to Jeonghan.

"Did you know?" you demanded.

He pushed his eyebrows up. "Know what?"

"That he was coming!" you gasped, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to the whole exchange.

"Of course not," he leaned his head back, eyeing you with a hint of reproach. "I would've told you. You know that."

You caught the certainty in his eyes. You knew that Jeonghan was a crafty liar, but he has shown you that no matter what, he has your back.

"Why do you look like that?" he muttered discreetly.

"Like what?" you mumbled with a tiny voice.

"You're doing that thing with your face when you're about to cry. Oh no–," he muttered quickly and then, his whole stance changed, he took a step closer to you, as if shielding you from the eyes of your guests when you took a sharp intake of breath, your sob resounding loudly.

"Princess, don't cry right now," he said gently, stretching an arm to reach for a napkin on the table behind you and passing it to you.

"I'm so mad at him," you whispered, lowering your head so you could easily hide your tears.

"I don't understand. You wanted him here, you cried for days because he wasn't coming and now that he is here, you're mad at him?" he muttered hurriedly, and you looked up to see his frown.

"He didn't tell me he was going to be here," you sniffed quietly, using the napkin to carefully gather your tears without ruining your makeup completely.

"That doesn't help me understand," he gave you an awkward smile, darting a look up and then back at you. "Listen, he's coming back. You can go to the washroom behind me, or you can confront him now."

You rolled your eyes, seeing the triumphant smirk stretching on his lips, because he knew what you'd choose. "Screw you, Jeonghan."

"I'll cover you. Go," he nodded back to the hallway behind him.

You swiftly walked down the hallway and towards the door of the washroom. Luckily your quick argument with Jeonghan got you heated enough that you composed yourself from the rageful fit towards your boyfriend.

So you just made sure that the makeup you used in your eyes and your lashes hadn't run. Looking in the mirror for any signs that you had cried at your own party and when you were certain enough, you walked back to the table.

Joshua was already there, having a lively conversation with Jeonghan. Your boyfriend's face lit up when he saw you, it was an attentive look he gave you, extending a hand at you as you made your way to his side, and he quickly secured an arm around your waist.

"Everything alright, bunny?" he asked.

"Joshua," you gasped, looking at Jeonghan who was witnessing your pet name being thrown around freely.

"What?" he chuckled, his smile drawing lines on the corner of his eyes.

"Don't call me that in front of people," you whined with a high pitch tone that would instantly send a warm rush of blood to your face.

"Why? You're embarrassed of what Jeonghan would think of it, baby?" he teased and you smashed a hand against his shoulder playfully.

"Yes!" you replied in an obvious tone.

"Don't worry, baby. You can trust that Hannie won't judge," he said, casting a glance to his best friend.

You suddenly felt like you were missing something. Looking at Jeonghan who just smiled at you playfully while your boyfriend appeared to be mirroring his smirk.

"Still, it makes me feel embarrassed," you muttered quietly but it was too late now.

Jeonghan chuckled at the expression on your face, mocking you a bit like he usually does. "While you two lovebirds are tearing at each other, I have to go get something arranged," he said, swiftly making his way to talk to someone from the staff.

You awkwardly turned to see your boyfriend, who broke into a shameless laugh. "Joshua, you can't be calling me bunny in front of Jeonghan."

"Why not?" he asked, shrugging off with some ease. "He calls you princess."

"You," you choked. "You know that?"

Joshua drew in a breath, chest swelling as he nodded with his head. "Yeah, I know that," he replied shortly. "I heard him."

"I thought it was a normal thing for him," you frowned, feeling a little confused.

"It's not," he breathed out, bringing up a hand to pinch your chin gingerly. "We'll talk about it later, okay?"

"Are you sure?" you blurted, reading the features of his face desperately. "I do-don't want you to think that–"

"Baby," he whispered, shaking his head slightly. "We'll talk about it later."

You decided to let that matter rest then, thinking that it was best to start by what was more important to you.

"We need to talk about many things," you said, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know," he tilted your head back using his hand on your chin, to gently press a kiss on your lips. "Let's enjoy tonight? I have something for you."

Joshua drew a small box from the pocket of his jacket. It was a black velvet box that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. Your heart almost gave out as he used his other hand to open it, and your hand flew to your chest.

But it was a dainty necklace, a heart locket made of gold. Heart racing, you looked up at his doe eyes, which were smiling softly upon seeing your reaction.

"Do you like it, baby?"

"Yeah," you breathed. "It's beautiful, Josh."

"Turn around," he motioned you over so he could clasp it around your neck. You pulled your hair back to give him access to your neck and placed the necklace around it. You reached for the delicate heart locket with your fingers, feeling something engraved into it.

At that moment, Jeonghan returned with a smile on his face that told you he was up to something. "The cake is here! Finally."

"What cake?!" you gasped, your heart sinking to your stomach when he pulled out his phone and started recording your face.

"Should we sing happy birthday? After all it's your book's birthday," he teased with a mischievous grin and called, "Everyone!"

Then as if on cue, everyone around you, your guests, your friends, your boyfriend behind you started chanting a happy birthday song as a big cake in the shape of your book, was neatly placed in the high top table in front of you.

You smiled when you noticed that the art of the cake was an exact replica of the cover of your book.

As the chorus continued on, you tried to keep a smile on your face, although the blush had started to create a tingling sensation on your cheeks now from the embarrassment and from being the only center of attention.

Jeonghan smiled broadly at you, keeping the camera of his phone steady on your face. He seemed content with his work, with all of the things he planned for this night.

A warm hand parked on your lower back. Joshua gave you a reassuring smile, singing along with all of your guests and friends until the song came to its end. You almost died of embarrassment. But you smiled back at your boyfriend and tried your best to enjoy the rest of the night.

The ride back home was quiet. You didn't mind this until a large and warm hand landed on top of your thigh, squishing your skin over the fabric of your stockings.

It was a squeeze that demanded attention, a look, a word, anything. Though you continued to look out the window, a wave of remorse eating you from the inside.

You fought the need to say something, but being so that the painful thoughts plagued your mind, the best choice was to keep quiet until you got home.

Still, you slid a hand on top of his.

You burned to tell him everything that kept you awake at night, you needed him to know what you felt during the days of his radio silence.

"Is everything okay, baby?" Joshua asked, following you out of the elevator and down the hallway to your door. "You've been very quiet."

The more you thought of an answer, the angrier you felt. You bit on the inside of your cheek as you opened the door for him. The twist in your stomach tightening as you crossed the living room, discarding his leather jacket on the chair placed in one corner of your bedroom.

You had no idea if he was still close behind you, the buzzing in your ears worsening as the first hiccup came.

"Baby, tell me what's wrong," you heard him say, a hint of concern lacing his sweet tone.

"You–," you choked on a sob, turning to see his face, the face you wanted to see for days. "You made me believe you weren't coming! To what end? To surprise me?"

You saw Joshua's mouth parting as he searched for words and just as he was about to start explaining himself, your rage made you spurt out words out of your mouth, tears rolling down your cheeks.

"Do you know how fucking bad I felt the whole time?" you demanded, turning away from him when you saw his face contort into a sad frown. "I thought you didn't care enough to be here, do you know how fucked up is that?"

You were standing in front of your dresser, pretending to take off your earrings but the silence from him was killing you, so you turned around again to see him.

Joshua looked at you cautiously for a second, his throat bobbing as it seemed that he too choked on his own words. "I didn't want to give you any false hope by telling you I'd be here when I wasn't sure myself," he said with a low tone, giving you a guilty look. "I tried to get as much work done as possible so I could come see you."

You sniffed, standing with your shoulders drawn back, feeling yourself guarding up again. "Why didn't you at least say something today?" you uttered, tasting the saltiness of your tears that fell on the corners of your lips.

"I've been working from six in the morning," he said, cocking his head to one side. "And then I was on another flight, exhausted so I fell asleep."

"That's a bad excuse, Joshua," you reprimanded with ire blinding you now, taking your high heels to toss them on one corner of your closet.

"All day I've been checking my phone to see if I get anything from you, do you know how that feels?" you were raising your voice now, from the bottled up emotions, the stress and frustration from today.

"Yes. I do, actually."

Joshua looked upwards, releasing a sigh that made his shoulders go slack. He looked like he hated this, to fight with you. He looked the same way he did that night when you both got angry at each other on the rooftop.

You trapped your lower lip between your teeth in an attempt to stop it from quivering and looked away from your boyfriend's face.

"I'm sorry," he said, now looking at you again, sorrow in his eyes as he took a cautious step towards you. "I'm so sorry, baby. I tried to get here as a surprise, yes. But I just couldn't leave without getting work done first and that delayed everything. I couldn't get to your party on time and I'm sorry for it."

As soon as his arms wrapped around you, you hid your face on the crook of his neck. With a strangled sob, you got the scent of his musky cologne, the very distinct smell of his skin as you clung to the white t-shirt he was wearing.

"I'm sorry too," you whispered.

"Sh, it's okay. It's okay," he shushed repeatedly, grabbing your face with his hands and leaned to look in your eyes, face to face. "You have nothing to apologize for, baby. This is on me, I fucked up and I am sorry."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you," you sobbed and quieted down when he pressed his forehead against yours.

"It's okay, it's okay" he replied, swallowing hard. "Yell at me, swear at me, but talk to me, baby. Don't keep it to yourself."

"I was so mad," you mumbled, grabbing his wrists with your hands.

Joshua pulled back, giving you space to breathe. You saw the remorse in his face, his eyebrows knitting together, his big eyes following your mouth and your eyes as you continued to shed tears.

"I thought that you didn't care to be here," you confessed with a tiny hiccup.

"I'm sorry baby, that was the least of my intentions," he replied softly, but you could see the trouble it caused him to hear you say that. "Believe me, I tried to get to your party on time."

"I believe you, Josh," you replied, feeling like you could start crying again. "But I just wish you'd let me know earlier."

A deep frown appeared on his face. "I never wanted to make you feel bad, baby."

Before you could hold rein to your actions, your head tilted, your heart already giving into the big brown eyes that were pleading for you to forgive him.

"I told you that next time I wouldn't be too forgiving," you reminded him, your tone coated with a gentleness that signified your resignation over your anger.

Joshua's gaze softened, lifting a hand to caress your cheek with his long and delicate fingers. "I know, baby. I'm so sorry" he sighed in relief when you suddenly wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Just..." you whispered, pulling back slightly, hands encircling his neck lightly. "Kiss me."

He looked unsure for a second. As if he wanted to say more, but quickly obliged to your request, seeing that you were seeking something more than an exchange of words. You needed him.

His hand found your chin, grabbing you gently as he leaned closer, swallowing hard before pressing his lips on yours. Your hands cupped the back of his head, urging him to kiss you deeper, harder.

"Baby," he grunted in your mouth. "Don't you think we need to talk more about this?"

"No," you brushed off immediately, using your hands to press on the back of his head, crushing your mouth on his.

But even if he was returning the kiss, you didn't feel him there. You could almost hear his mind reeling.

"Please, Joshua," you sobbed, something so desperate in you that your voice quivered. "Please, baby, just kiss me."

"We need to talk," he responded. "We've been going around in circles with this. We can't solve this by having sex. You know that."

"What are you talking about?" you pulled back, retrieving your hands from his nape.

He looked at you in disbelief for a second. "I know something's wrong," he frowned. "I've known you long enough to notice when you're deflecting."

"Josh," you sighed.

"Baby, you promised," he insisted, his big eyes reading your face.

"What do you want me to say?" you blurted, digging your grave further.

"What's going on?" he asked gently.

Your heart crushed at the look he gave you. Like a lost puppy, trying to chase you, you tried to ignore the sound of his voice breaking a little.

"It's nothing," you whispered. "I've been a little bummed about you leaving—no, not leaving. I just wish you reached out to me more frequently. We talked about this last time! You've been ignoring me and I feel hurt over that."

"I don't do it on purpose," he said with a tired sigh, but he looked guilty. "I try to get all of your messages but the truth is... I'm tired."

Your heart deflated, but you quickly understood that he wasn't talking about you, or your relationship. Joshua meant his life, his career taking off faster than he or you could comprehend.

"Everything is happening so fast, I feel like I haven't had time to breathe," he said with a strangled tone. "I'm sorry, baby. I never meant for you to be affected by this. By me."

You reached out to hold his hand, making his big eyes look back to you. "Why didn't you tell me?" you asked softly.

"I don't want to burden you, bunny," he muttered, squeezing your hand. "But I realize now that it was better to tell you. None of this would've happened if I had."

You used your free hand to push his hair back from his face. "I should've told you sooner too."

The corners of his lips rose slightly. "I guess we're both learning about this, right?"

"I guess we are," you whispered.

"C'mere," he mouthed, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, one arm around your waist and the other across your back, his hand reaching the back of your head.

His kiss was tender at first, his lips brushing yours softly, his tongue caressing your lower lip, once, twice until you moaned helplessly. Then the kiss deepened, demanding more from each other, your breath hitched as his mouth crushed into yours, tongues meeting with hunger.

Your hands searched for the hem of his white t-shirt, pulling it up clumsily.

Joshua pulled back from the kiss, yanking his t-shirt from his body in one movement and tossed it to one side blindly. Then you heard him inhale sharply when your hands ran over his toned pecs, to his lats, feeling the hard muscle, his soft skin.

You kissed his mouth, his cheek, a hand caressing his long hair as you moved to kiss his eyelids, standing on your tiptoes to reach him.

Joshua laughed softly, his hands squeezing your waist with urge. "Sit back, baby," he pushed you to the edge of your bed.

You obediently did so, but hooked your fingers on the belt of his jeans, pulling him towards you. You heard a gasp that resembled the sound he makes when he smiles.

"Oh," he blurted. "Baby, slow down."

You were placing open mouthed kisses on his tummy, a soft moan escaped you when you caught the familiar taste of his skin. Your hands caressed him as your kisses trailed up his pecs, licking one nipple first.

"Mmn," he hummed softly, his hand cupping the side of your head when your teeth grazed the underside of his pectoral, playfully landing more kisses around the sensitive area of his darkened bud.

You took your time doing the same exploration on the other side of his chest. The tip of your tongue lapping on his nipple, tasting his skin, the scent of his cologne.

You suckled on his skin harshly, hearing a soft grunt reverberating on the chest you were leaving marks on.

"Lie back, sweetheart," he urged when you detached your mouth from his beautiful skin, now marked with reddened spots.

You crawled on the bed, watching him follow you, pressing one knee after the other, looking at you with a gaze darkened with lust and love.

Joshua pressed his body against yours, trapped now between him and your mattress. He resumed kissing you deeply, his hand crept from your face, down to your neck, caressing your shoulder, searching for your hand to lace his fingers with yours.

"Joshua," you mumbled into his mouth as he gave you shallow kisses, moaning softly in your lips. "Baby."

"Mm?" he responded, kissing your mouth as if he wanted to melt into you.

"I want you to do something for me," you said, your breath catching when he flipped your body and his on the bed, so now you were straddling him. Some of the seams of the skirt of your dress ripped, and you pulled it upwards, uncovering up to your butt.

"Anything," he breathed, the pads of his pointer and middle finger grazing your cheek, holding you still as he placed feathery kisses on your lips.

You pulled back slightly, looking at the beautiful features of his face. "This is going to sound crazy."

The soft lines between his eyebrows showed when he frowned ever so slightly. "What?" he asked, his eyes reading your every expression.

You fidgeted with the long strands of his hair, looking for the words to express what you wanted without sounding ridiculous.

"Do you want to take control, baby?" he guessed, moving his head to one side while reading your face with his eyes. "Is that what you want?"

"No, no," you giggled a bit from how far off his idea was from yours. "It's quite the opposite really..." you brushed the studded piercing with your thumb, making his eyelids flutter.

"Tell me what you want, bunny," he whispered.

"I want you to be... hard on me, Josh," you asked, positioning your knees firmly on the bed to press your crotch on the hard bulge beneath his pants.

A low grunt coiled in his throat, his hands sliding down your body to grasp your hips. "Why?" he grunted, his frown not relaxing.

"I just want it," you pressed down again, moving your crotch against his hardened cock, the seam of his jeans rubbing against the sensitive bud of your cunt. "Please?"

"Mmn," he hummed seemingly pondering over your request, his hand came up to hold your chin, pressing open mouthed kisses on your lips. "Don't you want me to spoil you tonight, baby?"

"You can spoil me by being a little mean to me," you teased, a grin appearing on your lips, which he kissed right away.

"That's something I never thought you'd say, baby," he admitted with a breathy chuckle that you felt in your mouth.

"Please, Josh?" you pleaded, putting on your best puppy eyes.

"Do you think you deserve it, baby?" he asked, his voice merely a rasp.

You took some consideration over his words and then nodded slowly, mouthing, "Yeah, I do."

"Have you been bad, sweetheart?" his tone had recovered, now waking with the usual tone he uses when he's domming you.

"Yeah, I think I have been," you responded with a sweet tone of your own.

His pretty pouty lips stretched in a small smirk. "Mmn, my baby was bad while I was away?" he purred, his dark eyes glimmering under the soft lights of your bedroom lamps.

"Maybe a little," you replied cheekily.

"A little?" he toyed, giggling a little. "If you were only a little, I don't see why I should go hard on you."

"Mm, because I want you to," you replied, pouting at him now. "Come on, baby. I can take it."

He appeared to be considering your proposition, weighing in your words, the look on your face, the determination he probably saw in you and with a final booping of your nose with the tip of his finger he nodded.

"Anything that you don't like, anything you feel wrong, you can tell me," he promised. "You know that, right?"

"I know, Josh." you smiled meekly at him, caressing his dark locks.

"That's my baby," he whispered, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he met them with your own.

You knew why he said this every time he dommed you. Within all of the nights that you have spent under his control, though not many, you've gotten a sense that he said this because without your consent, none of it would work.

It was simple. Joshua would go as far as you would allow him to go.

His hand left the side of your thigh and found your neck, the pads of his fingers caressing your jawline as he brought your face down so he could kiss you.

"Why have you been bad, baby?"

A deep remorseful feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew he'd try to understand why you wanted him to punish you. By now it was some form of therapy for the two of you, letting it out on sex, talking it out, reconciliations during after care.

But this time, instead of you dodging your answers, Joshua gave it right for you.

"Have you been losing trust in me lately?" he asked, his tone soft and so calculated that you had to pull back to take a look at the features of his face. "Is that how you've been bad?"

"Yeah," you whispered, waiting for his reaction, expecting to see him turning this around and trying to talk you out of the situation. "Are you mad at me?"

"No baby, of course not," he reassured, drawing in a breath as his hand grasping the side of your neck pulled you in for another long, wet kiss.

"But, don't you think I need to be punished?" you asked with an overly sweet and innocent tone.

"Is that why you want me to go hard on you?" he growled as you decided to start grinding on him again. "You want me to, god, slow down, baby."

You immediately slowed the sway of your hips on him, deciding to ease your weight on him, moving your crotch ever so slightly on his. "Yeah," you replied, pressing down on his crotch, angling your cunt against the seam of his jeans.

"Do you feel like you need to be punished, bunny?" he leaned his head in the direction of his shoulder.

"I do, Josh," you mewled with a sigh, pressing your crotch on him slowly.

"Then that's all I need," he growled in your mouth, cupping the back of your head to capture your lips with his own with a gasp, kissing you fervently.

His fingers tangled into the hair growing on the base of your head, fisting it as the kiss turned into a hard, heated one. You felt a hand searching the chest of your dress, then you understood that he was getting rid of the brooch Jeonghan gave you.

Joshua tossed it aside, your gift landing somewhere on the bed. "I need you out of this," he grunted in your mouth, his fist scrunching the skirt of your dress, motioning it upwards.

"Help me with the zipper?" you asked with a nervous whisper.

"Yeah," he replied, fingers swiftly getting zipping down your dress.

You climbed off of him and the bed altogether, removing your dress with a playfulness to your movements. Joshua propped himself on his elbows to watch you reveal a new set of lingerie, the pastel blue contrasting with the thigh high black stockings.

"Do you like it?" you mumbled sweetly, lifting your arms delicately before you did a half twirl for him, showing him the back of your panties, that exposed your buttcheeks.

Joshua sighed in delight, pushing himself off the bed and walked to you. "I love it, baby," he replied.

"Do you want me to leave it on?" you asked, as you reached out to get the rest of his clothes, undoing his belt with shaky fingers.

"For now, yeah," he replied gruffly, watching you zip his pants down, tucking your hands beneath the stretchy fabric of his black boxers to yank them down and he helped you remove them by stepping out of his clothes.

Once he was wholly naked, you marveled in all his beauty, the proud nakedness in which he stood in front of you.

A fingertip dipped gently in his belly button, making him smile fondly at you. But the smile faltered when you trailed down, feeling the soft hairs of the happy trail that led to his pubic hair.

Your fingers encircled around the girth of his cock, already hard for you. The skin of his shaft was soft, interrupted only by the vein on the underside and the ridges before the bulbous, rosy brown head. You pumped him slowly, gently, your thumb gathering the precum gathering in his slit.

You sank to your knees, casting a look up at him. Your eyes locked with his as you pressed a soft kiss on the tip of his cock, licking your lips, tasting his precum in the process.

His hand brushed your hair from one side of your head. "Baby," he rasped. "Oh, god, baby," he moaned deeply when you took his cockhead into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it, tongue pressing on him as you pushed your head forward.

You slowly bobbed your head back and forth, taking him an inch further at a time, swirling your tongue around his cockhead every time you pulled your mouth back on him.

"Fuck, baby," he whispered gruffly, closing his eyes briefly to then use his hands to pull your head back. "Just like that."

You lapped your tongue on his cockhead, running the soft part of the underside of your tongue around him as you moved your head back, a soft smacking noise created by your lips when you kissed his tip.

"Do you want to fuck my mouth, Josh?" you asked using a sweet tone, looking up to his eyes, which darkened with lust and fascination over you.

"Do you still remember how to do this, baby?" he asked, grabbing his drool coated cock with one hand, the other parking firmly on the back of your head, holding you steady.

Your eyes looked up to him, his facial expression controlled, measured as he smirked at you when you instinctively parted your mouth for him. "Good girl."

You pulled out your tongue, letting him rest his heavy cock on top of it. When you heard a soft grunt escape him, you closed your lips around his thick girth, simulating an open kiss, pulling your mouth back and creating a soft, smacking sound on the reddened tip of his.

"I'm going to move on your mouth," he warned with a soft tone, removing his hand from his cock to hold your head now with both of his hands. "Tap on me if you want me to stop."

Your eyes dropped from his face, to the faint film sweat trailing down his neck, between his pecs and onto the hard muscles of his abdomen that clenched softly when he started pushing his cock down your throat.

A moan got muffled by his cock in your mouth. You remembered to tell yourself to relax your tongue under the heavy length of him, giving him access to fuck your mouth freely.

"That's it baby," he whispered when he felt your mouth go lax. "You always take my cock so fucking well."

Your eyes were following the movements of his body, relishing on the way he kept himself controlled, slowly pacing himself, pushing an inch farther with each thrust until you nearly brushed his soft pubic hair with the tip of your nose.

One hand moved from the back of your head to the side of your face, his thumb resting on top of your cheekbone as he commanded your eyes up to his.

"Breathe, bunny," he directed with a gentleness that betrayed his following movements.

With a gasp, he snapped his head back, ramming his cock inside your mouth. Your hands flew to hold onto the hard muscle of his thighs, gagging around his girth, the tip reaching the back of your mouth, hitting the spot repeatedly.

The hand that was still on the back of your head, holding you by your hair forced you back, to give himself ample space to push his cock farther, so that he could hear you gag around him, feel the muscles of your throat constricting around his tip.

"Fuck," he breathed, closing his eyes to the vision of you taking him so obediently. "Mmph," he let out a puff of air.

You responded with a moan of your own. Watching him screwing his eyes shut, forcing himself to keep his pace steady, slow for you instead of tearing your mouth open with his cock. Even though it was exactly what you wanted.

"Oh, god," he groaned, with his head still tilted back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Baby—fuck. Baby you feel so, so good."

You let out a whiny noise, making him lower his gaze at you.

"I'm close," he breathed, a grunt coming out of him as he swallowed hard again. His finger digging on the soft skin of your cheek as he said. "And you are taking it all, bunny."

You moaned in a half confirmation sound as best as you could, still gagging on him, tears running down your cheeks uncontrollably, drool dripping down the corners of your lips and onto your chin.

"Good girl," he gasped softly, closing his eyes with a pleased grin on his face.

Then he lost the grin when his mouth parted, his brow furrowing gently before he moaned deeply. You held in a breath through your nose, swallowing the ropes of cum spurting out of his cock and down your throat.

Joshua had stopped his thrusts, as he came with deep breaths and tiny grunts, keeping you still for him while sighing: "Goooood fucking girl."

But he pulled out too quickly, sloppily. You noticed it was on purpose by his controlled move: using the hand on your face to push back your chin, forcing your mouth open and removing his cock from your throat.

You choked, coughed and breathed in, all within two seconds. Hot tears sprinted from your eyes as you remained on his firm grasp, keeping your head leaned back.

"Breathe. Breathe through your nose," he whispered softly, using the pad of his thumb to gather the cum and drool that you had spat back on your chin, sliding it back to your mouth. "Thaaat's it, baby. Slowly."

You breathed in desperately, heaving almost; vision going blurry in and out as more hot tears kept on falling on your cheeks.

"You did so well, bunny," he muttered, a cheeky grin falling on the features of his face.

His large hand released your hair, sliding on the side of your face, cupping it fully. You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping you because of the tenderness of his touch, feeling it cause your skin to prickle.

"Want me to make you feel good, sweetheart?"

Panting, you raised your gaze to see him. A cold shudder coursed through you when you saw his controlled manner, the enjoyment in his dark glimmering eyes.

"Please?" you mumbled, and upon speaking you had to gulp hard and clear your throat.

"Sit on the bed for me," he nodded behind you and you rose to your feet, quickly sitting on the edge of your bed. A question arose in your mind as to what were your boyfriend's next moves.

"I love it when you use these," he mumbled, running the pads of his fingers over the lace band of your high knee stockings. "You looked so beautiful tonight, baby."

"Thank you, Josh," you beamed at him, the gesture making him cup your cheek, leaning to get a quick kiss from your lips.

His hand slid to your back, skin prickling as his fingers unfastened the clasp of your pastel blue bra. The other hand grabbed your bra by its middle, pulling it from your body with one swift move, leaving your tits bare for his view.

Joshua wasted no time as his hands moved to the band of your pretty lace panties. You propped your hands behind you, leaning back slightly as he slid your panties down your thighs, unhooking one ankle after the other.

Then it was his turn to drop to his knees, your bed was high enough so he only leaned his head between your thighs, motioning them over with his large hands and you placed them each on his shoulders, locking your ankles, feet resting comfortably on his back.

"I've missed you so much, bunny," he muttered, littering your inner thighs with kisses, reaching your mound before angling your thighs open for him, his tongue lapping between your folds, giving them a broad stroke.

"Mmnph, Josh," you mewled, hands flying to tangle your fingers in his hair, following the movements of his head as he gave your cunt generous strokes with his tongue. "Joshua—fuck, baby, yes, yes."

The tip of his tongue swirled around your bud, gently tugging at it with his lips before sucking on it lightly. Your thighs flinched, a moan spilling from your lips when he stuck to flick at your clit with the tip of his tongue.

He continued teasing your clit like this until you came, fast and loud, fingers clenching on his long hair, crying out his name. But he didn't stop there, instead, you felt his lips wrap around your now swollen bud, starting to suckle at it gently.

"Josh," you called, propping yourself on your elbows. "Baby, I need you now," you mewled, but he completely ignored you.

He started to suck on your clit harder, moaning against your clit as you came on his mouth again, writing desperately, making his hands hold you down to the bed.

"Were you bad while I was away, baby?" he asked softly.

You were breathing slowly, coming down from your high with trembling limbs and barely able to utter a word when a firm slap came down your clit.

"I asked you a question," he rasped, ignoring your loud and very lewd yelp. He landed another slap, using his four fingers on your clit.

"Fuck," you breathed, flinching on your bed when you received the intense feeling of his hand clashing with your sensitive clit. "Yeah, I have."

Joshua rose to his feet, and you couldn't help but feast your eyes over his beautiful body. The hickeys on his chest were flaring red, your eyes trailing down to see his cock fully hard again.

"You've been having fun while I was away, baby?" he purred, dipping his fingers on your core to then push the pads of his fingers over your swollen clit, covering it with your arousal.

"F-fun?" you squeaked pathetically.

"Fucking yourself with your toys, with your hands... thinking of someone who isn't me, perhaps?" he cocked his head to one side.

You paused, feeling your heart sink down to your stomach. And before you could grasp at the evident trap in his question, another harsh slap landed right on your clit.

"No, no!" you replied as quickly as you could. "I'd never do that!"

"Mn? Then how have you been bad, baby?" he asked, pinching your clit with his fingers, giving it pulsating pinches over and over before delivering another slap.

The intense feeling your pussy suffered made you convulse. "Fuck! That's too much, baby," you said in a fucked out tone, recoiling when he swiftly slapped your clit again.

"That's not my name, bunny," he growled, a devilish smirk appearing on his face.

"Sorry," you slurred out.

"Did you imagine someone else playing with this pussy, baby?" he continued with his little game of questions, his honeyed voice sending a chill through your body.

"No! I wouldn't—I'd never," you gasped pathetically, your legs beginning to shake from the lack of support.

"Did you wish someone else fucked you?"

The ghost of a smirk crowned his lips, the studded eyebrow twitching up slightly when you didn't answer. You held in a breath when you saw Joshua grabbing his cock with one hand, guiding it to your entrance.

A pathetic mewl spilled from your lips when he sheathed his cock inside you in one go, holding your legs with his arms, hands parked on your hips as he fucked you slowly at first.

"Oh, god," you sighed, the bite of his cock stretching your walls felt mind-numbingly good that you barely had any control over yourself.

"What's that, bunny?" he gasped, the features of his face riddled with pleasure too.

"Josh," you whimpered, rendered utterly useless, all you could focus on was his cock, stretching your walls like nothing else. "Please, faster, fuck me faster, please."

Joshua blinked slowly at you, there was no denying the love in his eyes. But he didn't give you what he wanted, he continued to push his cock inside you slowly, enjoying the pulsating of your walls around him from all the pleasure building up, anticipating another climax.

"Do you want someone else playing with what's mine?" he asked in a hollow tone, his usual sweetness robbed by the strain and the focus he kept over the calculated pace of his thrusts.

You felt your brow furrowing in confusion, a light gasp leaving your mouth before you could even think of a response.

"Did you miss me, princess?" he asked, his movements picking some speed, fucking you with shallow thrusts, testing you before starting to plow on you mercilessly.

The change was so sudden you were snapped from your quiet confusion.

"Yes, Josh! O-of course," you gasped, your hands searching for something to hold onto. His thrusts became so brutal that your entire body was pushed on your bed, making your tits bounce and your breath catch.

"Mmn," he hummed before letting a puffy sigh out of his lips, then he tilted his head back, eyelids fluttering as he moaned deeply. "Fuuuck," he rasped as he came inside you with hard thrusts, his mouth parting slightly.

A chill coursed through you. Joshua didn't care if you came with him, or before him, he emptied himself inside you without a warning, his face torn with pleasure as he did so. And even if you felt close to your own climax, you couldn't care less as well.

Joshua stopped pushing his cock inside you, shuddering slightly when he pulled out of you not a minute after. His cum dripped out of you helplessly, leaving a warm trail as it slid slowly from your entrance.

"God, baby, you're so messy," he reproached with a soft tone.

"Mm?" you cluelessly looked at him. "Fuck!" you gasped when his fingers swiftly picked up his own cum, pushing it back to your core.

Then he took his long fingers between your lips, inserting them into your mouth. You tasted the salt of his cum and your own arousal, making you inhale deeply because of the sudden intrusion of his fingers deep in your tongue.

"Good girl," he whispered, pulling out his two fingers to dip them into your fluttering core again.

"Josh," you mewled, squirming when the pads of his fingers played with the cum dripping out from you.

"Shhh," he shushed you softly, taking his fingers to your mouth again, smiling when you sucked them clean diligently. "You're being such a good girl right now. So good for me."

"Babe," you breathed out when you were able to speak again. "God, Joshua," his fingers were inside you again, pushing his cum back into your cunt, massaging your walls in the process.

"Yes, bunny?" he replied when you called his name. "What do you want?"

"More," you mewled pathetically. "Please."

You had realized that his other hand was working on himself, his fist pumping his cock slowly, getting himself hard at the sight of you dripping in cum, tears, drool, legs shaking, asking for more.

Joshua tilted his head slightly to one side. "More?" he smiled cheekily, introducing a third finger inside you.

"Joshua," you whined over the squelching sounds caused by his fingers plunging in and out of you. "Don't tease me."

But he continued pushing his fingers in, the pads of his fingers pressing on your front walls, making you squirm in the bed, a hand scrunching on the covers of your bed.

"Please?" you gasped lewdly. "Please, Josh, you know what I want, please."

Joshua tilted his head back, cocking the studded eyebrow, looking at you with so much awe, smiling mischievously when you started pleading for more. His fist continued pumping on his cock, picking up some speed that made him take a deep breath, resisting his own pleasure to tease you some more.

"Joshua, please!" you whined, trying to resist the intense feeling that his fingers pushing on your wall caused, thinking that he was aiming to get you to tap out.

But you resisted, though, marveling over the controlled movements of his body, how he kept the pace of his hands steady, without pausing to rest.

"God, Joshua!" you yelped loudly when his fingers shifted, pressing on the right spot, causing you to flinch. Your other hand flew to hold onto your bed covers too.

"Yeah? Right there?" he asked, to then bite on his lower lip, watching you as you continued to writhe desperately, moaning for more.

"Please, please," you mewled over and over, now pleading for him to continue massaging on your glorious spot.

Joshua showed you a wolfish grin when you quickly switched your pleas. "You're gonna come, baby?" he purred with a mocking tone. "Aw, over some fingers? And here I thought you were begging to have my cock."

"Josh, please, god, please," you breathed, your jaw going slack when the plunging of his fingers inside you turned more forceful.

You cried out pathetically, screwing your eyes shut to let some tears run down your temples. A spurt of warm liquid came out of you, making you whimper dramatically and open your eyes to see his hand covered in your mess.

"You're making a mess, baby," Joshua sighed in awe while watching you squirt on his hand.

He grabbed his own t-shirt that was discarded on one corner of your bed and gently pressed it against your skin, cleaning all traces of his and your arousal.

"Mmph," you hummed with a sigh, propping up your body with your elbows on your bed. "Joshua, please. Fuck me, pl-please, fuck me."

He tossed the ruined t-shirt to a corner of your bedroom and nodded at the bed. "Move back for me, baby," he instructed, climbing on the bed after you.

His hands reached out to grab your legs by the back of your knees, pulling your body to the middle of the bed with a yank. Then Joshua pushed your legs up to your chest, thighs squeezing your tits as he leaned over you.

"Joshua, please, no teasing," you pleaded when he grabbed his cock with one hand, running the tip across your wet folds to see the reaction on your face when he pushed the tip in your entrance slowly.

"Tell me you want it," he said, his studded eyebrow quirking up slightly.

"I want it, Joshua," you replied instantly. "Please, I want it."

"Tell me you want me," he growled, pushing his cock inside you, inch by inch, stuffing you full, but ever so slowly.

"Please!" you gasped, sounding pathetic, your hands searching his shoulders to hold onto him, to urge him completely inside you. "I want you, Joshua, please, please."

Joshua pushed his chest against the back of your thighs, slipping his length inside you to his hilt. His hands shifted on your sides, one to support his own weight and the other to grab your chin, forcing your eyes on him.

"Gah,"you choked up, tears brimming in your eyes when he started pushing his cock inside you, his thrusts fucking you deeper than ever before. "Joshua, Joshua..."

"Yeah, baby. That's my name," he groaned softly, his brow furrowing with some strain. His hand left your chin, his fingers curling on the bed covers, as if he were trying with all of his strength not to lose his control on you.

"Hmmn," you mewled when he instantly reached a spot inside you that made pleasure course through your whole body like a bolt of lightning.

"Do you like how I make you feel?" he said through a raspy breath.

You felt the features of your face contort with the confusion that flashed in your mind, but you nodded nonetheless. "Yeah, it's you, Josh," you mewled. "It's all you."

Joshua kept his thrusts steady, fucking you deep and slowly. His eyes trained on your face as you continued to breath out lewd moans, your mouth parted, eyebrows knitted.

"That's my girl," he praised, a grunt coiling in his throat as his thrusts became more desperate. "My girl."

"Yours," you whispered entrancingly. "I'm yours only, Josh."

"You're mine," he blurted with a ragged breath.

You nodded, unable to utter a word. His thrusts were robbing the air out of you, ramming his cock in, plunging inside you so hard that you were reduced to lewd gasps, hot tears spilling from your eyes.

Joshua screwed his eyes shut for a second, a sharp breath leaving him as his hips slammed into your body, for a second that was all you heard, the sounds of skin slapping together combined with your ragged gasps, the sound of your bed creaking as he kept fucking you into the mattress.

A vein had started to pop on his forehead, his eyes were glistening but he kept them trained on yours. The beautiful features of his face went lax with lust, making him moan, the sound reverberating against your body.

For a second, you just looked at each other, so mad for each other, there were no words either of you could exchange to express what you felt.

"Bunny," he gasped with urgency. "Come for me."

You nodded, a hand searching his face, cupping his chin as you slowly gave into the pleasure blooming inside your body. Joshua turned to kiss the palm of your hand, a gesture so tender that betrayed the animalistic pace to which he was fucking you, making you his.

"I'm coming, 'm—Joshua!" you gasped as you came undone under him, pleasure flooding inside you, taking over every part of your body. Your orgasm hit you so hard you even felt it on your face, tingling in your cheeks, making you close your eyes.

Until you heard a gasp, Joshua came inside you a couple of seconds after you, emptying himself with shallow thrusts. But he didn't relent there, he lowered your legs immediately, clashing his mouth on yours.

Joshua eased his body on top of you, pressing his chest against yours to kiss you deeply, moaning in your mouth as he stopped thrusting his cum inside you sloppily.

Chests heaving, you wrapped him in your arms as he appeared to be blinking slowly, dropping his head in the crook of your neck to come down off his high. His weight was almost crushing you, but you welcomed the pressure from it, the warmth, the scent of his hair and his skin.

You ran the pads of your fingers on the line of his back, feeling him shudder hard but didn't protest against it. "I love you," you whispered.

Joshua didn't respond at first, he continued breathing hard on the curve where your jawline and your neck meet, pressing languid kisses on your skin every two seconds.

His hand crept up from your cheek to the back of your head, then he shifted on top of you to give you a shallow kiss on your lips. "I love you too, bunny."

You were a mess, your skin pricked where your tears had left a trail, your limbs were shaking beneath his weight, you felt a wet tingle where his and your body met.

"You were so good, baby," he whispered, his thumb caressing your cheek as he continued giving you shallow kisses. "Let me take care of you now, okay?" he pulled out of you, drawing a small groan from your mouth.

What happened next was nothing out of routine for you. He started the shower and carried you in bridal style, being that your legs were still shaking badly.

When you got back to the bedroom, he offered himself to towel dry your hair after you put on your bunny pyjamas. So you were sitting on the bed, Joshua was carefully pressing a towel around your hair for some minutes until you looked over your shoulder, and told him to stop.

He looked so tired, but focused on drying your hair, brushing it with his long fingers with so much care, sighing deeply.

"Baby, let's go to sleep, okay?" you offered sweetly.

"Yeah, okay," he whispered, getting up from your bed to discard the towel.

"I threw your t-shirt in the washing machine," you informed him as you crawled beneath the bed covers on your designated side of the bed.

You looked at your boyfriend, crossing the bedroom to slide his body beside yours, immediately wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer to him.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said tiredly.

You pressed your chest against him, reaching his pouty lips with your own for a tender kiss. "You don't have to thank me for that," you sighed, caressing his cheekbones with your fingertips. "Maybe you should consider leaving some clothes here. If you want to, obviously."

He pulled back slightly, eyeing you with curiosity. "O-okay, I will," he smiled softly.

For a second, you marveled at the sight of him and returned the smile.

"Or you could also consider moving in, when you get back from work. If... you want to," you breathed nervously, your eyes shifting from his face, unable to keep them locked with his.

Joshua didn't reply as fast as you initially thought he would. You almost thought you had said something crazy, something so insanely out of place for you that had left him speechless.

But he just looked at you fondly. A small sigh left him when his smile broadened.

"I'd love that, baby," he replied warmly.

"Okay," you whispered, reaching for his lips again.

What you intended for a sweet and tender kiss turned into a deep, hungry one in a matter of seconds. Joshua grunted in your mouth, a hand cupping your cheek as his tongue lapped on your lower lip, making you sigh a moan.

"Marry me," he blurted, his lips brushing yours in the process.

You laughed lazily in his mouth. "Okay."

"I mean it," he breathed, kissing the apple of your cheek, your eyelid, then an eyebrow, littering kisses all over your face.

"Baby," you protested. "You need to calm down."

"No," he growled, cupping your cheek with one hand. "I'm crazy about you. I want you with me in every way possible."

"Sleep first, baby boy," you teased. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Joshua rolled his eyes at your teasing, but he leaned in, giving you a soft kiss before you turned your back to his chest for him to hug you, fitting his body to the shape of yours.

You exhaled, pleased with the warmth exuding from his half naked body cuddling you, an arm over your waist, his breath caressing your neck, until,

"Baby," Joshua called softly, drawing a breath through his nose that denoted how tired he really was. "Would you feel better if you came along with me? On tour?"

"What are you talking about?" you asked, turning over on the bed to look at his face.

Joshua repositioned his head beneath his fist, lying now on his side. His free hand searched yours to lace his fingers with you. "I know with me being so busy, traveling and working, I've been making you feel a little neglected. I don't want to make you feel like this, I..." he looked to the corner of the room mindlessly, gathering his thoughts. "I want you close to me."

There were dark circles under his eyes, his lips were slightly chapped on the corners. But he kept his gaze trained on your face, there was a gentle calmness in him, just as the night he asked you to be his wife.

"We live very different lives, Josh," you whispered carefully, selecting your words. "I can't move around while writing a book. I kind of need stability to work."

"I don't want you to feel lonely," he said, his voice breaking a little when he uttered the last word.

"Well, then we just have to find a way we can make this work," you muttered softly. "I know that you don't want to make me feel neglected but your actions say the opposite."

"I know," he whispered, nodding with his head slowly. "I'm going to fix it, I promise."

"I'm going to need more than that, Josh," you mumbled, a small, cheeky smile appearing on your face.

His big dark eyes looked worried a second before he caught on your playfulness. "Yeah? And what would that be?"

"I'm going to need about a hundred kisses from you," you replied, your heart crushing over the smile that drew on his face.

"Just a hundred?" he taunted, his hand leaving yours and finding the crook of your neck, holding you gently as he leaned over your face to press a soft kiss, after the other, humming happily.

"Maybe two hundred."

"I can do more," he mumbled with a singsong tone.

"Three thousand, then."

Joshua chuckled breathily. "We're from hundreds to thousands that quickly?"

"Only if you want me to forgive you," you replied playfully between his tender kisses that he pressed against your lips.

"What else do you want?" he mumbled, his sweet voice laced with some raspiness.

"I want french toast for breakfast tomorrow," you said after a long moment of thought.

"You got it, Ms. Hong," he replied with a small smile, looking at you with such tenderness that you almost felt like sobbing. "What else?"

"I want you to take me out for a date," you said, now your tone sounding meek and tiny. "You're all talk with the Ms. Hong thing, but haven't taken me on an official date, yet, Mr. Hong."

"I will take you on a date," he muttered between kisses that were turning into more prolonged ones. "On several dates. For the rest of your life."

You cupped his cheek with one hand, and he ceased his shower of kisses to look into your eyes.

"I want you, Joshua," you whispered, trying to convey all your love into a couple of words.

"I want you too, bunny," he replied, his voice rendered into a mere whisper. "Forever."

✮ LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE READ IT 🗣️

hi there my lovelies!! ε(｡•᎑•`)っ♡

WE MADE IT! so let me tell you all a little story. when i started writing city lights, i only intended to write four chapters. but some of you guys convinced me to make it longer and i could write 8 chapters in total!! and i'm so glad i did cause i love writing long fics (as you probably noticed)

chapter 8 got soooo long and i'm sorry for having to split it haha. i guess introducing another main character into the mix does that huh? but there was sooooo many things i left out from this one! maybe i'll write them in the future!

I WILL BE POSTING A FINAL CHAPTER TO CITY LIGHTS SOON, but i would like you to take this chapter as the wrap up for the main story, given that the next chapter will be taking a turn for the dynamic between joshua and bunny. does that make sense? 👀

okay that's it for me. i love you all, drink water, use sunscreen, take your vitamins, your birth control pills or whatever it is that you do, take care of yaselves, i love youuuuuu ◕⩊◕

toodles

part 9

buy me a coffee? 🩵👉🏻👈🏻

#joshua hong smut #svt smut #svthub #seventeen smut #joshua smut #joshua x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #joshua scenarios #hannieween #ff:city lights #svt fanfic #svt fic

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heli-writes · 6 months

Text

Heartbreak and other nuisances

Pairing: Pro-hero!Deku x female!reader

Summary: Love is never easy, especially when you're the number one hero of Japan. After getting dumped by his childhood love, Deku just can't seem to get it right, much to his mother's disappointment. When he meets y/n, he is convinced it will just be a one-night stand. Or being fuck buddies. His broken heart stands in his way. And you've got your own demons to fight.

Disclaimer: nsfw, smut, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, angst, heartbreak, bisexuality

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Minors do not interact.

Note: It's very long. This might become a series later but for now can be read as a one-shot.

Part 1, Part 2

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deku watches the skyline of Musutafu and tries to ignore the ringing of his phone. His patrolling shift ended a few hours ago But he can't bring himself to go home to his empty apartment.

His phone keeps disrupting the silent piece of the rooftop he is sitting on. He sighs and rubs his temple. It's probably his mother or one of his friends bugging him to go out with them.

Digging through the pockets of his hero suit, he eventually finds the ringing device. Two missed calls from his mom, three text messages from Kirishima and Denki and an email from his PR manager. He decides to check his voicemail first.

"Hey it's mum again, you haven't picked up the phone after my last few calls. So I tried again. I was just wondering if you'd like to come over on Saturday for a nice dinner with me and Toshinori. You don't have to of course but I'd be looking forward to seeing you again. Anyways, just give me a call when you have time to check your messages.", his mother's voice comes out of the phone.

He sighs and types in a quick reply.

> Hey, mom! Got your message. Sorry for not calling you back, work's a lot at the moment. Thanks for the invite, but I won't be able to make it.

His mother answers immediately.

>> Are you sure? You really should take a break from time to time. We're worried about you.

Izuku stares at the screen and pulls at his lip in thought. Just when he's about to give his mother a cheap excuse, another message pops up.

>> Yo, are you in on Saturday or not?

He opens the chat and reads that Kirishima and Denki invited him to a concert on Saturday. Then, he opens the chat with his mom again.

> Don't worry about me, mom. Actually, I can't come on Saturday because I am going to a concert with Kirishima and Denki.

>> A concert? Honey, that's nice. Have fun then!

Izuku sighs in relief. Another worried talk with his family was avoided. He's sure that he cannot stand another "A hero must have a balanced life"-talk by Yagi.

He quickly responds to Kirishima's message before putting the phone away and starting his way home.

~*~*~*~

The jeans feel uncomfortable, Izuku decides. All in all, his hero costume is a lot more comfortable than his normal clothes these days. He wears it like a second skin. Sometimes he forgets to put it off when he comes home.

His phone vibrates.

>> We're downstairs. You comin'?

He quickly puts his phone into his back pocket and grabs his key and wallet.

~*~*~*~

"I swear to god, that were the finest pair of boobs, I've ever seen!", Denki ends his dramatic story of a girl he slept with last weekend.

"It's probably the only pair of boobs you've ever seen.", Kirishima comments jokingly.

Denki immediately starts to go on a rent about all the boobs he's ever seen but Kirishima ignores him and turns to Izuku.

"So, how are you, Izuku? Haven't heard from you for a while. Didn't think you'd actually come out with us tonight.", he asks him.

Izuku shrugs.

"Same old, same old.", he answers vaguely. "Is Kachaan joining us?", he quickly tries to change the topic.

"Nah, he's busy with his girlfriend. Dude's probably spending all day and night in bed fucking.", Denki says.

Izuku feels his stomach drop. Of course, he knows about Kachaan's girlfriend. They're together for little over half a year now and the press writes about them every other day. However, he kind of hoped that Katsuki would grow tired of her eventually. After all, the only person he had ever been with for longer than six months was Izuku.

Kirishima rolls his eyes. "Denki, is sex the only thing you ever think about?", he asks annoyed. Denki gives him a smug expression. "I'm young, single, and hot. Of course, it is.", he answers.

"Talking about sex, Izuku when was the last time you got some?", Denki asks his friend nonchalantly.

Izuku furrows his brows. He actually has to think about this. He had sex after Kachaan but all these hookups were meaningless so eventually he gave them up.

"Actually, I don't know.", he replies truthfully.

Kirishima pats his back. "You don't have to tell us, buddy. But remember, we're not the press. You don't have to save face around us.", he tells Izuku.

Denkis starts laughing. "Dude, I think he's being honest. Damn, then you really need to get some tonight! But don't worry, I got ya. There are plenty of hot chicks at the club I am taking you to!", he exclaims, "Let's go!"

~*~*~*~

Turns out, the club is some kind of old, rundown pub at the end of town. Part of Izuku is glad Denki took them to a place like this. It's less likely to be found by paparazzi around here. Then again, it probably also wouldn't be good to be found by the press in a place like this.

Both Denki and Kirishima don't seem to care about that when they enter the place. There's a small stage at the end of the wide room. The banner over the stage indicates that some kind of rock band will be playing soon.

The trio makes their way to the bar first. After they've gotten their drinks, they find a corner to stand in and watch the crowd. It doesn't take Denki long to choose a chick for the night and he takes off to try his luck.

"So, how are you doing? I mean really? Don't give me a half-assed answer this time.", Kirishima asks.

Izuku takes a long drag from his beer. "Been telling you, I'm fine. Work's a lot but not surprising with our profession and status.", he mumbles just loud enough for Kirishima to hear.

Kirishima gives him a worried side glance. "You know that you don't have to carry this weight alone, do you?", he points out.

"Yeah, I know."

Izuku stares into his glass. He's not sure how or if he should make his friends understand that it's not work that lies heavy on his mind.

The truth is that the grand hero Deku is lonely. Simple as that.

He thought he found somebody special in Kacchan only to find out that it was nothing special to the explosion hero. Just something to pass the time until he found someone more fitting, someone more socially acceptable.

Izuku takes another drag from his glass when the lights suddenly dimmed. "I think the show is about to start.", Kirishima points out. "Wanna get closer to the stage?", he asks and Izuku just nods in response.

The two of them walk deeper into the small crowd that is forming. Somewhere in between the people, Izuku sees Denki's blonde hair light up.

A punk rock band enters the stage. "You know them?", Izuku asks his friend. Kirishima nods excitedly. "Yeah, they're pretty underground though. They're really cool. Katsuki introduced them to me!", he tells the green-haired men.

Blaring music starts and Izuku immediately knows that this is not his kind of music. He likes rock music but more classic hard rock like AC/DC. He can see though how this is right up Katsuki's alleyway.

Memories of loud punk music blaring out of speakers in Katsuki's bedroom flash before his eyes. He remembers the layers of sweat on his skin and the taste of Katsuki on his lips.

Suddenly, he feels nauseous.

"Hey, I'm getting another drink!", he yells over to Kirishima who already headbangs to the music.

Izuku makes his way over to the bar pushing through the masses of bodies. He starts to feel really uncomfortable. It's too loud, too hot, too stuffy.

When he reaches the bar, it takes a while to place his order. When he gets his drink, he stays at the bar. He's not too keen on throwing himself onto the dance floor again.

People squeeze past him left and right to get to the bar and get drinks. Uncomfortably, he tries to shift out of their way. Suddenly he bumps into someone with his back and cold liquid drenches his shirt.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry!", a female voice says behind him.

He turns around and then there's you.

You wear a short cocktail dress that compliments your cleavage. Your (y/h/c) hair is styled perfectly. Only your makeup looks a bit cakey, probably due to the high humidity in the pub you're standing in but Izuku doesn't even notice it.

"Don't worry, it's fine.", he mumbles and tries to turn away. He really doesn't want to get recognized. Especially not over a spilled drink.

"Are you sure?", you ask unsure but before you can say anything more, the man in front of you disappears into the crowd.

You watch him disappear in the direction of the toilets. You turn towards the bartender. "Excuse me, can I order what he had?", you yell over the music.

*~*~*~*

Izuku grips the sides of the sink. He splashes water into his face and looks at his drenched shirt. Luckily, it can be mistaken for sweat.

He would like to hole up in one of these toilet cabins. He really doesn't want to get back out there. Everybody out there seems to have a great time and he feels lost in the crowd.

Kirishima is probably already looking for him. The red-haired man already suspects that Izuku is not doing too well. He takes another deep breath before pushing himself off the sink and turning towards the door.

"Hey!", a voice says right next to him when he's out of the door. It's you again. You're holding two glasses of rum coke.

"For you. As a sorry for spilling my drink on you earlier.", you tell him and offer him one of the drinks.

Great, he thinks, a groupie trying to get my attention.

"Thanks", he tells her and takes one of the glasses. She gives him a curt nod.

"See you around", you tell him and turn around to leave.

Izuku stares after you. Did you not recognize him or are you not interested in him? Why does he feel slightly insulted?

"Hey, man, there you are. We were already wondering if you picked up a chick and left us behind!", Kirishima jokes and pats his shoulder.

*~*~*~*

"Izuku, are you coming over this weekend? We'd really like to see you again.", his mother says over the phone.

"You know, mom, I'm really busy. I don't know if I can make it.", he tells her trying to avoid the inevitable.

"Then we come over and I cook you a nice meal. I still have the spare key to your apartment.", his mother proposes gleefully.

Izuku rubs his temple. He really doesn't want his mother and Yagi to sniff around in his apartment. There's still a box of Kacchan's stuff under his bed.

"Alright, mom, I'm coming over for dinner, okay?", he gives in.

"Yes, honey, that's great. We're looking forward to seeing you.", his mother tells him contentedly.

After hanging up, Izuku rubs the sides of his head and sighs deeply. He is not looking forward to this.

*~*~*~*

"Izuku, we're so glad that you could make it!", his mother chirps and immediately hugs him upon opening the door. Yagi pats him on the back.

They go easy on him during dinner. Asking polite questions about work and his friends. His mother pries a little bit too much on what Uraraka is doing lately for Izuku's taste.

After dinner, over a cup of tea, is when the real deal starts. Izuku notices his mother and Yagi changing a meaningful glance, probably a code that now it's time to torture him.

"So... honey, how's life besides work? Anything new?", his mother asks carefully.

Izuku avoids eye contact. "Not really, I guess.", he shrugs.

"I hope you don't work too long hours, my boy.", Yagi says.

Izuku shrugs again. "Well, you know what the job is like.", he tells the older man.

"Of course, of course... it just seems as if you are really pushing yourself lately.", Yagi replies.

"We're just a bit worried about you. We never see you anymore, you barely seem to go out with your friends anymore.", his mother adds.

"I went out with Kirishima and Denki last week.", Izuku tries to defend himself half-heartedly.

"And we were really happy to hear that. It's just that you seem to go out less and less.", his mother points out.

"That's not true.", Izuku starts to get irritated, "Actually I am going out again tonight."

"Oh really, with whom?", his mother shoots back. She sees right through him.

"With Denki.", Izuku says without batting an eye. Denki is probably out tonight anyway.

"That's wonderful, Izuku! How about we drive you? Then you can have a drink or two. You came here by car, didn't you?", his mother smiles. Izuku thinks it's a bit fake. It's probably because she knows he is lying to her.

"That'd be great.", he lies, "Let me check where I am supposed to meet Denki."

He pulls out his phone.

> Hey, are you out tonight? Mind if I join?

Denki answers within seconds.

>> Hell, yeah! I'm already out, just come around!

Denki writes and sends his location.

*~*~*~*

Yagi ends up driving him. Izuku feels like a teenager who is driven to a party by one of his parents.

"You know, your mother is just worried about you.", Yagi says into the silence of the car.

"I know but she really shouldn't. I'm fine.", he tells him.

"It's just that she sees the children of her friends and worries you might not have the same opportunities.", Yagi carefully says.

"What do you mean?", Izuku asks irritatedly.

"Well you know, they get married, have children. Mitsuki's been telling how Katsuki brings over his girlfriend. They plan to move in together.", Yagi explains.

Izuku's stomach plummets. They plan to move in together? There goes any hope of reconciliation.

When Izuku doesn't answer, Yagi mistakes his silence for shame.

"You know, there's nothing wrong with being single while you're young. I mean, I've been single for most of my career, but I've got to be honest with you. I regret not having children on my own and while I am very happy with your mother, I wished I had someone to share my pain and happiness when I was younger.", Yagi explains.

Izuku isn't sure what to say. I'd like a partner but he doesn't want me? I can't move on? Even if I could, I probably have no game?

"We both just wish you'd meet someone special.", Yagi finishes as he pulls up to the bar where Izuku meets Denki.

"Well, one does not really have control over that.", Izuku says flatly and gets out of the car.

*~*~*~*

"Izukuuu!! Over here!!", Denki's shrill voice rings through the entire bar. His arms are wrapped around a woman on each of his sides. The girls giggle.

Izuku would like to walk out backward again but there us no turning back now.

"Hey", he greets his blonde friend.

"My man! Was surprised to hear from you!", Denki greets him.

"Anybody else joining tonight?", Izuku asks and Denki shakes his head.

Great, now he can spend the rest of the night watching Deki flirt with random girls.

One of the girls by Denki's side gives Izuku coy eyes. "So, are you Deku? Denki's been telling us about you.", she asks him.

Izuku shoots his friend an angry glare and Denki shrugs apologetically.

"I don't know what he's been telling you, but I can assure you very little that he says is actually true.", Izuku replies dryly.

Before the girl can ask any more questions, Izuku excuses himself to order a drink at the bar.

"A scotch, please.", he tells the bartender without paying too much attention to the other guests.

"Oh, look who we've got here. Are you stalking me, mister?", a voice says next to him.

There you are, again. Your hair hangs loosely over your shoulder and you pop a few peanuts into your mouth.

"Oh, it's you.", Izuku simply says.

"Charming.", you commented dryly.

You look him up and down.

"Why are you dressed like that?", you ask him.

Irritatedly, Izuku turns fully towards you.

"What do you mean?", he says offendedly.

"You look like you were invited to dinner by your girlfriend's parents for the first time", you say pointing at his white button-down shirt.

"I don't have a girlfriend.", he informs you.

You give him a toothy grin. "Good. You're cute.", you tell him.

Izuku shifts uncomfortably. He hates it when women look at him like that. Like he's meat.

"Sorry, I don't do casual dating.", he replies.

"Too bad", you shrug, "What are you doing then?".

"None of your business", he says coldly.

You pursue your lips. "Damn, who hurt you?", you joke.

Izuku doesn't like how you seem to see things no one else does.

"I just have different priorities.", he says.

You take a sip from your drink. "I bet.", you reply.

Finally, the bartender comes back with his drink.

Without another word, he turns to leave.

"See you around, I guess.", he hears you mumble behind him.

He's not sure why he was so rude to you. You didn't do anything wrong. You shot your shoot and took the rejection in good sport. He didn't need to be so mean.

He's not even sure why he rejected you. You look gorgeous just like last time. Your outfit compliments your natural curves and your makeup really made your eye color pop. Usually, you're totally his type. He's just really not in the mood tonight.

He spends the night brooding next to Kaminari. The girls by his side catch on his bad mood and don't bother him all evening.

*~*~*~*

He tries to be more outgoing. Meet friends, do stuff on the weekend. Things to send to his mother to prove he's out there, living his best life.

He's not.

Tonight, he is going out for dinner with Uraraka and Iida. He initiated the meet-up so he really has to go through with it tonight.

He arrives too early and has to wait for the two for a while. The dinner itself was quite pleasant. Iida is too polite to pry too much about his private life and well-being. And Uraraka is busy updating her two friends about her life. Apparently, she met someone through a friend and they are getting quite serious. His mom is going to hate hearing that.

After dinner, the three of them bid goodbye with the promise to meet up more often. Izuku knows that he probably won't be able to fulfill that promise.

He aimlessly wanders the streets. He doesn't want to go home yet. It's a real paradox. When he's home, he doesn't want to go out. And if he's out, he doesn't want to return to his empty apartment.

He's feeling nostalgic tonight so he decides to go to a place that Kacchan showed him when they were still a thing. Or whatever the hell they were.

It's a bar that has seen better days. It's usually quite empty besides some regulars who are twice as old as Izuku. The perfect place if you want to avoid noisy fans and the press.

Izuku slides into the bench that Kacchan and he always sat at. After he has ordered, he takes a look around. It seems as if time stopped in this place. Ironic, he thinks, it seems as if time has stopped for me as well.

Deep in thought, he doesn't notice how the door opens again.

"Daisuke, Hikaru, you here again? Don't you guys have wives at home?", a female voice says loudly.

When he looks up, he immediately wants to hide beneath the table. It's you. Again. Do you have a tracker on him or what? Why do you seem to appear everywhere he is?

Luckily, you're not looking in his direction. Instead, you talk to the middle-aged men on the other side of the room.

"And what about you, missy? What's a pretty young thing like you doing here every other night?", one of the men says. He sounds amused.

You shrug. "Well, what are you doing here? Drinking of course!", you tell them with a grin.

The other man shakes his head disapprovingly.

"You should at least drink with people your age, not old fucks like us!", he tells you.

You stretch your arms widely. "Well, you see any people my age? You old fucks keep invading this place!", you shoot back.

"Well, what about that guy?", the man answers and points directly at Izuku.

He wants to die. Great, here he hoped he could slip out again without you noticing him. He really doesn't want to talk to you. You turn around to him and your eyes light up.

"Hey, I know you! You're the stalker!", you grin.

Izuku looks offended. "I was here first!", he defends himself.

You give the waiter a sign and slide onto the bench in front of him. Great, just what he needed.

"Really? You're alone this time?", you ask him.

He curses you for being so perceptive.

He shrugs. "Maybe some people join me later.", he tells you.

The waiter walks over to the table and sets down a drink in front of you. It looks strong.

You look him straight into his eyes and say: "Liar".

Embarrassment shoots down his back. You take a sip from your drink and laugh.

"I know what lonely drinking looks like. Why do you think I am here?", you tell him.

"I don't know. You're certainly not dressed for a place like this.", he replies.

It's true. You don't look like you belong in a shabby bar like this. You're wearing a bright blue, floor-length ballgown.

You shrug. "What's it to you?", you bite back.

Oh. Izuku's eyebrows raise. He must've hit a sore spot there. Unfortunately for you, he's feeling bitchy tonight.

"Well, you look like one of those bridesmaids that are put into a terrible dress by a bridezilla.", he tells you.

Actually, it's not true. The dress looks gorgeous on you. It fits your skin color and hair updo perfectly. A sour expression appears on your face.

"I wasn't a bridesmaid. I chose the dress for myself.", you tell him.

"Ah, so you were at a wedding!", he says triumphantly. Apparently, he can read you as well as you can him.

You shrug.

"So what's with the lonely drinking then? Why pay for alcohol here when you could've just got drunk for free?", he asks.

"Staying too long at your ex's wedding is bad taste.", you tell him.

"Ah", he says and raises his glass taking a sip, "That's the reason for your lonely drinking? Still stuck on that ex?"

"Ha!", you exclaim. "Yeah, hell no. I'm glad to be rid of him. He's his wife's problem now. Thank god."

Izuku watches you closely. You stir in your drink and keep your eyes fixed on your nails. By the tone of your voice, he doesn't think you're lying. You sound bitter, though.

"Then what?", he asks.

"How old are you?", you reply.

"Twenty-eight. Don't change the topic.", he scolds you.

You shoot him a mean glance.

"I'm not changing the topic.", you tell him.

When he gives you a questioning look, you sit up straight and put your hands on the table.

"Alright, you're twenty-eight, uh...?", you start.

"Izuku", he tells you.

"You're twenty-eight, Izuku. How many of your friends and acquaintances are getting married, moving in with someone, maybe even having kids?", you ask.

"Quite a few.", he admits.

"Alright. Considering you're here, on a weekday, drinking alone, I'm guessing you're not even close to any of those things. How does it feel when someone brings that up?", you explain.

"Not good.", he replies dryly. What is it with you and catching onto things?

You throw your hands up in the air.

"Exactly! And what's the ultimate reminder of that than being invited to your ex's wedding?", you exclaim.

"So... I'm guessing you're far away from those things too?", he asks unsurely.

You give him a deadpan look. "The lonely drinking should've given it away.", you tell him.

You sigh exaggeratedly and lean back. Then, you empty your drink in one go. Izuku watches you slightly perplexed. When you slam down your glass, you give the waiter another sign.

"You know what the stupidest part of this is?", you ask him and he shakes his head.

"I don't even want those things. I'm sure I'm not even made for these things and still, somehow, it makes you feel bad, you know?", you ramble.

Izuku stays silent and takes another sip from his glass. He really doesn't know what he's doing here. Why is he talking to a stranger about things like this?

"You could ask me now what it is that I want.", you say.

Izuku rolls his eyes. "What is it that you want?", he asks.

"Good sex. That's really all I'm asking for but men these days don't deliver.", you reply exasperatedly.

Izuku almost has to laugh.

"Maybe you're just not meeting the right men then.", he tells you.

"Well, I'm meeting men like you.", you point out. There's something cat-ish about you when you say it.

"Maybe tonight is your lucky night then.", he says suddenly feeling cocky.

*~*~*~*

This was definitely not how this evening was supposed to go. He was not supposed to end up at that bar and he definitely wasn't supposed to take you home.

But here you are, on his bed, and him over you.

He already lost his shirt and you run your hands up and down his torso. His mouth is on yours, teeth and tongue clashing against each other.

He can already feel his dick getting hard.

He grabs your waist and pulls you on top of him. Without hesitation, you pull your shirt over your head and he's quick to open your bra. Quickly, you toss it to the side.

Izuku sits up a bit so that both of his hands are free to explore your boobs. Carefully, he kneads them with both hands. He kisses the side of your neck. He plants open-mouthed kisses along your neck, over your collarbone all the way down to one of your nipples. You throw your head back and sigh contently.

He runs the tip of his tongue over the hardened bud. He takes the nipple into his mouth gently sucking on it. All the while massaging it with his tongue.

You let out a moan and grind down on his hardened cock. His dick sits right at your slit. You keep grinding down on him, desperate for friction as he continues to tease your other nipple. You can feel how your panties get damp with each second.

You grab the sides of his head, forcing him to detach from your breast. You lean forward and kiss him again. Izuku runs his hands down your back and grabs your ass cheeks. Then, he helps you grind down on him. You break the kiss to let out a groan.

"Fuck, Izuku! You need to take off these pants!", you tell him.

He gives you a grin. "Same", he tells you.

Quickly, you get off of him and take off your pants and panties. When he's done taking off his pants, you both lie side by side. He pulls you close, your naked body pressing against his, and he claims your lips again.

You let your hands wander down his body. With your index finger you draw lines down his hip and thighs, avoiding his dick completely.

Izuku breaks the kiss and groans. "Don't tease!", he tells you and you laugh.

"So greedy", you nudge him but then give into his request.

Gently you wrap your hand around his hardened member. Izuku lets out a suppressed groan. You start in a slow space pumping his dick up and down. You spread the precum on it to make it feel even smoother.

Izuku plants a kiss on your shoulder and lets a hand wander between your legs. Slowly, he lets two fingers slide in between your warm folds.

"Fuck, you're so wet.", he groans. You shift a bit to give him better access, already panting.

Izuku draws lazy circles on your clit and you can feel more wetness slipping out your hole.

"Mhm, yes, Izuku that feels good.", you moan while still fisting his cock.

Izuku leans his forehead against yours. He dips his fingers a bit deeper, gathering some wetness and spreading it around your pussy.

Then, gently one of his fingers enters you and you can't help but let out a loud moan.

"That feels good, yes?", he mumbles and you nood.

Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of you.

"Shit", you curse. You long lost the ability to focus on pleasing Izuku.

He curls his finger inside you and you jerk.

"Can you take another, baby?", he says huskily and you nod.

He pulls out his finger and pushes two fingers in.

"Fuck!", you exclaim.

You lie back opening your legs wide for him. Izuku slides his fingers in and out you, occasionally curling them inside which almost sends you into a frenzy. He leans down and starts massaging your nipple with his tongue again.

Just when you feel a knot forming in your stomach, he pulls out. You whine in protest but he silences you with a kiss.

"You ready?", he asks you and you nod breathlessly.

He grabs a condom from the nightstand and quickly pushes the latex over his dick. Then, he takes one of your legs and places it over his shoulder. He sits up on his knees and grabs the hollow of your other knee pulling your legs further apart.

"Shit, your pussy looks so ready for me.", he tells you

"Who's the tease now?", you pant.

Izuku gives you a small grin. "Don't worry, I've got you.", he says.

He leads his dick to your entrance and your heart beats in anticipation. Slowly, he pushes his cock into your pussy. You both groan simultaneously in pleasure. He enters you in one swift movement. When his dick is nestled deeply inside you, he takes a deep breath.

"You okay?", he asks you and you give him a curt nod.

You jerk your hips because you're desperate for more friction. You feel so full but it's not enough. You need him to fuck you, to pound you.

"Shit, relax.", he groans when he feels your pussy clench around him.

"I've told you, I've got you. I'm gonna fuck you real good, baby", he groans into the skin of your leg.

Then, he starts rocking in and out of you. He starts with a steady pace.

"Fuck, yes, Izuku! Please, a bit harder!", you beg him.

He gives you a cheeky grin. "Harder? You can get harder.", he tells you.

He starts pounding into you in a heavy pace and you arch your back. Fuck, your pussy feels so good. His dick rubs you in all the right places.

Izuku's dick twitches at the sight of you. Your fucked expression, your jiggling breasts and god, how good looks his dick going in and out of you.

Suddenly, he lifts your other leg and lifts himself a bit higher allowing his dick to sink even deeper into your cunt.

"Shit, yes!", you yell out. Izuku keeps fucking you like this and his balls slap harshly against your ass cheeks.

Now, you can feel the knot in your stomach again.

"Keep going, Izuku, I'm getting there.", you tell him.

Izuku pants heavily above you and sweat drops down his chest. You think he's looking incredibly sexy right now. Also, you can't help but look down where is dick and your cunt are conjoined. The sight of his dick sliding in and out of you makes your stomach coil.

"Fuck, y/n, you feel so good. You make my dick feel like it's about to explode.", he tells you.

You clench your pussy and Izuku moans in delight. He grips your hips tighter and keeps fucking you now chasing his own height. His cock is hitting that sweet spot all the way back inside of you. You can feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter. You let out a breathless moan and your eyes roll back into your head.

Izuku keeps the pace hard and steady, exactly the way you need to get over the edge. When your orgasm hits you, it feels like electric shocks going down your back, your pussy clenches and then your body suddenly goes limp.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck.", Izuku groans taking up speed when he sees you orgasm on his cock. He fucks you through it and his own orgasm explodes right at the feeling of your clenching pussy. He fucks himself through his own high and then collapses on top of you.

It takes a moment for both of you to regain some thinking capacities. When his consciousness returns to him, Izuku slips out of you. You're lying next to each other, both facing the ceiling catching your breath.

„And? Did I deliver?“, Izuku pants.

He can't see it but you give him a side-eye. The questions weirds you out. Does he really need to get praised? Does he need to get approval so badly? Well, it supposedly makes sense. A pro-hero depends on the praise and approval of other people. You think it's a little bit pathetic. If he hadn't fucked you already, it'd be a major turn-off.

In all honesty, though, he did deliver. It was more than just good. He clearly proved he's got the stamina of a pro-hero. However, you don't stroke men's egos. Most men have a big enough ego as it is, so why inflate it further? Plus, this guy has girls fawning at his feet and you refuse to steep down on a groupie level. No, thank you.

For a moment you think about being mean and saying something like it was „alright“ or „okay“ but you take pity on the man. He made you cum, so you shouldn't be mean. Also, you wouldn't say no to him doing it to you again. So, be nice and keep the option open.

„I'm not sure what you expect me to say.“, you tell him truthfully and Izuku looks a bit embarassed.

„I'm not gonna sing your praise, but I tell you it was good. Definitely would do it again, but I've got an 8am appointment tomorrow.“, you say a bit softer.

Izuku props himself up on his arm as he watches you look for your clothes and dress yourself. Obviously, he knew this was nothing serious but he lowkey hoped you stayed the night. He knows Katsuki's girlfriend was a one-night stand at first who then turned into something more. Maybe part of him hoped something like that would happen to him too. Or maybe he just doesn't want to be alone tonight.

When you're dressed, you turn to him.

„Alright, I better get going.“, you tell him and Izuku only nods at you.

He doesn't really know what to say. Actually, he probably just sucks at one-night stands. It's probably why none of them ever turned out to be something more for him.

„So... see you around?“, you drawl when he doesn't answer you.

Quickly, Izuku puts on one of his well-practiced smiles and nods more enthusiastically.

„Yeah, see you around. I had a good time.“, he tells you and you look relieved. At least he isn't making it more uncomfortable than these things usually are.

You give him a quick wave and turn around to leave. Izuku holds his breath until he hears his front door fall shut. With a groan, he drops back onto his pillow facefirst.

Why does he keep doing this? He should know better. He's not made for these types of flings. He doesn't even want them. Izuku is a through-and-through relationship type of guy and yet he always ends up alone at the end of the night.

Maybe he can't hold someone's attention for more than a night or maybe Kacchan just ruined him for everybody else.

*~*~*~*

You fix the position of your panties as you wait for the elevator to reach the ground level. You quickly look in the mirror. Your hair and makeup look awful. Suddenly, you're very glad you're not staying the night. Nothing would be more shameful than to walk home like this in the morning.

You rub your temple. Your plan was to take somebody home from the wedding. So that your ex would see. Maybe that was already a stupid idea. Why would he care if his ex takes somebody home on his wedding day? It's the luckiest day in his life and there's a reason why it wasn't you standing next to him in a white dress.

Actually, it's probably for the best you didn't take someone home from the wedding. Maybe he would've laughed about it and said it fits the pattern. Y/n, the mess, never taking anything seriously, always out there for a good time but not a long time. At least like this, you left with your grace intact. Also, it helps a little bit that you looked absolute bomb in this dress.

You sigh deeply. And yet, he would've been right. After all, you had nothing better to do than go find yourself a hook-up at a random bar right afterward. Poor Izuku, he made it clear last time that he wasn't interested in something like this. And yet, he ended up in your spider's web. You wonder what changed his mind. Maybe it was the dress.

When the elevator reaches the ground, you quickly exit it and walk through the lobby in an equally quick step. There's no need for anybody to see you like this. You're almost out of the door when the post boxes next to the entry catch your eye. You stop for a moment.

No, y/n, this is a stupid idea, you tell yourself. He won't text anyway. What was that about not stepping down onto a groupie level? Then again, it was a pretty good orgasm. Hell, one of the best ones you had in quite a while.

Maybe you're still horny or drunk from earlier, clouding your better judgement, but before you can stop yourself, you pushed your business card through the slit of Izuku's post box.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in possible future parts]

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flowerandblood · 3 months

Text

Play with my heart (3/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: unprotected & proctected sex, smut, angst, fluff, sexual tension, feeling of guilt, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

They spent the next few days on set together with the other actors in a very pleasant atmosphere. He genuinely liked Daemon – he played the Princess's stepfather and had an incredible charisma that outshone everyone in every scene he appeared in.

He watched him intently from the sidelines, trying to remember his facial expressions and his reactions, wanting to use this later in his role.

To his satisfaction and relief, he could call his relationship with Rhaenys warm. She always smiled broadly at the sight of him and ran over to talk to him between scenes they weren't filming together, sometimes bringing him a sandwich or coffee from the vending machine.

"– you have to eat something – you can't survive on acting alone –" She said regretfully, and he shrugged his shoulders, biting into a sandwich with lettuce, tomato, cheese, pickles and sauce.

He had already forgotten about his eye patch and wasn't taking it off, not wanting to step out of character.

The day was fast approaching when they were to shoot the scene in which the Prince and his niece escape from the library together and spend their first night with each other.

It wasn't his first sex scene, but he had never played it with someone he cared about in any way, and her inexperience worried him.

As it turned out, he wasn't wrong, and the evening before shooting day she knocked on his door. When he let her in he could see that she was distressed and terrified, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

He let her in without a word.

"– I've never – you know – acted a scene like this and – more and more I feel that in front of such a large group of people I just won't be able to relax and get into character –" She muttered, standing in front of him but not looking at him, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was ashamed.

She was asking him for advice and help.

He nodded at her words.

"– it's natural – it's a very intimate scene – you have a right to feel insecure – me and the sexual psychologists are on set to help you –" He explained, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking away, feeling hot at the thought of what they were about to do.

Of course he knew they weren't going to have sex for real, however, they were going to be very close and he knew he was going to be touching her naked body.

She had a right to feel uncomfortable about this especially as he was more experienced than her, clearly not just as an actor.

She nodded and smiled at him, as if his words actually comforted her.

"– I – would you mind if we did a rehearsal? – I mean – if I go through it with you without cameras, hear your advice then maybe – maybe tomorrow it will be easier for me, I'll know exactly what I want to do –" She choked out in embarrassment, looking at him as if she was asking him if she was demanding too much of him.

He stared at her for a moment with his mouth open thinking he shouldn't be doing this, if only because his erection had swollen in his sweatpants at her request.

The fact that his cock wanted it meant that his mouth should refuse, but on the other hand he didn't want her to feel abandoned with something that obviously scared her.

He figured he needed to get a grip, think about her and her comfort.

He nodded and she breathed out loud, shifting from foot to foot, scared and excited at the same time.

"– so – where should we start? –" She asked quickly, and he involuntarily licked his lips, looking at her bare legs.

He wondered if she had panties under the material of her long, cream-coloured hoodie and cursed in the back of his head.

"– from the touch of a hand – a kiss – that opens the door to further emotions –" He replied in a hoarse voice, horrified that she had approached him, that she had taken his hand in hers, looking at him with her big, bright eyes.

God.

It wasn't good.

He kissed her more passionately than he had planned – his lips swollen involuntarily pressed against hers and brushed her skin with a loud click, from which she sighed, her soft, warm cheeks locked between the fingers of his hand.

He sighed quietly when it became apparent that his directness did not deter her – she followed his lead, her hands enclosed his cheeks in a tender embrace, from which he involuntarily put his arm around her waist. Her body slammed against his, and her belly felt what was happening in his trousers.

He felt her tremble and moan quietly in his embrace, surprised and ashamed, parting her lips invitingly, allowing him to tentatively slip his moist tongue between them.

They sighed against their throats, pressing against each other, his hips beginning to rub against her while his kisses became more ferocious, aggressive, messy, full of their saliva, teeth and tongues.

He heard her sound of surprise as his hands slid down to her buttocks and clamped down on them, slipping under the material of her shorts. When she threw her hands over his shoulders he simply lifted her, grabbing her hips and turned, throwing himself on the bed with her.

"– too much wine, uncle? –" She asked with amusement, following the script, letting their lips melt again and again in soft, deep, warm kisses, sticky with their saliva and tongues. He grinned under his breath at his words, running his swollen erection between her thighs.

"– you'll see in a moment –" He gasped into her throat, her arms hugging him close pressing his body closer, her legs intertwined on his back making him feel like his cock was about to explode with desire.

"– and now what? –" She mumbled excitedly, clearly wondering how actors performed these kinds of scenes without having sex.

The problem was, that he felt like it.

He rested the weight of his body on his hands, placing them on either side of her head, looking at her for a moment – her glossy, puffy lips were parted in an accelerated breath, her eyes shining, warm, bright, her gaze misty.

God, how badly he wanted to fuck her.

"– in the scene the Prince exposes her breasts – can I do it? –" He asked in a trembling voice and she nodded, the expression on her face full of trust and confidence from which he felt a tightening in his stomach.

As he grabbed the material of her hoodie she raised her hands above her head to make his task easier. He pulled it off her reverently, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat at the sight of her lovely, plump breasts and her little nipples.

"– so pretty –" He whispered, leaning over her body, placing a gentle kiss on her sternum, from which her whole body trembled.

"– so, so good –" He murmured, not knowing fully himself what he was actually doing, convincing himself that he was trying to reassure her, to give her a sense of security.

Her hands stroked his short hair slowly and tenderly as his lips, with loud clicks of his saliva, lazily found their way up her neck and to her jaw, her soft, warm cheek, and finally her mouth, whose wetness he welcomed with relief.

He heard her moan quietly, surprised, clasping her hands over his neck and the material of his shirt as his hips began to roll back and forth, rubbing against the space between her thighs, mimicking the movements he would make if he were deep inside her.

"– ah –" She sighed, tilting her head back, his hot, swollen lips trailing over her fragrant neck while his hands blindly found her smooth breasts, caressing them and kneading them tentatively between his fingers.

Despite the fact that they should be speaking their lines, only silent moans of shame and panting came from their mouths. He knew, feeling her hips come up to meet his, that what they were doing was slowly turning into something else entirely, but neither of them dared to admit it.

Her body, the touch of her hands, her embrace, her scent, it was all so pleasant, warm, familiar, sincere, desired.

"– fuck –" He muttered, involuntarily speeding up the rocking motions of his hips and groaned a tad too loudly, betraying that he was long past his role, that what she felt under the material of his sweatpants was embarrassingly real.

It seemed to him that she didn't know what to make of this fact, hugging him close, trying to understand what she herself felt, why she was allowing this to happen, what was actually going on between them.

"– it feels good –" She mumbled into his ear, making his hard erection push against her stomach. She gasped, surprised, clenching her fingers on the material of his shirt as she felt his slick, moist tongue run over her neck, his hand sliding down to her warm thigh.

"– too good –" He confessed, embarrassed that his hand had slid lower between her legs, his fingertips teasing the material of her soaked panties and what was beneath them.

She squealed and tilted her head back, at the same time wanting to push him away and hold him close, feeling his fingers wander around her hot, pulsing womanhood, squeezing it gently.

"– ah – ah, oh God –" She whimpered, involuntarily spreading her thighs wider, wordlessly giving him permission to do what they both knew they shouldn't have done.

They both groaned embarrassedly loudly when, with an impatient flick of his hand, he pushed the material of her panties aside, sinking his fingers into her warm, silky folds, all sticky from her wetness.

"– just like that – that's what you should feel – tension –" He whispered in a trembling voice, kissing her hot, soft cheek loudly and lingeringly, digging his fingertips into her sensitive, tender skin, teasing and rubbing the space around her little bud, making her whole body tremble under him in convulsions.

"– Aemond – a-ah – mghmmm –" She mumbled out as she felt his fingers invade her swollen slit, throbbing with desire, all leaking from his treatments. He closed her mouth with his own as he slowy and gently slid his middle finger into her quivering, fleshy, hot interior, her walls sucking and clenching around him, tight and swollen.

He moaned low as her hands slid down to the fabric of his trousers, undoing his button and zipper. Knowing what she wanted to do he finished the job for her, watching with his mouth wide open as she herself slid her shorts and panties down her thighs, panting loudly along with him.

They clung to each other again immediately, their kisses lustful, shameless, loud, intimate – his hands slid down between her thighs, his fingers spread the folds of her little cunt open to the sides, letting the fat head of his cock find her throbbing, weeping slit.

She threw her head back as the thick, smooth tip of his erection burst inside her with her loud moan of pleasure, the next helpless thrust of his hips into her throbbing, tight interior made him know there was no turning back.

"– I'm sorry – I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry –" He breathed out, pounding deeper and faster into her with each word, imposing an aggressive, rough pace on her, her body, however, welcomed him with ease – he leaned forward, listening as her slick pussy was filled with his swollen erection with each successive shameless slap of their bodies against each other, their breaths heavy, their moans helpless, too loud, too animal, too desperate.

"– m-me to – fuck – fuck, God, oh fuck –" She mumbled and pleaded at the same time, tightening her fingers on his buttocks, directing him back deep inside her again and again.

Her tight, warm walls gave him a wonderful squeeze again each time he slammed into her, his body pressed hers against the bed which began to creak loudly beneath them, their bodies bumping against each other like mad with loud clicks of their wetness creating one big, wet, sticky mess between their thighs.

"– fuck – so fucking good – God, yes –" He breathed out, chasing his own fulfilment, as was she, not thinking about what they were actually doing or why, focused only on the fact that it felt wonderful, that it felt safe and that he wanted to come inside her, inside her, just inside her, as deep as possible.

"– m gonna cum –" She muttered helplessly, as if she was about to burst out crying with pleasure, and then she wept loudly, coming hard on his cock, her warm, fleshy walls beginning to squeeze and suck him inside.

He felt his mind stop functioning, the tension and tingling in his lower abdomen, testicles and length was approaching its zenith, and he wanted only one thing – to come inside her.

"– do you – God, oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK –" He cursed, before he asked the question feeling his warm seed fill her insides, bringing his body a relief from which he groaned low, his mouth wide open by how a strong wave of pleasure shook his body.

They looked at each other with eyebrows arched in pain, her gaze warm and tender, her hands running down his sweaty back and cheeks.

"– i-its – it's okay – I'll make sure I don't find myself pregnant –" She mumbled, something in her words and in her gaze made him want to cry.

How could he have been so irresponsible?

"– I'm sorry – I'm so sorry –" He mumbled out, feeling with embarrassment that warm tears one by one began to run down his cheeks onto her face.

Not a second passed and they both burst into sobs and hugged each other like little children, lying like that, exposed and vulnerable, bare before each other.

"– was it – was it real? –" She muttered in a breaking voice, and he nodded, choking on his own tears.

"– yes –"

He personally drove her to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy so she could buy a ‘morning-after’ pill. He insisted she let him pay, but she said there was no need. She returned a while later with a packet and a bottle of water, getting into his car.

All around them only night and silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. It's my fault." He muttered, but she shook her head.

"– yes – I mean – I asked for a pill that will prevent conception if it hasn't happened yet – there's a good chance it will be enough –" She muttered, reading the leaflet quickly, and he nodded, feeling ashamed, sad and disappointed in himself.

"– I'm sorry –" He muttered, repeating it for the hundredth time that evening.

"– it's okay –" She replied, popping a tablet into her mouth and sipping it with water. She took a heavy breath, as if relieved and sad at the same time, then nodded.

"– let's go –"

By the time they got back to the hotel, it was almost midnight. He escorted her to her room, not knowing what to say, how to act.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

She looked at him, surprised, and swallowed hard.

"That's okay. Don't feel guilty. I have my own reason too." She replied, looking down at her fingers in embarrassment.

"I want to stay with you. If you want me to." He replied in a trembling voice, looking down at the floor, feeling ashamed of how small he felt now.

A great actor who can't even put a condom on his cock before putting it inside good girl who came to him for help and advice.

She nodded and went inside, and he came in after her, bitter and broken. They lay down side by side on her bed facing each other. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then he leaned in – she opened her mouth thinking he wanted to kiss her, frightened, but he only pressed his forehead against hers, his hand stroking her soft, warm cheek.

"– try to sleep – hm? – I'll stroke your head –" He whispered. Her eyes glazed over with tears for some reason, her small body clung to him, seeking refuge in his chest.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, stroking her back and hair, again and again placing a moist, tender kiss on the top of her head.

It felt so right.

They fell asleep like this, entwined in a tender, warm, safe embrace, and he thought, listening to her calm breath, that never before in his life had he felt such a need to protect someone.

Despite what he had promised himself, each of their meetings in her room, the pretext for which was to rehearse the script together, ended with their naked hips slapping against each other greedily with their loud moans of pleasure.

Their hands tightened on their bodies in a way that was not overbearing, aggressive, but tender, gentle, wanting nothing more than to become one.

He was ashamed that even though they pretended to meet as friends, he made sure he had a condom or two in the back pocket of his trousers every time before he was to come to her.

He didn't want her to go through again what she had when they first had sex.

On the one hand, the thought that she might have believed that he wanted to take advantage of her terrified him, so he assured her, kissing affectionately her exertion-soaked, sweaty cheeks, that he needed it as much as she did.

Never before in his life had he felt something like this, such an overwhelming need to be close to someone.

Afterwards, he always stayed through the night with her – even if he wanted to, he couldn't deny himself the warm embrace of her arms and fell asleep with his face cuddled between her naked, soft breasts.

It was real.

The director was delighted with the tension and electricity they were able to generate between each other on set without knowing that it had long since ceased to stem from their acting.

They teased and joked with each other between scenes, adding improvised, biting or ambiguous remarks to the script that they thought suited the era, and then, when it was all over, they sank into each other's bodies until they were one sticky, panting, throbbing mess.

His grandfather was proud of him and said that already several other productions were interested in casting him in the role.

"Seeing how you've handled the bed scenes, this will go easily for you." He said over breakfast, which they ate together. He felt a sense of discomfort at the thought.

"I want to limit myself to productions where I don't play intimate scenes. It costs me too much." He lied, not knowing how to explain that what was happening in front of the cameras was not because of his acting skills, but because his cock simply stood at attention when her tongue licked his on set.

His grandfather laughed under his breath.

"Don't be silly. You have to grab the opportunity. You're on a wave of recognition right now, everyone is waiting with bated breath for this show. If you are successful, the world will open up to you." He said, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

"Some great artists have never played any intimate scene. I'm not a porn actor." He said coldly, grabbing for his phone, hearing it start to vibrate and saw that he had received a text message from her asking if they were going to watch The Lion King tonight.

He smiled involuntarily at the thought.

"Are you listening to me? You think you're shagging that little girl and you've fallen in love? Romance on set happens, but you're being dramatic." Said Otto, and he looked at him, shocked to feel his heart leap into his throat.

"Don't speak about her like this. Never." He growled warningly, looking him straight in the eye. His grandfather was silent for a moment.

"That won't do. She lives far away, once the shooting is over the thing between you will be over too. Don't be naive."

"It's a three-hour drive from our town by car."

"What?"

"She lives three hours away from our town by car."

His grandfather looked at him in disbelief.

"You are making this naive girl hopeful. Don't waste her life and your career in the process. Don't turn down good offers."

He pressed his lips together at his words, looking at him indifferently.

"I will decide what proposals I consider good."

They had spent the last few days between shoots, during the day and at night in bed, and their disappearance together had sparked gossip and curiosity.

It was, however, the last thing he thought of when he could finally clamp his hands on her naked buttocks and slide her panties off her, a smile on her lips knowing that he certainly wasn't even bothering to take off the summer dress she had changed into.

"– the scene in Harrenhal – I almost fucked you there for real, you know? –" He gasped, kneeling on the bed in front of her, looking down at her with lips swollen with desire as his long fingers quickly took care of his trouser button and zipper.

"– come here –" He murmured, grabbing her by the hip and pushing her closer to him, her legs spread out in front of him in some natural gesture of trust and acceptance as he placed the condom over his painfully hard erection.

"– 'm sorry –" She mumbled out, thinking for some reason that she should be remorseful that he couldn't feel her completely, just like the first time.

"– stop – when this is over, we'll think about you taking pills – hm? –" He asked encouragingly, leaning over her, the weight of his body resting on his elbow as his free hand guided the head of his cock against her leaking, throbbing hot slit.

Her eyes got big at his words, as if she didn't believe he could want there to be anything after and she nodded quickly, making him feel that familiar heat spreading through his chest.

He leaned over and kissed her in a way he'd never kissed any woman before – their soft, warm lips were one loud, sticky, wet mess, their hands clenched on their bodies, holding them close together as he opened her wide on his long erection with one lazy thrust.

"– oh –" They both sighed, looking at each other with misty eyes, their mouths wide open as he began to pound into her quicker and deeper with loud, wet slaps of skin against skin.

"– A-Aemond – oh God –" She mewled, throwing her head back in pleasure, his hands blindly finding her breasts, sliding from the sides under the material of her dress, clamping down on their plump, firm structure.

"– you didn't touch yourself, did you? – am I right? – my sweet baby girl –" He hummed with a hint of sweet threat in his question, sliding his swollen lips down her cheek to her neck and jaw, leaving a warm, wet trail on her skin.

"– I – mghmm – n-no –" She mumbled out, stroking his hair and buttocks, her legs crossed over his back as his erection no longer slipped out of her, thrusting into her greedily, bringing him closer and closer to his peak, his mind and body hot with desire.

"– good girl – fuck – m close –" He gasped weakly, feeling a wave of pleasure approaching and a tightening in his testicles. His lover reached out eagerly to meet him with her hips, slapping against, his skin, crying and babbling about how much she good it felt, him deep, deep, inside her.

Their bodies intertwined in a close embrace as he pressed her tighter to the bed, imposing a brutal, fierce pace on her exactly as in the scene they were about to act out. Her scent, her moans, the warmth of her body and her fleshy walls, squeezing and sucking him inside, made him come in a condom with a low groan of relief.

He lay on top of her, panting heavily while his hand from between her breasts slid between their bodies, down to her thighs – his fingers gave her puffy bud a few encouraging, teasing squeezes before her little cunt began to pulse around his half-hard manhood in euphoria and her body was shaken by a sweet, hot orgasm from which she drifted off completely.

They lay like that for a long moment with their eyes closed, cuddled into each other, listening to the indistinct sound of conversation outside the window a few floors below, where the restaurant was located.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her quiet whisper, her hand stroking his head gently. He lifted his misty gaze to her, dreaming now only of a nap in her embrace.

"– hm? –"

"– what will happen after the shooting? –" She asked quietly, and he smiled lazily, for some reason calm and happy.

"– we will stop pretending to be actors –"

379 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 3 months

Text

SMOKE, i. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst

word count: 6.8k

summary: everything that begins also ends.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: suicide ideation, yoongi has deep feelings that he hasn't felt in a long time, sexual innuendos, yoongi has brief dirty thoughts, alcohol consumption, talks of alcohol, social anxiety and feelings of anxiety in general, jungkook has mint hair, covid and the pandemic, talking to a dead loved one, jealousy, envy, anger, crying, yoongi's bad shoulder.

note: welcome to the brand new yoongi series! i can't believe this baby is alive and ready for you to read. i struggled with this a lot, since it's written in a way i've never tried before. yoongi's pov, first person—like what? i thought this chapter was pretty shitty as i didn't feel comfortable writing in this style, but i pushed through, felt like it was meant to be—which is why i need tons of your validation. i was also kinda sad today, so please send your love. :( fyi, jungkook may be a huge part of the beginning of this story, but this is not steam pt 2. jungkook won't be present as much later on. no polyamory here. *spoiler* he just brought oc to yoongi and then he will lovingly go away, dw. :) enjoy this first chapter, i can't wait for many more! kisses.

side note: happy bday to us! mwah.

It was a bang, what happened in our group.

A bomb that blew off in Jungkookie’s trembling hands when he shared the news. A decision that wasn’t really collectively discussed, not even privately with Namjoon—but an information that erupted among us as we sat in the lounge room of the venue, refreshing ourselves with snacks and drinks after the tough soundcheck we had. I had a bottle of Hennessy in my hands myself, about to pour myself some liquid courage in order to chase away the bitter ire I had swirling in my veins, but hearing his words made me forget about the nectar right away.

He was bringing along a female friend for the tour.

The ire turned sour in my bloodstream.

He must’ve lost his mind.

And what’s worse, I was the only one who looked at him as if he were a lunatic. The members squealed and hollered, clapping their hands, shouting different variations of words of, “Jungkookie got a girlfriend!” that made him blush so profusely that he wasn’t able to reciprocate any of our eye contact.

Especially not mine.

I was fuming, taking breaths that hurt my lungs. The bottle of liquid courage damn nearly broke, but I didn’t feel a thing. How could I—when amidst the ruckus and the soft smiles of our staff my feelings parted and melted into a crossroad that I began to stand in the middle of.

One way led to selfishness, the other to the very polar opposite of it.

Jungkook didn’t deal with the pandemic well. His skin was invariably lined with a certain sensitivity towards forlornness and when the mandate forced upon him a pressure of being abandoned—by us and by his long time flirt that was the driving force behind his creativity, besides Army themselves—he didn’t take it well. Crawled inside himself, even deeper within when our management canceled our Map of the Soul tour and we had to stay bricked up inside our homes for a full year.

He was crestfallen and despondent, a decaying human. No girlfriend, no Army. No band members to slap his back, cook him food and distract his mind from the loneliness.

Except for me.

I was the one who made time for him. Who visited him, despite our management’s strong disliking for it. I went around them and did it without anyone’s knowledge but Jungkook’s. With a mask and health in perfect condition that I took care of more for him than for anyone else. Our relationship blossomed to highs that overgrew the bricked walls of our mandatory, artificial castle. A peach honeysuckle vine that we watched as much as we could while I wrote poems to him in my heart to alleviate his ache. It was spring and one, singular hummingbird would fly in to listen to my words while inhaling the sweetened perfume of those pale orange flowers or the fragrance of the natural honey I would buy him and pour over the pancakes I would make for him. A comfort food, a symbol of our secret meetings. A butterfly would sit on the small creature’s back, just to look over its wings and be a witness to a mind’s mending, an afternoon’s tea mixed with dark liquor that would always fade to noraebang.

The key to Jungkook’s heart.

I don’t know how the little fella found us, but I wish his wings would sense us here. There’s no windows for him to look out of, but the craving in me for it to fly in and save the day, remind Jungkook who’s been here for him this whole time, blossoms in me just like those peach flowers.

The castle has collapsed a tiny bit, but the honeysuckle remains untouched.

Or at least I hope so.

The other, non-selfish way is simple. Our work had been put off for so long and now that we’re able to pick it back up—in a way that isn’t as satisfactory as I’d want it to be, of course, for the only faces we’ll be seeing beyond the stage are the ones of camera lenses, not the ones belonging to our beautiful Army—there’s a distraction, an external person who could never understand the gravity of that pain we all went through.

This was supposed to be a precious time shared between us. Another mending of some sort—as our job is the chambers of our hearts.

And now as I look at her, I feel her playing with those strings of my heart like a harp. And I have that terrible feeling that she will open the doors to each chamber and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for.

In spite of the fact that she didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a gut feeling that consumes me and I can’t do a thing about it, not even admit that it gives me the tiniest hint of a thrill that I’ve been craving for so long.

Jungkook wasn’t the only one affected by the loneliness that came with the mandate. I gave my all to him and always walked out of his door empty—with no one to refill me.

Performing again was supposed to do the job, but it seems as though she’s come in to hijack it.

Announcement, the ruffling of his hair and multitudes of teasing aside, we had an hour and half left until the beginning of our first show in Seoul. Jungkook left us, with cheeks as darkened as poppies in the summer, with a staff member and our bodyguard to pick her up at a designated meeting spot nearby. He hadn’t eaten all day—not before our dismal soundcheck and certainly not during our hair and makeup session. A ribbon of worry curled tightly in my gut that unfurled once he filled his plate with hotdogs after introducing her to us.

No shaking of hands, only Jungkook’s hand pointing at each member while his mouth gave life to their names. And she didn’t nod her head, not even once, as she moved to greet and smile at every face, which caused me to think that she either already knew of us, either due to our popularity or due to Jungkook’s stories—or both.

But when it was my turn, her smile faltered.

I didn’t see much of her face, for she wore a black mask. And the only part of her features I was able to see spoke to me in a foreign language I was too pissed off to decipher.

Feline eyes.

Round and wispy, so terribly cat-like that it cut through my heartstrings she played with and then abandoned. She held my gaze so unfathomably deeply and it wasn’t until she whisked her eyes away that I realized she, irrevocably, clutched time in her hands. It had stopped during that brief moment and resumed as if nothing happened.

It unnerved me.

As did my strange feelings as I took in the personality of her outer form.

She wore a long silky dress, as black as her energy and her hair nearly akin to the length of that garment. Its hem brushed against her ankles with every movement she made and her feet were shod in a pair of heels that would puncture my heart if she so much as wished so. Over her shoulder hung a matching, leather purse and I noticed something that bruised, most peculiarly, my flesh.

The clasp of her chain strap had a chubby Grookey Pokémon caged as a keychain.

I found it as adorable as absolutely dangerous. Still do as my eyes can’t help but to watch it twirl.

She’s a dangerous black cat, with her claws tucked in. And the entire night coils in her eyes, dressing her in innocence and a simultaneous seductiveness that make my lungs swell.

A quintessence of beauty, she is.

After the introduction is over, Jungkook pulls out a chair for her beside him, sitting down and not wasting a second as he stuffs his mouth full with one of the hotdogs. The monkey bounces with her movement and it’s only now that my brain puts two and two together. The monster almost matches the minty tinge of Jungkook’s dyed hair with its plump, green body.

None of them know that I match him, too.

A leaf of the same plant swirls in my glass of whiskey.

And the notion of iciness that it adds to the bitterness of the liquid turns to ash in my mouth as I take a sip. I, myself, sit on the armrest on the couch, alone—but not alone physically. Hobi rests, leisurely, next to me and she’s stolen glances at him more times than I like. Looked at him while completely avoiding the ring of protectiveness I’ve conjured around myself.

She does good, but it spreads fire to the strangeness of my feelings that I can’t name.

Is she throwing a rope around another one of the boys? Her claws itching to rise?

Who’s next?

I sigh as she laughs, softly, at something Namjoon says and it deepens my ire. Namjoon should’ve made order as the leader of our group. Should’ve said no to Jungkook at the unfolding of his news and keep the number of our group to seven. Especially when our time together is this precious.

Not chatting her up and coaxing that wonderful sound out of her.

“Can we get you anything to drink?” Namjoon asks, waving his hand in the direction of the alcohol station out far in the left corner of the lounge room. A mint plant mocks me as my eyes flick to it while I take another sip. The reason why it’s there in the first place is because Jimin likes his mojitos.

He sips on it like it’s a Capri-Sun as I swallow the dark liquid after swirling it in my mouth for a moment, the bitterness doing nothing to stifle my ire.

“No,” she says, feebly, brushing her fingers down the length of her ebony hair before tossing it over her shoulder, giving me a perfect look of one singular strand that has been dyed in the same pale green color that is suffused all though Jungkook’s hair. The shade, but darker, more sinister, imbues my blood with envy. It’s not that soft color, redolent of spring meadows, by any chance. It’s an ancient, vague memory of a forest once in full bloom that is now withering and dying at dusk. How long has he been seeing her that they reached this base? “I don’t drink hard liquor, but thank you.”

Namjoon licks his lips, spreading his arms over the two empty chairs beside him. “Ah,” he laments, smiling at her, gently. “You don’t drink at all?”

Jungkook lifts his head from his plate, laughing through his nose as he chews his food, his mouth forming into that bunny smile of his. He knows something I don’t and my green blood boils.

The cat girl grins, her head twisted in Jungkook’s direction when she laughs, the skin under her chin rounding out, and my chest tightens in endearment at the sight of it.

The cutest fucking double chin I ever have the eyes to see.

Fuck.

“Oh, she drinks,” Jungkook says, his words muffled due to his full cheeks, the food inside showing as he continues to be all smiles.

The cat girl pinches his arm, but owing to the thick fluffiness of his jumper, she doesn't reach skin, and therefore doesn't inflict the pain she intended. Jungkook pretends to moan in pain, anyway. My chest tightens again—this time for a beat longer.

An oddity flies through my vision, slicing through my envy.

Her claws sinking into my bare skin as I let her playfulness out—

I shake that picture out of my head as quickly as it arrives, running my fingers through my strands that had fallen in front of my eyes. The girl helps my effort by speaking, distracting me from the faint rush of lust that begins to course down my body.

I can’t get hard.

“Yeah, I only drink wine,” she reveals, coyness entwining around her tone, and she kneads her hands, struggling with her straight posture.

Another distraction, one that softens, most peculiarly, my lust.

If I were born with deaf ears, I would’ve known she was fighting through her shyness by one glance at her body language and I don’t blame her.

She doesn’t have only seven pairs of eyes watching her. She’s the apple of fifteen more if I include our staff, sound engineers and our management.

If I weren’t the person I was and if this wasn’t my job, I would have run the first chance I got. A certain admiration envelops my heart the more I study her toy with her fingers, soothingly, because of a reason that aches to admit.

A reason far from plain.

She’s the same as me. Uncomfortable by and disliking any public event with people involved, especially if you’re put in a position to talk.

A bond forms and I can’t stop it. I can’t rip it apart even as I willfully try in my headspace to cut off that red string tied around my heart, leading to hers. I can’t because she eventually slouches, giving up, her spine protruding towards me through the open back of her dress, for she’s turned her body towards Namjoon, who sits at the head of the table, but I figure she did it in order to be closer to Jungkook to gain some comfort from him. The skin of her back is refulgent and tanned, scattered with little blemishes that connect, like constellations, to a night sky full of birthmarks, and that only add to her beauty.

Her whole back is filled with them, stirring my wonder. And, unknowingly, she let me see by sweeping her hair to one side. I wonder if Jungkook has seen them and appreciates them as much as I do—

Jungkook burps, obscenely loudly, setting down Hobi’s unfinished can of Sprite that he left on the table. I’m sure Hobi’s regretting making that mistake, but when I look at him, he’s smiling so widely that I can see his gums and I’m so astounded by that view that I’m thrown off my balance.

Even more so, when I check the reactions of the other members and begin to feel shame descending down my own spine like cold sweat. Jimin has hearts thumping in his eyes, raising his hand in the girl cat’s direction, connecting with her as he says he loves a good bubbly. Taehyung, sitting on the direct opposite side of Jungkook by the table with his arms crossed and his face flushed intones that tonight after the show he will break his sobriety streak. Jin joins the table and flicks Taehyung’s forehead, tells him he doesn’t have to break anything while taking a huge bite of his banana. And Namjoon… he laughs, hands intertwined upon the back of his head.

The whole table laughs, in fact.

Hobi does beside me, too.

I’m the only one who doesn’t, steeped in my uncertainty as I am.

They all bask in comfort and gaiety. There’s no awkwardness, no unspoken words or silence that hangs heavily in the air. There’s no need for our hummingbird; no need to change directions, play pretend or act accordingly to the new situation because there’s absolutely nothing new about the atmosphere I find myself to be in. Everything is as if it were just the seven of us.

Making jokes, lighthearted energy, connections lengthening and digging deep…

I haven’t seen that, been a part of that in so long.

I was wrong—and the shame, stemming from my wrong impression and unwarranted fear, washes out the envy from my blood. It stands, arm to arm, with my life-long emptiness and I bow my head down, licking my lips.

I wish to exit myself out of this room.

I wish my heart wasn’t so sensitive.

I wish—

“It’s her birthday today and I bought so many bottles of champagne and wine,” Jungkook says, running his tongue over his teeth, and my head lifts; my heart enlarges before it shrinks, painfully, magnifying my shame until it grazes the flesh like a shard. It’s her birthday? “I’ll need your help, guys. We’re not celebrating here tonight. After the show, we’re going to my place.”

It’s not peach honeysuckle that I’m thinking of. Not pancakes. Not our hummingbird and butterfly as the boys cheer all over again, wishing her happy birthday.

It’s her that I’m thinking of.

And how much I messed up.

He brought her here to make her birthday special—to be with her on the day that carries her name, not to replace me.

It explains why she’s so magnificently dressed up; why she’s putting her feet through so much pain in those heels of hers.

Just for one night. And I’ve managed to ruin it so majestically with my energy. No wonder she won’t look at me; no wonder her eyes won’t even sweep past me en route to Hobi’s chocolate fountain that his eyes emanate.

Mine are nothing but death. I don’t blame the decline of her smile as her pools met it. A kitty cat that looked at the face of a skull. It symbolized the end of time and now I perceive that it epitomizes the end of me.

The longer she’s present, the more I loosen the consuming negativity that I’ve lived for so long in compliance with—because now I’m soft.

I’m gutted I made her feel awful to be here with my dark energy.

“Jungkook, you should’ve told us that was the reason why you brought her along. We would have welcomed you with a happy birthday song,” Namjoon says, his palm lifted towards Jungkook and her while his other hand reminds behind his head.

I can’t see her smile. Not even a hint of it in her eyes, for this time around she doesn’t turn around to steal a glance at Hobi. And I wish she would, with a strength that I’m in awe that I’m even possessing, because I find myself yearning to look at her face, amidst my softness.

I misjudged her so terribly that the yearning doubles as she presses her hands against her cheeks amidst the overbearing attention. Becomes a need—a need to fix what I so unfairly have broken.

And jealousy thunderstrikes in my system when Jungkook bumps his shoulder into hers, gently, his head tipped low, fixed in her direction as she struggles, once again, in her shyness. Straightens her spine just in time for Jungkook to curl a finger around her ear and take off her black mask.

I’m so jealous everyone else gets to see her face fully that indignation supersedes my past ire and my softness and I’m quickly up on my feet, ready to walk out to breathe in some fresh air but something else steps into my plan.

And it’s not her.

It could never be her.

Staffs members circle around us, guiding us out of the room to wire us up. But I stall my time, purposefully staying behind so I can look at her. I pretend to exercise my pain from my shoulder surgery by rolling it and making a face. Jungkook whispers something to her, her face pointed upwards as he stands before her while she remains sitting and I’m so bothered by it that it calls out the pain, incites it to come haunt me again.

Everyone else had something to say to her—and yet I still haven’t, owing to my foolish mistake. Self-hatred fastens to my anger and I can’t breathe, my lack of knowing what to say to her when the time comes worsening my feelings.

The boys leave the room and it’s just me and her. The staff member knows not to push me, but the pressure in her eyes is the driving force that takes my legs to the kitty girl.

She sits so awfully forlornly in her chair, reminds me so much of Jungkook, her spine back to slouching, that marvelous pillar protruding again and my lungs do that thing they seem to automatically do whenever I see that part of her.

She hears my footfalls as I approach her, but she doesn’t turn around. I ignore the way it makes me feel, the heaviness that comes with it, too. She, in most probability, thinks I’m walking out of this room without saying a word to her, but I’m not capable of that.

Not anymore.

I call out her name and, in surprise, she lifts her spine. Turns around, at last, the sleek fabric of the dress adding swiftness to the movement and I see her face. Her full mouth that compliments, most perfectly, her big feline eyes. And I think about how much her dark, sensual energy doesn’t mirror her personality, her coyness that hides inside until someone speaks to her. Her chin is so small that my fist would still be empty if I held it in the way my body asks for, but the look she gives me diminishes the lust that slowly begins to crawl again within me.

It’s one that bears a different kind of shyness. It’s fear-induced respect and the hatred towards myself thickens.

I don’t want her to feel this way, but I molded it in her.

It’s my fault.

It’s why I think twice before I tell my fingers no, for they ache to drum against the top edge of her chair in effort to linger in her proximity. I won’t encourage her discomfort when I yearn to wipe it clean. But when she inhales my prolonged silence and raises her thin brows in waiting, the tiniest sliver of a smile quivering on her lips, she doesn’t know it—but she somehow gives me the words I was lacking.

“Did Jungkook tell you where to go?” I ask, softly, fearing her knees will turn away from me, her body language divulging to me the depth of her uneasiness around me. But she remains put, the pillows of her lips balancing at last as they stretch out in a small grin that I don’t deserve.

Her slender nose crinkles.

My heart forgets to beat.

“No, he told me to wait here and that Min-ji will take me to a room where I can watch you, guys, perform on the TV,” she says, her grin making it difficult for her to get the words out and she blushes. There must be some other, silent language shared between our bodies because I discover myself smiling, too, even though there’s nothing from her sentence that can possibly be the cause of it.

The energy shifts, devastatingly, and heat clings to my skin, dispersing relief down my nerve endings.

All while buzzing tingles chase it, hastily, grabbing it by the back of its shirt and consuming it.

It’s strange, so terribly strange to be consumed by nervousness when I’ve been used to nothingness and emptiness for so long.

And her eyes seem to grow bigger, despite the irrepressible dynamism of her fear. Is she gaining thrill out of it—to be staring at the face of breaking death like the small kitten she is and knowing it’s her power that influences me?

Those eyes. If my ears weren’t bombarded by Hobi’s sound effects wafting down the hall and into the lounge room, mingling with the rise and fall of Jungkook’s voice as he warms it up, I swear I can hear the song of swallows in them. She’s a manifestation of a summer evening in her fear and nervousness, when those birds go mad in the tender blues and pinks of the sky—and I don’t know why I like it so much. Why I want to seize it in my hand and squeeze it.

And she’s about to be all alone here with it while I go join the rest of my brothers.

It’s something that doesn’t feel right.

The staff member taps me on my back. Time is against me—why doesn’t she control it? I swivel behind me to catch her nodding her chin in the direction of the hall and I sigh, quietly.

“Wait with her until Min-ji comes to get her, so she’s not alone here,” I tell her, then look down at the kitty girl again.

Her raised brows create wrinkles on her forehead and once she sees that I’ve noticed, she relaxes, wetting her lips. Doesn't want me to see the surprise that comes from what she created in me.

How cute.

“Enjoy the show,” I murmur, moving my feet towards the exit. I gaze back at her, catch her lungs shuddering, and the words slip off my tongue before I scramble the courage to stop them. “And happy birthday.”

Her blush reaches her neck and it’s all my vision consists of—even when I’m performing.

Our interaction was too short. Too, too short. And my anger took on a new face.

Hers.

Every word I rapped as I stared into the camera, I felt it dissolving in me and transforming into a yearning so great that my verses gained new meaning. A yearning to see her again, talk to her, pinch that fear in my fingers and fling it away, make space for something in her that had the vigor to surprise me and make me soft again. And in my concentration, I didn’t have the fight in me to put a stop to it. I was doing my duty for the happiness of our Army and while I thought about her, it seemed right. Those two things went along and it spurred a pleasant feeling in me that was warmer than the adrenaline sticking to my inflamed body from all the performing.

It didn’t hit me that she was watching me the whole time until my eyes regarded her unperturbed, flaccid posture in that white plastic chair, wading in my thoughts as I was. Her grin and the flecks of light in her eyes illuminate the room with orange, blazing fire. She’s barefoot, her heels kicked to the side, crooked, elegiac, yet still sensuous. Our show is being rerun on the TV and she’s watching it, transfixed, not realizing me and Jungkook were the first to come to her out of the group.

A mental connection clicks in my brain at the sight of it. The peach blossoms of the honeysuckle, Jungkook and the genuine love I carry for him. It is that orange color—it’s a home that keeps it safe, the atmosphere that she exudes through her evident elation and I don’t really understand why I feel this way.

I haven’t even known her for a day.

And it’s forced to collapse when her pools don’t find mine, but Jungkook’s once we walk in, joining her. She holds up her hand in the air, curling down her middle and ring fingers in while the rest of her digits remain erect, small and slim as they are. Her nose crunches up in the way it did when our bodies spoke in that secret language. And when she laughs and the corners of her eyes crinkle, I realize she’s mimicking his gesture that he so often does on stage while showing off his Army tattoo.

The finger-fucking gesture.

Her blush beams on her face, even more so when she does a stroking movement with her curled fingers, and I can’t help but wonder, briefly, if that’s how she does it to herself when she’s all alone and the night sinks inside her skin to get a refill of her juices, only to smear it across the sky.

It’s what I need to focus on, so I don’t explode in anger that she ignores me.

Jungkook cackles, sticking out his tongue and doing the gesture. I hide my face in my towel, getting rid of the sweat coating me—but it pours out of my pores again when I hear her giggle.

And I need to leave, my imagination no longer strong enough to withstand the jealousy that poisons my blood all over again.

I fling the towel out and away from me, not caring where it lands.

I don’t meet any eyes as I walk out, keeping my sight fixed on the gray floor, streaked with black lines from the hundreds of wheels of carts that have drove down the hall and from all the sneakers that have walked past. I follow them and I don’t know where they take me until I’m suddenly face to face with the gaping night.

And it’s not her.

It’s my wound.

No stars for a naked pupil to see. Merely an abounding canvas of blackness that stares back at me and questions me, questions my feelings when it knows full well how hard I’ve wept, many times, in its airy embrace.

I sit against the wall, needing something solid to support me, the spaciousness of the roof enveloping me, but not tightly enough. There, but never close enough—always a safe distance apart, as if afraid of me.

Everyone is so always fucking afraid of me.

And when they lean in and graze my heart, they get repulsed by me.

It’s an ouroboros that my life, like my legs, follows. Like a dog chasing its own tail—and it’s such a perfect comparison because I’ve always been alone, save for my brothers. Distracted for a while, then alone again.

I’m weary of it, despite the fact my body tends to wait for the thrill of the attention, longs for it, even when I dislike it. I’m an oxymoron that won’t cease and I have to live with it.

And I can’t exit out of it because I have millions of lives that depend on me, plus six more.

I sigh and I think sucking on a cigarette, numbly, while I crawl on my knees through the forest of my thoughts and feelings would be a thing of perfection. But I can’t afford that. Not when we’re working again. Not when our boss lurks at every corner, has eyes everywhere. Jungkook has had his last hotdog for a while and I…

I swathed my broken strings around someone he brought into my life.

Through a little hole my brothers let me see by forcing her to sit through a conversation that was a pain for her. A moonlight stripe of her personality, encased by her social anxiety and shyness. One that has awakened my body to emotions it hasn’t felt the touch of in a long time.

Why am I not fighting it?

Why am I not coercing my soul into submission, into that abyss of emptiness and hostility?

Why am I letting myself feel?

She’s just a girl that he’s seeing. Many stories like these have been written before and we’ve read the lines, recognized words that limned us, only for the love interest to disappear into thin air after some time like she never existed. And she’d just be another character in his love chronicles, if her persona hadn’t spoken to me so much.

If her body hadn’t spoken to me in a language no one knows—not even me.

I can’t begin my sentences about her with ‘she’s just a girl’, because she isn’t.

And I don’t understand how that’s come to be.

It happened so quickly that I fear I wasn’t present enough.

My wound tilts its head as my world does the same thing—slants on its axis. Coos at me, seeing me, seeing through me. Reminds me of what happened the last time I felt.

The passing of my girlfriend gave me the gift of a gun to my hand—gave me the face of death that I’ve been carrying ever since because it nearly made my dream of time ending come true. And the kitty girl… standstill hangs off her fingers like a pearl necklace that’s too long. And I find myself wanting to wear it. Because it’s her decision, her consciousness, her will.

Not mine.

And it will bring me closer to my Sun-mi.

My wound begins to cry at the memory of her, raindrops pitter-pattering on the tin ridges of the rooftop and I cherish that she’s remembered and honored by such vastness, by such picturesqueness that I’ve always considered the night to be. And when the wind brushes along my fidgeting hands, I almost feel her touch all over again.

Feel.

I feel.

And in my heart, I tell her. I sail to her, attaching myself to her again. Tell my Sun-mi that I am capable of feeling and that I don’t know how it came together in me. And I ask her, in utmost respect, to guide me on this unknown path.

Because I am alone without her. Adrift, without rhyme and reason. No wits to me, no rationality, no clear perception of right and wrong.

There’s only grayness to me.

Maybe that’s why I, unknowingly, dyed my hair this color before the start of the tour.

And it dawns on me, now that one chapter has closed in my life, that the passing of my Sun-mi a year and a half ago is the reason why I’ve clung to Jungkook so rigidly. Because I couldn’t spend my time on her, I spent it on Jungkook. Because I had all this love for her and I couldn’t give it to her, so I gave it to Jungkook.

And the kitty girl has put a stop to it.

Sun-mi graces me with the tepid, yet fuzzy impression that it’s good—that it was meant to happen. And I believe her.

And with my belief, the rain thickens.

A thunder rolls forward from a far-away corner of the canvas of the sky that I can’t see. And I dwell in the pool of the fountain of the love I still have for her and forever will continue to have. Kneel in it. Search for her.

I imagine her. The button of her nose, the curl of her top lip whenever we ridiculed aegyo by doing it together and doing a good fucking job while at it. I imagine her small fist at her round cheek, but she connects my memories to the kitty girl.

And she consumes me, wholly.

Sun-mi makes me imagine her doing a cat-like aegyo and as the corner of my mouth lifts, a particular fear devours my gut.

A fear of closeness.

A fear of doing something with her that I did with Sun-mi, even when she okays it in my spirit.

A fear of reliving something so painful again.

The rain inches towards me and I scurry to my feet, my hand trembling as I open the door to the staircase. And when I shut out the sound of hard rainfall and prevent the traumatic memories of my accident from slinking into my mind, it’s the only strength I have left.

And I crumble.

I mirror the rain I abhor so much.

I sit on the top of the staircase and I sear my hands with my acid-suffused tears. Sob so devastatingly that I don’t recognize myself, drenching the denim fabric over my knees. And when I pull on my hair, numbness is all that I detect within me.

Good.

No feelings; only emptiness.

I steel myself by taking a few deep breaths, letting the oxygen settle that deep in me. And I unattach myself from my Sun-mi, promise her I will get back to her soon. Go back to who I previously was before I scraped the skin of my knees raw on the hardened soil of my emotions and thoughts.

Alone death.

But Sun-mi doesn’t sail away back to heaven. Doesn’t let me go. She stomps her foot on the wet grass of my heart and I understand why. I asked her to guide me and what I didn’t know was that she would break the laws of heaven in order to do that. She wouldn’t whisper words of wisdom into the chambers of my heart. She would take my hand and show me wisdom, pointing me to the right decision.

That is my Sun-mi.

I let her because I need her. I bow to her and I would stoop to my stomach on this dirty, metal staircase floor to divulge my respect and gratitude to her if I didn’t hear a voice echoing up towards me.

A familiar male voice calling out to me.

Sun-mi pulls me to it and tingles vibrate down my legs as I fly through the stairs, skipping the bottom ones in order to get me faster to my brother. Sun-mi pumps blood into my heart, refreshing the grass she lays upon, and lightness descends upon my shoulders.

Her work of art.

Heaving, I meet Jungkook in the doorframe, glancing up at me, disappointment lidding his eyes. But I don’t fear, not when Sun-mi is with me. He opens the door wider for me to step through, but I remain fixed on my spot, panting, ringing piercing through my hearing sense.

Too much adrenaline at once in a season of drought. My body is unable to catch up to the new acclimatization.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my throat raw from my crying and I clear it, so there’s no evidence of my sensitivity. Sun-mi caresses the wall of my heart to soothe me and tears burn at the back of my eyes—from the simple fact that I can feel her.

I’ve felt her only once before. A week after she died, I prayed to her, loudly, until I lost my voice. Begged her to come back to me.

And she did.

And it felt nice until it didn’t—so I made it my habit to attach and unattach myself because of my fragility. It is only a matter of time before the logic of your mind distinguishes a real person from a ghost. And the parting of that vulnerable mist, in the middle of your agony, isn’t for the faint-hearted.

But Sun-mi, at this very moment, feels more real than she ever has. As if she truly was hidden in the rooms of my heart like a little doll, like a little angel that has the task from above to guide me.

And because I need it, I’ll let more time pass through this transcendental connection.

Jungkook flattens his lips, tightly, the tip of his tongue poking out to play with the thin metal pierced through his bottom lip. He’s changed back into the clothes he came in, minus the fluffy jacket. A black T-shirt, black pants and sneakers. It makes the green of his hair stand out—just like the wisp of the same color on that singular strand of the girl kitty’s hair.

They have a tendency to match and shame boils in me, that Sun-mi is a witness to the jealousy I feel. I haven’t told her and I don’t know if I want to. In my momentary cowardice, I hope that she can sense it and validate it.

But I gain nothing from her.

Silence.

One that Jungkook breaks.

“Staff said that we have to wait until the storm passes.”

My stomach sinks, the memory of the rainfall faint in my ears. “Good.”

Jungkook pauses before he voices out the question that I can visibly see rising in him. Nibbles his bottom lip, the metal tilting to the side like my world. “Where did you go?”

My breath shivers as I inhale, tasting my half-false words before I speak them. “I felt hot and I needed some fresh air.”

I felt jealous that you made dirty innuendos with your friend, I don’t say. It led me to seek my dead girlfriend because I feel inclined to fraternize with that aforementioned friend.

Jungkook frowns. “You went out in the rain?”

I pass through the gap between his body and the doorframe, not able to stand the position I’ve been put in, anxiety prickling my fingertips. Jungkook lets the door shut behind him with a loud thud, following closely behind me until he falls in step beside me.

“It felt refreshing until it didn’t,” I decide to mutter. Typical words of mine—I can’t stand them either.

Sun-mi is still silent.

Maybe I should unattach myself, protect myself from further pain. It was a moment of weakness, anyways—

Jungkook rubs my shoulder, gently, the fixed one, barely touching me, but the gesture is there. And I grasp why I love him so much.

His gentleness is everything to me.

“The rain will stop,” he says and I take those words to heart, giving them the meaning that they are the wisdom I needed to hear, the wisdom I sought from my quiet Sun-mi.

The rain will stop.

The sensitivity will stop, too.

And time will stop soon, one day.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff.

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cheralith · 7 months

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to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part iii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, unedited/not beta read as of 2/24

word count ; 8.5k

notes ; we're so back. am i severely late to posting this? very. did i at least get it done after too many months? also yes. i also apologize in advance to those i tagged that are no longer interested in the series, as i merely tagged people that had commented regardless of time. lmk if you no longer want to be tagged in the last part, i promise i won't take offense at all!

parts ; one two three four (tba)

THREE YEARS AGO

“My name is (Y/N) (L/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Hara. Please let me assist you at any need possible.”

Miguel peered at you through his reading glasses, averting his attention from his laptop to fully examine the stranger that stood in his office. Dark hazelnut eyes scan the appearance of a young woman dressed in black slacks and an ironed white blouse standing stiffly next to his superiors that eyed him with more eagerness than he liked. He could already tell that you were a shy one, a person that wasn’t too accustomed to the outside world and its people; you stood with stiff posture; it was one that exemplified nerve rather than confidence from the way that you almost seem paralyzed in your place.

Caldworth, one of the superiors that stood by your side, placed a wrinkly and veiny hand on your shoulder and showed you off to him as if you were a painting up for bidding. “We choose a sharp one for you. (Y/N) here is rather attentive, so don’t be shy about letting her get to know you better, Miguel.”

Miguel stayed quiet, still skeptical about this sudden new arrangement for him that was brought up at the last minute. He lacked a certain sort of anticipation that would usually behold anyone else in his position—a new person entering their work life would usually be an exciting, rousing meeting seeing as how it would be a new addition to what the higher-ups would refer to as “family.” A loose term, Miguel often thought… very loose, even. To even have the courage to compare coworkers to something as intimate as family was something that didn’t sit well with Miguel. Blame it on the certain circumstances on his own familial life, but even anyone else that had their brain in the somewhat of the right spot would understand that mere coworkers were nothing compared to family.

At least in his case.

“I’ve greatly admired your work in the past,” you said almost robotically, “so I hope I can be of any help in your future accomplishments—no matter how big or small.”

Miguel cocked his head. He fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at what he began to concur was something scripted via his superiors. Something about your tone of voice seemed… flat; devoid of any actual enthusiasm.

Caldworth and his partner began to see themselves out, leaving him to babysit you. “Well, you two have at it! Maybe go out for a cup of coffee to familiarize yourselves, get to know each other better since you both are essentially going to be around each other all the time,” Caldworth stated, making Miguel twitch from the last part.

Just before they left, Caldworth offered the glint of his eye over his shoulder, the peek of a tight-lipped grin ever so slightly visible.

“And don’t forget, we’re all family here!” he cheered before the slam of a door shut you and Miguel in.

Immediately, Miugel noticed that your shoulders caved inward, indicating that you were finally able to breathe properly without the surveillance of people that were essentially in charge of your life. He eyed you again from the top of his glasses before he took them off and rested them in between his fingers, letting them dangle lazily.

“Did they tell you to say that?”

You jolted in your spot. Nerves seemingly reshocked with the same anxiety from before, you turned yourself to face your new boss again with a much more paled, yet evident expression—wide-eyed, pursed-lipped, gritted jaw—and swallowed thickly. Almost in a shameful manner, you silently nodded your head.

“W-was…” you started, “was it that obvious?”

“Somewhat,” Miguel murmured simply and closed his laptop. “Don’t listen to what they say, just make yourself as comfortable as possible. I’m sure neither of us want to be that comfortable with each other.”

Your lips pressed themselves into a tight line, hitching a sharp breath before it’s replaced with another stiff nod. There was no user’s manual of sorts that was given to you by your superiors. They merely told you to do exactly what Miguel needed, so if this is what he wanted—for you two to maintain distance—then so be it. If anything, it’s easier to breathe this way for both parties.

And it was like that for a rather long time; the both of you never came too close to the other person. It was strictly a professional workplace relationship, one that didn’t issue any room for intimacy because it wasn’t needed. There were no lunch or dinner get-togethers outside work hours, there was barely any small talk between you both, and you and he didn’t even bother getting each others’ personal numbers despite being consistently around the other like air—both parties thought the work phones were more than enough. There was no need for you to learn about his likes, his dislikes, his favorite foods, and Miguel couldn’t certainly be bothered with your own slices of life. To each their own, if you minded your business about him, he’d do the same to you.

It was a fair trade and a sufficient barter that satisfied you and him; there need not be any excess of the unnecessary.

That was, until a certain day that Miguel was held back during his usual hours to continue working on lab reports—work that didn’t allow him freedom from this hell of a company to see his own salvation.

“If it’s an urgent matter, Mr. O’Hara, I don’t mind taking on some of the workload,” you had said softly as you placed the last stack of packets on his desk that needed proper annotation. “I’m your assistant, after all. It’s my job to help you out.”

Miguel rubbed his forehead out of exhaustion and shook his head, “You’re my assistant from 9 to 5 only. I’m not gonna be like those shocking pricks and work you longer than needed,” he muttered and stretched out his neck, joints crackling. “Go clock out, (Y/N). I’m sure there’s someone waiting for you at home that needs attending to.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere had gone awkwardly quiet. The tension was only broken by the scritching of your shuffling feet before you coughed.

“Um, there’s no one in particular like that for me, unfortunately,” you whispered through a forced laugh that quickly dissolved. “So again, I don’t mind staying late…”

Miguel stiffened in his seat and mumbled an apology for his blatant inconsideration. Right… you were still rather young and didn’t seem the type to have a family yet. “No boyfriend? Or girlfriend… I’m not one to judge.”

“No, Mr. O’Hara.”

“No parents?”

“I moved out, so no.”

“Not even pets?”

“None.”

“... perhaps friends of sorts?”

“...”

Another sigh heaves itself from his aching lungs. What he’d do for a cigarette right now to kill this awkward tension. You were a rather shy person that isolated herself from most people, but Miguel didn’t think you’d detach yourself this much from the crowd.

You proposed your assistance once more, as third times always a charm. “Please let me assist you, Mr. O’Hara. I truly do not mind staying overtime if needed.”

Miguel, at first, thought you might be kissing his ass for a possible raise, but the thought quickly disappears when you genuinely appear concerned for his well-being given the fact he looked ultimately much more disgruntled than usual. Despite your timidity, you could be a stubborn one, so Miguel gave in before he tired himself even more with mild arguments that he was sure would drain whatever life he had left in him.

He inhales sharply and fiddles with his bag for a bit before he pulls out an array of keys, gently detaching a pair of them. One of them is his car key. The other—his house key.

“Take these,” he said and gestured them to you. “I’ve trusted you enough to drive my car on multiple occasions, so now I’m entrusting you to my daughter.”

Your eyes widened briefly, brows raising to new heights. Blinking in the alikeness of an owl, you repeated, “Your… your daughter?”

Miguel supposes this is what succumbs to him after not revealing even the most personal, yet basic parts of himself to a coworker. He hasn’t even revealed his birthday to you, let alone his family, so he can’t say he’s too surprised at your reaction.

“Yes, my daughter,” he repeats and starts scribbling on a post-it. “Her name is Gabriella, she just turned five and is in kindergarten. I’m gonna call up the daycare and tell them that you’ll be picking her up from school. After that, drop her off at the house and just… just kind of stay there until I come home. There should be leftovers in the fridge if she gets hungry. I’ll take a cab home… I dunno.”

Miguel sticks out the post-it note containing both the address of the daycare and his apartment number. With caution, you take and examine them closely with a mild surprise still on your face of the new information about your boss that you thought you should’ve learned a while ago. You begin to see yourself out of his office with an evident nervousness in your being before Miguel spontaneously gets up and grabs your wrist tightly, forcing you to look at him.

A chill goes down your spine when you see a menacing and unusual red glint in those pools of mahogany. His once-drained face is suddenly stony and rugged with his teeth bitten back to avoid any unnecessary threats. The physical contact makes your nerves go cold and paralyzes you into place to force you to stare into those eyes that you’re not sure aren’t even human, a sort of malicious crimson tint gleaming over brown hues.

“Do not… let anything happen to her,” he hisses under his breath, his tone jaggedly sharp, “Not a single scratch, yes?”

It takes a while for air to breathe itself back into your lungs, yet only a partial amount of it revives your body because all you can reply is a choked out,

“Yes.”

Miguel lets go of your wrist like it’s a heated iron rod, the burn of it stinging his hand with the aftertaste of your skin still damped on his palm. You quickly leave after that, leaving him to sigh and stare into nothing before clutching the picture frame of his daughter that sits on his desk—praying that you’ll live up to his expectations and arrive home to an unscathed Gabriella.

And throughout the duration of the three years you and Miguel have spent side by side, with each repeated question he’d contritely ask again and again, he did each and every single time you had to take care of her. The hours became longer, more strenuous, and created a blockage between Miguel and Gabriella that only you were able to bridge between. Gabriella—whose particular shyness reminded Miguel of a certain someone—eventually warmed up to you and began to treat you much more familiarly as time passed, growing accustomed to wrapping her body around your legs when she saw you during pick up and always asking what was for dinner that evening as if you’ve been there since her birth.

Gabriella grew very fond of you, Miguel noticed. There was some sort of mimicry in her actions at times that mirrored your own habits like how she’d tilt her head and purse her lips to the left when she was confused like you did or she’d randomly walk briskly in the same fashion you marched. She’d slip in a mention of your name during small discussions here and there, a praise never failing to tail her words.

“Miss. (Y/N) bought this headband for me! Isn’t it pretty?”

“Oh, Miss. (Y/N) taught me how to solve that problem yesterday.”

“Can you make cookies like how Miss. (Y/N) does? Yours taste weird.”

While you weren’t always present around the O’Haras, Gabriella made sure it seemed like you were.

There was a particular time that Miguel was helping her on some homework assigned over the weekend. The assignment had discussed different careers that children might be interested in the future and when Miguel had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, Gabriella, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven around the time, replied all too simply,

“I want to be like Miss. (Y/N).”

Miguel was astonished. He had expected an answer like a professional soccer player due to her love of the sport or a scientist like her father, but to aspire to be someone that seemingly was just an occasional companion? To him, it didn’t make sense.

“Like, do you wanna work for Daddy when you’re older?” Miguel asked, attempting to clarify what she meant since she knew enough to understand you were associated with her father.

Gabriella shook her head and mindlessly continued to draw what seemed to be a portrait of you in… a pink dress? “Nuh uh. I wanna be a princess like her.”

Through furrowed brows, Miguel chuckled a little aimlessly. Of course she’d still believe fantasy and magical things—she was just seven after all. Initially, he wanted to merely correct his daughter, but was a little curious as to what sort of silly information you had been feeding her. “Miss. (Y/N) is a princess?”

“Yep, she told me herself!” Gabriella exclaimed, her hand fisting a yellow marker that scribbled on a crown on the drawing. “She said she used to be a princess, but she ran away ‘cause a giant, fire-breathing lizard tried to kidnap her!”

“I think it might’ve been a dragon, mijita,” Miguel corrected gently, trying to go along with the usual trope fairy tales portrayed.

“Nuh uh, it was a big and creepy lizard, she said!” she retaliated stubbornly.

“Well,” he started again, attempting to choose his words a little more carefully this time around. “How come you don’t wanna be like Ariel? Or Tiana? They’re princesses, too, right?”

She shrugged. “I like them. But they’re not Miss. (Y/N).”

Something unnatural began to seep into Miguel’s chest. He knew that Gabriella liked you quite so, but he didn’t expect for her to almost admire you in such a fashion that inspired her to be like you. In his eyes, you were nothing but the assistant that loyally stood by his side and abided by his every word—to him, it seemed like you were more of a butler or servant than a princess.

But in his daughter’s eyes…

“Why? What’s so special about (Y/N)?” Miguel inquired with a growing curiosity to try and see you in the same light as Gabriella.

She shook her head, displeased with the informality given to you by her father. “You gotta say Princess (Y/N). I don’t have to ‘cause she said it’s okay.”

He sighed, “Okay, fine. What’s so special about Princess (Y/N)?”

Gabriella set her marker down carefully and thought for a little while. Her eyes suddenly lit up with delight, an affirmative grin set on her lips.

“Well, she’s really pretty… like reallyyy pretty. I wanna be just as beautiful as her one day,” she praised, making Miguel’s brows rise at the sudden compliment. “She’s really nice, too. She never shouts at me like the teachers or coaches do… and she always lets me have extra dessert when I do a good job on my homework.”

Miguel fell silent. Perhaps it was more than mere admiration, but idolization for Gabriella. She viewed you in a way that Miguel hadn’t even thought of because he only viewed you as his coworker. But in Gabriella’s eyes, you were more than just her babysitter—you were literal royalty to her. He shouldn’t be one to complain though—he’d take his daughter following in your footsteps over some others that might lead her astray. You were… sufficient enough, he supposes, even if Gabriella didn’t think so.

“She’s super smart too—like you, Papá! Maybe even smarter,” she retorts, making Miguel twitch. “And I like her voice a lot. I really like it when she reads me a story because her voice is pretty. Sometimes she sings this song to me to help me sleep.”

“Oh?” Miguel questioned, “¿Y, qué canción es esa?”

“I keep forgetting the name and words of it…” Gabriella pouted after a moment of attempted concentration. “But it went somethin’ like…”

She began humming an off-tune melody that struck a dissonant, yet familiar chord within Miguel, but it was impossible for him to find why it was so eerily familiar to him. Was it perhaps from an old song? Or a film he’d seen before? It was a calming song, one that was perfectly suited for a child’s lullaby, but something about it seemed almost so customary to him.

“Ya gotta marry her,” his daughter said plainly and began to resume her artistry, ignoring the sudden startle she gave her father. “So that way, I can become a princess, too.”

Miguel helped himself to the nearby cup of water to soothe his choked throat after the scare she gave him. “Sweetheart, I’m not a prince, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” his daughter replied without missing a beat. “But you know what you are, though?”

Dare he say that Gabriella had grown akin to you the same way she had with her father. Something about her praise and regard for you seemed to mirror the way that reflected alike to her father, yet Miguel couldn’t tell if she had managed to draw a line between the images of you and him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Gabriella could even define a difference in her adulation between you and him besides the fact one was her parent.

But when the thought of Gabriella potentially viewing you as sharing the same title as him—a parent—something seeds inside Miguel. He doesn’t know what it is or what it will grow into, but there’s one thing he knows for sure.

The seed of you in his life and hers is here to stay, whether he likes it or not.

Gabriella’s smile grew wide before she happily announced,

“You’re her knight in shining armor!"

PRESENT

If he squinted properly and took a closer look, perhaps Miguel could make himself hallucinate enough to try and visualize the golden chandelier above your head as your haloing tiara. It was the main light source nearly the entirety of the venue, but something about the way the light glistened around you made you seem almost holy, like you were a divinity gracing your presence on the wretchedness they called Earth.

Blame it on the wine, but Miguel couldn’t help but notice that you looked more celestial tonight; a unique sort of ethereal that he’s only seen in the finest of paintings. The banquet hall is covered in layers of silkened gold, only emphasizing your best features in the spotlights of reflecting amber.

You’re talking idly (per usual, unfortunately) with a coworker from Human Resources that he’s seen you often have mild conversations with on the weekly, a rare familiarity that he only knows he’s been graced with in full; so it’s truly no surprise that there’s a placid stir of envy growing within Miguel as you’ve decided to not give your semi-cold shoulder a break even tonight, even with the rarity of a compliment given by him. At least there’s been somewhat of an improvement—you’re actually holding miniscule conversations with him every now and then as you both chatter with the crowd as long as there’s a third party.

Yet he still hasn’t been granted mercy of having a proper one-on-one with you, yet.

But beggars can’t be choosers, so Miguel must make do with what he’s offered.

The coworker, finally, is called by one of his project managers and politely excuses himself, leaving you to Miguel’s devices at long last. Like a flower’s petals given little to no care, your smiling face wilts into the solemn countenance that Miguel has grown accustomed to seeing for the past week when you turn your gaze back towards the table, a sliver of Miguel caught in the corner of your eye. In time, he just barely catches a glimpse of your eyes flickering toward his figure before they return to stare at the nearly empty plate of food with a slight dismal.

A choice of what words to say jumble in his mouth. They toss and jump about while not giving him full comprehension of what they mean and Miguel grows frustrated at his lack of intelligibleness because it wasn’t every day that his resolve could be so cowardly in front of someone. Usually he was the one that made egos shrink, but upon your grace, his own could only grow so small.

You can tell there’s an awkward silence amongst you both despite the audible chatter throughout the banquet hall and the idle conversations among your tablemates, so you break it first but stiffly shuffling out your phone and dialing Gabriella’s babysitter for tonight—a blue moon occasion since neither you nor Miguel could be present. Gabriel is out of town and because there were only so many people in the world that Miguel could trust with his beloved, the elderly next-door-neighbor was the last resort.

“I should probably check up on how Mrs. Darcie is doing,” you splutter with a dry mouth. “I forgot to teach her how the TV remote works and I’m sure she must be bored out of her—”

Unconsciously, Miguel gently pries the phone out of your shaking hands, the connection between skin and skin electrifying his nerves more than he liked. He takes notice of the size difference between your hand and his own and eyes carefully at how easily your fingers would be able to slip into the gaps of his all too easily; like two connecting puzzle pieces.

He places it face down on the table to avoid further distractions. “I’m sure Mrs. Darcie is alright,” he attempts to soothe as he places his hand over your own, nearly caging it between his fingers. Miguel struggles with fighting the urge to squeeze it delicately—he doesn’t know if he’s earned that privilege, or if he ever did. “Gabi is most likely preparing for bed, we shouldn’t distract her.”

Eyes flickering toward your covered hand, the warmth that envelopes it from Miguel’s makes you swallow thickly.

“Ah,” you murmur and timidly pull back your hand to place back on your lap to Miguel’s disappointment. “Right… Never mind then.”

And suddenly, he’s back to square one. Silence plagues the air again between you and him, only this time, it’s thicker and grimier almost. Perhaps it was the oddity that was the physical contact that added to the musk of it; Miguel prays that you didn’t find it uncomfortable.

A fork is plucked between your fingers and you go to idly poke at your food to fidget with something other than your hands. “I hope she’s okay. Gabi, I mean. I-It feels a little odd leaving her with someone other than you.

Rays of hope and enthrallment embellish Miguel’s being from the fact that finally… finally you’re the one attempting a conversation with him after much too long. And not only that, you’re beginning with something bold, even if you don’t realize it. Despite the fact you’re rather unconscious of what you’re saying, something within Miguel perks up at the fact that you’re worried about Gabriella in the same sense… that he is.

That a parent is.

He fights the urge to physically shake his head to brush the thought off. Miguel hums, a semi-sorry attempt at being suede and casual. “Mrs. Darcie has had eight children in her lifetime, I’m sure that she’s definitely had her experience of taking care of kids,” he says seemingly nonchalantly. “Gabi, if anything, is lightwork to her.”

A soft delight pings in his chest again when you reply almost instantaneously, “She is indeed a good girl, very well-behaved.”

“She has her moments,” Miguel snorts, fondly remembering a few of younger Gabriella’s temper tantrums and outbursts of tears.

Something golden, something bright blossoms within him when he hears you let out a soft chuckle at his reply. It’s abrupt, but it’s short and sweet enough that he feels accomplished, enough for him to savor the taste of it. “All children do from time to time. But she’s definitely one of the better apples of the bunch.”

Miguel thinks you’re right; it wasn’t often that parents, new ones especially, were granted with the privilege of having obedient children, so he’s one of the lucky ones. Perhaps Gabriella being a good kid was the universe giving him mercy as a single parent, as society often thinks it takes two to tango when it comes to childcare most of the time.

But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Even if Miguel wasn’t aware of it, some of the responsibility was lifted off his shoulders when you entered the picture, as the duties of nurturing a young child were now in your favor the moment you had signed your work contract. For that, he harbors guilt from time to time when he thinks that you never exactly signed up to be a babysitter, let alone a parent figure to his kin that you were still unaware of.

And then it hits him.

It comes all of a sudden—his senses downpouring from the cloud of his daydreams and thoughts.

It’s not a good realization by far. If anything, it’s the very opposite, one that’s one the other end of the spectrum. It’s a deathly epiphany and one that he doesn’t like to acknowledge but is forced to.

Miguel stares blankly at the tablecloth, eyes droning into the satin folds of it as they mimicked the waves of a crashing ocean. A sort of paleness infects his face, the color of it draining slowly and he goes still when he feels his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

You’re quick to take notice of your boss’s current disposition, growing wary of his wide, blank eyes and gritted jaw, along with his knuckles growing white as they fist his slacks. A shallow breath is echoed from him; you furrow your brows.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you murmur, leaning toward his figure.

Miguel’s mind stirs. If Gabriella views you as a parent-figure, what exactly would you think of it? You’re not much younger than Miguel is, only falling behind a mere four or five years, but you’re still significantly young that you’ve got your whole life ahead of you that you’d need to experience by yourself. The remnants of youth are still planted onto you despite being well-adjusted to the adult world, so to put the responsibility of a child on your shoulders? Miguel feels contrition flood into him.

What if you didn’t even want children?

It’s a fact that you care for Gabriella, but do you harbor the same type of love for her that she has for you? Does she even understand what your role is in her life and that there’s a strict boundary between you and Miguel and Gabriella? He knows he can’t just shackle you onto a weighing responsibility, but when Gabriella is a part of this dilemma, the complication increases tenfold.

Your boss seems to be frozen in time, seeing as how not a muscle in his limbs nor his face were moving, but his eyes were wide open, almost glazed with fear. A feathery hand goes to place itself over his tightened fist before you ask again, “Mr. O’Hara, are you okay?”

The worst case scenario infects Miguel’s thoughts—you standing in the same shadow of his ex, exiting through the same door she had walked through just a few days after his daughter’s birth and breaking his entire being into little pathetic pieces.

This time, however? He wouldn’t be the only one with a shattered heart.

A thick swallow goes down your throat. You gently shake his hand with your own to attempt to break him out of his frigid state, a worry beginning to settle itself in your stomach. “Mr. O’Hara? Can you hear me?” you declare a little louder than the first two times.

Your voice makes him blink and he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at the sudden loss of composure. “Yes, I-I’m fine…” he mutters as he tugs at the tight collar of his dress shirt.

You nod with visible skepticism. Miguel turns away from your gaze to avoid further questioning, since he knows you’ve been at his side long enough to know his behaviors. “Are you sure?”

He nods and stifles a sigh, nodding. The flurry of what had just occurred in his mind lingers almost painfully and it takes him a while to remember where he is and why. Right… the annual celebration gala… with you… to make up for the date that never happened.

His mind is a mess. It’s an incoherent tornado of everything and anything, with images of all kinds flashing throughout his mind—young Gabriella’s drawing of you and her as princesses that she insisted on framing, your face of disappointment that you gave him when he ditched out on the date, a flashback of his ex slamming his old apartment door on him as an infant Gabriella screamed and wailed in her crib, you hugging his daughter after her winning goal, Miguel’s frazzled self as he showed up too late to his daughter’s first Parents Day with a teary-eyed Gabriella, him finding you quietly reading a sleepy Gabi a bedtime story after a long shift at work, you making baked goods in the kitchen with her.. you tucking in her into bed… you suddenly with a suitcase in hand, a sobbing Gabriella in the back as Miguel begged you to stay before you slammed the door behind you and leaving them—

Miguel stands up abruptly, making you jump. The collar and tie around his neck suddenly seem too tight and his throat runs dry. The air grows hotter and his vision starts to blur.

“Mr. O’Hara,” you start as you also stand up, “Is everything alr—”

“I need some air,” Miguel barely chokes out before he leaves the banquet hall without another word. He can just barely hear you ask if there’s anything you could do before he turns a sharp right and leaves the entirety of the building altogether, choosing to remain in the back garden to breathe in fresh oxygen, a relieving chill to the air.

A hand goes to loosen his collar and tie and he can feel himself gain consciousness again. The sky is draped with an ink blue all over, speckles of the night stars scattering all around. The floral smell of many garden flowers fills his senses and Miguel grounds himself properly before he settles himself on a stone bench to balance in his mind.

He attempts to reason with himself.

Clearly, you don’t mind being with children, and obviously you don’t mind being with and taking care of Gabriella. She’s not simply a job to you that you’re forced to work with—you’ve said it yourself. Otherwise, you wouldn’t go to her games nor would you remember to bring her small gifts of her liking. You’ve done things for her out of your own initiative many times. Gabriella is your world, Miguel thinks, as much as your hers.

Now there’s the problem of you being with Miguel, if your feelings haven’t changed all too much. In all honesty, Miguel thinks if he’s with the right person, he’s sure to put in effort into stabilizing and nurturing a proper relationship. He hadn’t had the time to go around and look for love because of work and Gabriella, so serving as this sanctuary that came to him was basically a perfect fit into his life—don’t mind it took him three years to notice it. You’re worth putting that effort in.

Finally… there’s the possible chance that you reject Miguel’s proposal of being Gabriella’s secondary caretaker.

…

Miguel attempts to process it in a more… positive light. One that won’t send him spiraling.

But it’s nearly impossible.

How is it possible to settle a middle ground of happiness, or at the very least… satisfaction, between you and him and Gabriella? How do you imagine a happy ending to a dawning of Gabriella’s happiness? How can Miguel ever face you after asking such a thing?

His vision shakes again, another hurricane of impossible questions begins whirling in mind. The bile in his stomach churns uncomfortably and his hands grow clammy again. His feet feel like they’re sinking in the dirt. Somehow, even at a staggering height compared to most of his colleagues, Miguel feels small once more.

Would he be able to cope with such a—

A loud crash and multiple screams suddenly break Miguel out of his state and he whirls his head to see what was happening inside. The peek of something green slithers inside the massive hole in the glass ceiling indented in the building, and it doesn’t take Miguel long to know what’s happening.

He sprints back inside the building and into the banquet hall, the opposite way where everyone is headed and takes a swift peek inside to what was happening.

A horrifically large green lizard crawls on the floor, letting out an agonizing roar of sorts with its tail swishing about and knocking everything and everyone in its path over. Dr. Curtis Connors, the one foe Miguel had fought a few months ago and had just managed to escape his grasp, had come back for revenge in a newer, more improved, more terrifying form of his initial self-experiment. News of his identity had leaked out immediately the moment that he had defeated the mad doctor, and every work that was researched by him that was deemed irrelevant by Alchemax was unpublished and/or destroyed—that included raiding everything in his personal lab—an urgent executive order made by Tyler Stone himself.

Hungry for revenge for the destruction of his work, Miguel was certain he was back for revenge as back when he was still sane, the amount of research that Dr. Connors had put in was extensive and yielded long years in the making, spanning over nearly three decades of research that was wiped away in the matter of a single day thanks to Alchemax.

Miguel quickly turns a corner, hidden from the public eye, and commands his suit on before quickly re-entering the banquet hall. He swings up towards the domed ceiling and carefully analyzes the area.

There’s still a few people scattering from the room, shrieks echoing from the walls. His eyes go to search for where you are in desperation, praying you’re safe somewhere outside, but a flash of light pink catches the corner of his eye. He nearly snaps his neck when he finds you running in the opposite direction of where most people are headed—towards the garden.

“(Y/N)!” Miguel yells out without thinking and slaps a hand over his mouth. Thankfully, you don’t hear him due to the commotion inside the area as you swim against the current of people. You fight the urge to fall down with every person that bumps into you amidst the chaos before you thankfully make it near the exit.

He lunges down from his spot on the ceiling, lassoing a few people that nearly get crushed under Lizard’s humongous tail and bringing them to safety properly on the way, making his way towards your figure. Rubble from the many columns begin to collapse on themselves; clouds of dust and debris fog the first floor of the hall with the wreckage already trapping some people inside.

A large chunk from the wall creaks and begins to teeter over the south exit, where you’re headed. A certain distraction diverts you from noticing the large cement framework around the exit that’s about to topple on you to Miguel’s horror. In the nick of time, he just barely manages to snatch you by the waist from a thrusted sprint just before the framework collapses with a thunderous boom.

You and Miguel cough from the dust it created. It takes a good second for you to process what your fate might’ve become, and it takes just another second for you to regain your consciousness. A good part of the exit is now blocked, but that doesn’t stop you from taking off your heels and attempting to climb over it.

Miguel barks out and grabs your arm that’s now scathed with slight scratches. “The hell are you doing?!” he exclaims worriedly.

You turn back with a teary and troubled look on your face, much to his shock. Abruptly, you turn back towards the exit and attempt to tug back your arm from his firm grasp. “M-my boss… he’s inside the garden,” you croak miserably out as you try to pull yourself over the fallen column. “I need t-to know if he’s safe…”

Lizard lets out another mighty howl and patters toward the stage, his tail once again swinging haughtily and ignoring anything in its path. Miguel shouts at you to duck and pulls you down along with him. You prop back up and without his arm on yours, you use it to your advantage and grunt yourself forward onto the column.

Miguel wraps a large hand over your ankle and weighs you down from moving any further. “Hey, you need to get out, now. You can’t be here, no one should be,” he urges.

The shake of your head concerns him—right, you’re too stubborn for your own good. “I’ll be fine. P-please, just leave me be.”

“Not when you’re about to get killed,” he declares and juts your ankle more towards him. The motion makes you fall into his chest and Miguel uses one hand to properly secure you to himself, the other launching and swinging a web to the north entrance.

You squirm and fight against him, pleading desperately for him to drop you and leave you alone. A frame of tears threatens to fall from your eyes from frustration and despair when you get put down. Miguel has to physically stop you from running back into the banquet hall once again—you put up a fight though. You thrash against him, clawing and weakly punching at his stronger arms, imploring for him to let you back inside.

“You don’t understand—” you gasp as the remnants of the people inside flood out. Looking over his shoulder, you gaze at the exit solemnly. “Please… I need to know if he’s alright—he h-has a young daughter back at home and if anything happens t-to him—just please let me go!” you wail.

He grabs you by the shoulders forcefully and settles you down, the stream of tears falling from your eyes running his throat dry once again. Miguel has never seen you cry, or even come close to crying. Not when Gabriella forced you to watch what she considered “one of the saddest movies in existence”, not when an entire glass beaker had toppled and its shards pierced your skin, not even when Miguel had first scolded you about your many mistakes on the very first document you turned into him.

Glassy eyes meet concerned, masked ones. Your lip trembled violently, the words all jumbled in your mouth about to spill. “Just let me check if he’s alright,” you just barely whisper.

He bores his gaze into yours as his composure does its best to upkeep him as best as possible. Miguel, from the inside of his mask, bites his lip and sighs. “I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.”

“What if you don’t?” you accuse with furrowed brows.

“I’ll bring him home safe and sound,” he says firmly. “You said he has a daughter, right? I won’t let her become an orphan. I swear on my life I won’t.”

Your gaze doesn’t falter, even when Miguel attempts to soothe you by chafing the chilled skin of your arms up and down in a calming manner. Unbeknownst to you, you and him share an image of Gabriella in your minds; it brings a sting of ache to your chests.

“How can I trust you?” you ask dryly.

“Because,” he goes to weave a string of webbing through the north entrance and takes you out into the safety of the outside. He settles you on the corner of two intersecting streets that sit nearby the building, with your tears still falling and hands trembling. A hand carefully holds your cheek and wipes away descending tears on your chalky face, Miguel ignoring the squeeze of his heart with each one that puddles on the sidewalk.

“... I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man leaves you on the sidewalk idly with the blurry figures of your co-workers and other people in the company whizzing by you with no concern for anyone else other than themselves. It takes a moment for you to understand what just happened and with whom, suddenly hit with the pang of realization that you had just met the Spider-Man: the well-known vigilante protecting Nueva York from all corners, beloved by the public. Excitement can’t seem to conjure itself within you, however, your gaze still lingering on the building that Miguel was possibly in.

A hesitant step takes you forward back to the building, but your phone vibrates abruptly from a notification from Mrs. Darcie. Word must’ve gotten out so quickly that it reached the O'Hara's neighborhood, as her text was asking if you and Miguel were alright. Your thumbs shake as you try and type up a response to let her know that you were at least alive, but you know that Gabriella wanted you both home.

The least you could do is make sure half of that concern was eased. You were counting on Spider-Man to do the rest.

With an arm reaching out for a taxi, you rush into one and tell the driver to step on the gas, promising to tip extra. You’d be willing to give all the money you had with you if it meant that you could be with Gabriella for tonight.

You’ve underestimated the nightly rush hour this Friday night had brought upon, because there’s a sea of cars that are equally as stuck as you are amidst the road. Tangible fingers go to grip your hair frustratingly, and asking the driver to go any further was basically useless. Each minute you wasted on the same road you had been on for what was nearing twenty minutes made you more anxious by the minute.

“I-isn’t there some sort of shortcut?” you ask the driver hoarsely. “I don’t care what roads you have to take, just please get off this one. I’m begging you. I have a child that’s waiting for me.”

His eyes give you a quick glance in the mirror, and empathy embeds itself in his equally tired eyes. He must be a father himself, you think, as he gives you an affirmative nod and swings off the road onto a much more bumpy and gravelly, but visibly less dense one.

It’s nearly an agonizing hour later off the road—it would’ve most likely reached around two or even three if you stayed on the main road—but you thankfully make it to the O’Hara’s residence. Your body moves on its own, flying out the elevator and speeding down the floor of the apartment. You burst open the door, visible sweat misted on your forehead and an ache to your limbs but all that is ignored when Mrs. Darcie greets you with relief, with a sleeping Gabriella settled soundly on the couch as her favorite TV show buzzes in the background.

She grasps you tightly by the arms. “My goodness, thank heavens you’re alright,” she murmurs quietly. “That must’ve been quite a scare… are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” you gasp out tiredly. “But how is she? Gabi, I mean… d-does she—”

Mrs. Darcie shakes her head. “She fell asleep a while ago, she doesn’t know. I just managed to get informed thanks to my son who works near the building. But where is Miguel?”

Dread floods your face once more, remembering why you left the banquet in the first place. Somehow, however, your phone vibrates and receives a text from the one and only. A loud sigh escapes your lips and you crumple to the floor as the feeling returns to your numb legs as Miguel’s texts ease your worries.

Hey I’m alive and alright. I saw you leave earlier, hope you’re safe. I’m omw home.

You fight the urge to burst into tears from the relief as Mrs. Darcie helps you back up. “I’m assuming that’s him,” she says gently as she encourages you to take off your heels. “What a waste of night and beautiful dress. Shame that blasted giant iguana or something had to ruin it.”

A broken laugh leaves you from her gentle humor. You glance down at the dress that the mysterious Lyla had given you tonight and sigh sadly at the many tears of the tulle and fabric. The dress looked expensive and you planned on wearing it again for formal events, but alas, fate has decided to toy with you.

“That’s alright,” you mutter as you help Mrs. Darcie gather her stuff back up so she can finally leave. “I have plenty of others to use in the meantime.”

The elderly woman leaves you inside their apartment after bidding you a goodnight to tend to Gabriella, who’s still sound asleep and oblivious to what was happening to the world and people around her. That’s a good thing, at least, you think to yourself as you tidy up the living room around her quietly. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.

She’s still small enough that you’re able to carry her to her room even at her age and it reminds you a lot of when she was younger, when she’d pretend to be asleep so you could carry her yourself to go back to her room. Nowadays, she knows her bedtime and does it by herself, but assuming she had been waiting for you or Miguel to come home, sleep had snuck onto her as she waited and waited.

You put her down gently, hoping not to get any of the leftover debris on your soiled clothes onto her freshly-washed body. The action just barely stirs her awake, her eyes slitting open at the slightest bit. Your blurry figure just barely makes it to her senses and she grins sleepily.

A titter escapes her lips. “You look like a…” Gabriella starts, her words faltering due to a fading consciousness.

“Like a…?” you whisper softly, a hand stroking her hair gently.

“Like a…” you can tell she’s trying to find the words in her very limited vocabulary currently, her brain threatening to shut off at any second now. “Like a princess, I think?”

You raise your brows at her description as Gabriella immediately falls back asleep. You suppose you do look much more dressed up from usual, but your cheeks tingle a hint of warmth at the comparison of literal royalty. You blame it on the drowsiness.

Your own tiredness begins to crawl up your spine as you stay by Gabriella’s side in her darkened bedroom, her quiet breaths soothing you like a lullaby. With heavy eyelids threatening to shut close at any minute, you fight the urge to give into the Sandman, insistent on Miguel’s return.

Miguel…

His name rings aloud in your mind for a moment.

Miguel…

“I promise you, I’ll make sure Miguel gets home safely.”

Spider-Man’s familiar voice suddenly jolts you awake. Your brows crunch together. How on earth did Spider-Man know Miguel’s name when you merely referred to him as your boss? Perhaps he saw Miguel in the garden beforehand? Maybe Miguel had an earlier oncoming with him from before and Spider-Man just knew him from that one incident? Or… he just happens to know the names of all the citizens of Nueva York because… that’s just how Spider-Man is?

Or, was Miguel actually Spid—you shake your head in the same second you think of such a stupid reasoning. That’s impossible…

… you know in your heart that it just is.

Any reason that you attempt to give, you think of it as either obnoxious or just simply impossible. Maybe you did let it slip that your boss’s name was Miguel… that just seems like the most plausible reason. After all, your adrenaline was at an all-time high and you could barely remember what had happened before the takeover, let alone the conversations you had.

Whatever it was, it was going to bring Miguel back home, and that’s what ultimately had mattered in the end. It probably wasn’t even your business to prod around.

At Gabriella’s visible sleeping state, you stand up and start to head towards the bathroom to fix yourself up, but the sound of the master bedroom’s window suddenly shuffling open makes your nerves electrify. Miguel’s bedroom sat just right next to Gabriella’s, and it was also the bedroom that was nearest to the complex’s fire escape, so a break-in at this time of night was highly plausible.

Grabbing one of the displayed metal baseball bats on the wall, you turn off Gabriella’s lights and lock the door behind, ensuring her safety first before yours. You’re careful to tiptoe around the more creaky parts of the floorboards, desperate to make yourself not seen by the intruder as you step closer and closer to Miguel’s bedroom. The door is just barely ajar, and the lights are on. A distinct shuffling, bed springs, and a masculine groan echo from the crack of the doorway and when all is silent from the other side of the door, you make your move and burst in, ready to swing at whoever threatens the O’Hara residence.

The bat is suddenly grabbed from your hands from a familiar neon orange webbing and thrusted to the side of the room, where it thunks against the wall and falls limply. You gasp aloud and with nothing to defend yourself with, you look up with fear in your eyes that suddenly turn to shock from the sight in front of you.

There, standing in the same blue and red vinyl suit you had crossed paths with earlier, without its mask completing the look… and thus, exposing the face of the man you had been waiting for to come back home to you.

a/n ; second to last part to this mini-series and once again, i apologize for this nearly six-month delay, last semester was rough for uni. almost made this into two parts, but i felt like they just belonged together and i quite like the blend of them together.

thanks for the patience for those who stuck around and have waited far too long for this, you deserve this! i'm glad to see you all again <3 thank you endlessly for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and appreciated (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @raeisthebae @mvchmp @um-well @nintendh-e @eddieslooneymoonie @deputy-videogamer @xochyw @honeybeeznuts @aspens-cove @btszn @scaleniusrm @goldenpoison @the-pan-liquid (if you'd like to be either added or removed from the taglist, please lmk! i know it's been awhile, so hi again haha)

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spider verse x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #fem!reader #fem!y/n

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girlkisser13 · 2 months

Text

daylight

"and i can still see it all (in my mind)" "all of you, all of me (intertwined)" "i once believed love would be (black and white)" "but it's golden (golden)"

pairings: addison montgomery x fem!reader

warnings/tags: slight angst but mostly fluff.

summary: addison’s in love with you.

the seattle rain drummed against the hospital windows, a rhythmic backdrop to the chaotic symphony within. addison stood in front of the or board, scanning the names and cases, but her mind was miles away. specifically, it was in the warm, inviting space that you occupied in her heart.

the day had been relentless, filled with back-to-back surgeries and consultations, but none of it compared to the emotional turmoil she felt every time she saw you. the brief moments you stole together were the highlights of her day, yet each encounter was shadowed by the unspoken tension of addison's crumbling marriage to derek and mark's obvious feelings for her.

"addie," a voice pulled her back to reality. she turned to see mark, his usual cocky grin in place. "lunch?"

"not today, mark," she replied, forcing a polite smile. she turned on her heel, heading down the hall towards a quieter part of the hospital where she knew you would be.

she found you in the lounge, sipping coffee and staring out at the rain. her heart ached at the sight of you, making it almost hurt to breathe.

"hey," she said softly, stepping inside. you looked up, your eyes lighting up briefly before dimming with some internal conflict.

"addison," you greeted, your voice steady, though your eyes betrayed the turmoil within. "shouldn't you be with derek?"

she winced at the mention of her estranged husband. "derek and i... it's complicated."

"it always is," you replied, standing up. "but you still have him. and mark... he clearly has feelings for you."

"mark and i are just friends," she insisted, stepping closer. "and derek... derek and i are over. we just haven't figured out the logistics yet."

you shook your head, stepping back. "addison, i can't be the reason you don't go to either of them. i won't do that to you. or to myself."

"y/n," addison's voice broke, a desperate edge to it. "you have to understand. ever since i met you, i haven’t been able to think about anyone else. i haven’t even looked at anyone else since we’ve met. i don't want to think about or look at anyone else now that i’ve seen you. my life used to be in black and white, you brought the color."

tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at her, the sincerity in her words cutting through your defenses. "addison, i..."

"no," she interrupted, taking your hands in her own. "listen to me. i've made mistakes, so many mistakes. but loving you? that's not one of them. you’re the reason i wake up every morning with a smile. you’re the person i want to come home to. please, don't push me away because of derek or mark. they don't matter to me. you do."

you felt the walls you had built around your heart begin to crumble. "addison, this isn't fair to anyone. least of all to you."

"fairness doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "love does. and i love you, y/n. more than i've ever loved anyone."

you searched her eyes, finding only truth and vulnerability there. with a trembling breath, you nodded. "i love you too, addison. i always have."

she pulled you into a tight embrace, the weight of your shared feelings lifting as you held each other. in that moment, nothing else mattered. not derek, not mark. just the two of you and the rain outside, washing away the past, making way for a brighter, more colorful future.

you both stood there for what felt like an eternity, the world outside ceasing to exist. when you finally pulled apart, addison gently cupped your face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear.

"what do we do now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"we take it one step at a time," she replied, her tone resolute. "i'll talk to derek, make it official. and mark... i'll handle mark. but you and me, we start now. no more hiding. no more pretending."

you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "okay. but i need you to promise me something."

"anything," she said, her heart pounding.

"promise me that no matter what happens, we'll face it together. i won’t let you do this alone."

her eyes softened as she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "i promise. together, always."

as the two of you left the lounge, hand in hand, the rain continued to fall, but it no longer felt like a barrier. instead, it was a cleansing force, washing away the uncertainties and paving the way for your new beginning.

#grey’s anatomy #greys anatomy #grey’s anatomy fandom #greys anatomy fandom #grey’s anatomy fanfiction #greys anatomy fanfiction #grey’s anatomy fic #greys anatomy fic #addison montgomery #addison montgomery fanfiction #addison montgomery x reader #addison montgomery x you #addison montgomery imagine #addison montgomery smut #taylor swift #lover #daylight #spotify #Spotify

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radiant-reid · 1 year

Note

Angst blurb idea: the first Spencer snaps at reader

The BAU's latest case has been an especially brutal and difficult-to-solve one, weighing heavily on each team member. The stress and exhaustion are palpable, and Spencer, with his brilliant mind and empathetic nature, found himself emotionally drained. You can see it on his face. He's so used to being able to solve things quickly that the unsub's intellectual games are making his head spin.

Late one evening, as you all pour over evidence and theories, the tension in the room reaches its peak. Spencer's patience is waning, his usually calm demeanor fraying at the edges. Frustration bubbles up within him like a volcano ready to erupt.

In the midst of it all, you approach, concern etched across your face. You reach out to touch his arm gently, intending to offer comfort, but it was the final trigger that broke his already fragile composure.

"Can you just give me some space, Y/n?" He snaps, his tone sharp and cutting.

Your eyes widen, hurt washing over your features. It's the first time he has ever spoken to you in such a manner. You recoil, withdrawing your hand and quietly leave the room, searching for another task t do somewhere away from him.

"Reid," Morgan scolds, frowning at his friend. Spencer already knew he messed up and he sighs, standing up.

The words hang heavy in the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence that pierces Spencer's conscience. He knows he had let his stress get the better of him, taking it out on the person he cared about the most. Guilt settles in his chest, a heavy weight that seems unbearable.

Spencer follows you, rushing after the door you had closed behind you. He finds you in the hallway, taking a minute. The sight tears at his heart, and he immediately regrets his outburst.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry." He mumbles, his voice filled with remorse. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. The case, it's... it's taking a toll on me."

You turn to face him, a mix of hurt and understanding in your eyes. "I know." You assure him. "It's rough, but you don't get to snap at me."

He nods, his gaze downcast. "You're right, and I can't apologize enough. I should have never taken my frustrations out on you. I let my emotions cloud my judgment, and I'm truly sorry."

There was a beat of silence as you both stand there, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

You nudge his shoulder. "Spencer, I understand that you're under immense pressure." You remind softly. "But we're a team, in work and in our relationship. We have to support each other, even in the toughest moments. Communication is key."

He reaches out for your hand and squeezes it, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. "You're right, Y/n. I need to remember that. I'm grateful to have you by my side, reminding me of what's important."

You smile, your heartache slowly easing. "I'm here for you, Spencer. Always. But please, remember that we're in this together. Lean on me when you need to."

He nods, a renewed determination in his gaze. "I promise, Y/n. From now on, I'll do better. I won't let the stress consume me to the point of hurting you."

You wrapped your arms around him in an uncharacteristic display of public affection, pulling him into a comforting embrace. But it doesn't matter when it's what you both need.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid blurb

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virtualreader · 1 year

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broken hearts and healing souls

deanwinchesterxfem!reader

summary: carrying the ruins of the broken heart the death of his father had left behind, Dean pushes you away, fearing hurting you as well. or perhaps he’s just scared of being hurt himself, one more time.

word count: 3,3k. (does not include lyrics)

warnings: alleged age gap, fierce anger, heated argument, drinking out of spite, supressed feelings, cursing, yelling, not the happiest end, and lots and lots of angst.

part 2

a/n: i started watching supernatural about a month ago and I'm loving it so far. and god, i couldn't help but fall truly, madly, deeply in love with dean winchester. this scenario came to my mind while listening someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic, so this one shot is based on this song. feedback is always appreciated. please, comment if you think I should write a part 2 to this one!

"You can't boss me around, Dean! I'm not a child anymore!" you barked at the hunter standing by the motel room's door.

"I can't? Watch me!" Dean retorted, breathing heavily and extending his arms upward to appear bigger. "As the eldest here, it's my call to make the hard decisions. And I've decided that you won't come on any more hunts, end of story. You're risking your life out there—it's dangerous, y/n. What's not clear about that?!"

You and Dean had been arguing for a while. He came into the motel room the three of you—Sam, Dean and yourself—were forced to share, stringently declaring you were not allowed to go with them on hunts anymore.

After the previous mission ended with you being kidnapped by the demon you were after and tied to a chair in an old building's basement, the oldest brother wasted no time in making a decision. Despite your eagerness to rid the world of evil, Dean prioritized your safety, even if you didn't see it that way.

Dean Winchester was an undaunted and confident man, he had been since his mother died, he had to be, for his family's sake, for his own sake. Yet, when it came to you, potential bad outcomes constantly assaulted his mind. He could not afford to lose another loved one, so he did not take a gamble.

"It is my life that I am endangering, so I strongly believe that I get to choose whether I want to expose myself to hunting hazards or not. You are not my dad and cannot give me orders, Winchester!" you declared, raising your voice with anger and trembling as you pointed your index finger at him.

You were hurt and confused. Hunting had been your life for as long as you could remember and now he was taking that away from you. You tried to plead your case, but he had already made up his mind.

In response to your defiance, Dean raised his chin, pursed his lips, and clenched his jaw. Yet, even in his anger, he maintained steady eye contact with you. It was clear he was not going to back down easily.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he queried exasperated. “That demon back there, could have killed you, and you know that. This is not some inoffensive deer we’re going after.”

He was undoubtedly referring to the incident that happened earlier that day, when he was able to free you from the grasp of the demon. It was the same demon that mercilessly took your father’s life, leaving you fatherless at the tender age of twelve and subsequently placed under the care of the Winchesters.

Growing up with them, you learned to navigate the dangerous world of hunting and the supernatural. From hours-long road trips and campfires to cozy movie-evenings and pancake Sundays, your memories with your new family included a wide variety of experiences that left a lasting impact on you.

The bond you formed with the Winchesters was one built on mutual respect and a shared purpose, making them more than just your guardians; they were your family, and you were theirs.

"God, what a pig-headed dude you are," you muttered, oozing frustration, as you let out a peeved sigh. "So you, old man, can risk being killed by these heartless creatures, but I can't? Is it just because I'm younger than you guys? ‘Cause I already told you, I am as much of an adult as you are.”

Clearly, you would not be swayed by Dean's demands. You were your own person, with your own will and your own desires. You were determined to stand up for yourself and live your life on your own terms.

He took a moment to observe your bruised appearance as he pondered his answer. The blood that had previously emerged from the wound above your eyebrow was already dry, while the cut on your lip was still struggling to form a scab.

He noticed the swelling around your left eye, a tell-tale sign of the force of the blow that had landed on your face. And as he looked at you, he could not help but feel responsible for your emaciated state.

"If you're such an adult, you'll be fine on your own. You don't need me, do you?" the hunter sassed back, towering over you, tilting his head and upturning his brows.

Dean's words hurt you deeply, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. But you refused to let him see you cry. You straightened your back and met his gaze with a fierce determination.

"Do you want me to leave?” you said, your voice shaking a little. “Fine. If that's what you want, I'll leave. But don't expect me to come back."

You walked past him, feeling his eyes on your back. You didn't turn around, didn't give in to the urge to look at him again. You needed to be strong, to show him that you could make it on your own. But deep down, you knew that you didn't want to be alone. You needed Dean, more than you wanted to admit.

"Hey, girl!" you called out to the waitress, raising your voice above the noise of the tavern to get her attention. "Can I get a refill, please?”

You were alone, left out in the cold Clinging to the ruin of your broken home Too lost and hurting to carry your load We all need someone to hold

As you waited for your drink, you couldn't help but replay the argument with Dean in your mind. You felt hurt and betrayed by his words. You were mad at him for not understanding your desire to be by his side, no matter the risks.

You were lost in thought when a voice snapped you out of your reverie.

"Rough night?" inquired a gold-haired man as he took a seat on the adjoining stool.

The man seemed to be a bit younger than Dean, possibly in his mid-twenties, closer to your own age. He wore a white crewneck t-shirt that hugged his muscular arms around the biceps, and his dark slim fit jeans matched the black pattern printed on his shirt's front.

It was difficult to determine whether it was the effect of the second-rate alcohol or your personal taste in men, but it was safe to say he was far from unattractive and he was, in fact, quite handsome.

"You could say so." you answered his question with a touch of apathy but still flashed a slight smile his way.

You've been fighting the memory, all on your own Nothing worsens, nothing grows I know how it feels being by yourself in the rain We all need someone to stay We all need someone to stay

The man took a slow, deliberate sip from his beer bottle and leaned back, his eyes fixed intently on you. His gaze seemed to linger for a moment, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction to what he had just said.

"You know," he said, his voice low and suggestive, "I can make it better for you, pretty."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks at the man's brazen suggestion, and you couldn't help but feel a little intrigued by his offer.

You glanced around the dimly lit tavern, taking in the smoky air and the clinking of glasses. It was the kind of place where people came to drown their sorrows and forget about the troubles of the day-to-day life. And in that moment, you couldn't help but feel like you were just another lost soul adrift in the sea of humanity.

The man's eyes were still fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be waiting for your response, as if he knew that his offer had the power to change the course of your night—or maybe even your life.

You took a deep breath and met his gaze head-on, feeling a sense of daring that you hadn't felt in a long time.

"And how, exactly, do you plan on doing that?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

The man smiled, a slow, confident grin that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let's just say that I know a thing or two about making a woman feel good," he replied, his voice dripping with innuendo.

It was abundantly clear what his intentions were at this point in time, and to be entirely candid, it did not annoy you at all.

You eagerly accepted the charming man's alluring offer. And with a sense of anticipation, you followed him out of the sleazy bar, seeking shelter from the gentle patter of the light rain under the protective eaves.

As you walked alongside him, you found yourself captivated by his confident stride and the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light emanating from the street lamps.

You could feel his hand slowly making its way towards your hip, until it rested there, just barely grazing the upper part of your buttocks. This subtle touch sent a sparkling feeling coursing through your body, starting from the core and reaching all the way up to your chest. It created a warm whirlwind of expectancy, causing your heart to beat faster in anticipation.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice asked, a hint of pain in it.

Hear the fallen and lonely, cry out Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope? At the end of the day you were helpless Can you keep me close? Can you love me most?

Dean narrowed his eyes, anguishedly taking in the sight in front of him.

As you stood there, drenched from the rain and your mind clouded by the alcohol, Dean's sudden appearance caught you off guard. He was directly facing you, his eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the pain and anger etched upon his features.

"What the hell are you doing here, y/n?" Dean asked incredulously, his voice laced with anger and hurt. “And who the fuck is that jerk?”

You froze, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. You had been so caught up in your own emotions that you hadn't even considered how your actions might affect Dean.

You've drunk it down and you've spat it out And nothing tastes like the things you had So tear it off, why don't you let them go? We all need someone to stay We all need someone to stay

"I didn't know she was taken, mate. I didn't mean to meddle in your relationship," the guy standing next to you apologized, his voice trembling as Dean's contempting gaze threatened to pierce his soul. Green eyes—usually a symbol of grace—had never held such a look of hatred. “She’s all yours, mate.”

Once the man marched back into the tavern, with tail between legs, the hunter’s emerald orbs landed on you. And as he beamed down at you, you noticed how much woe his gaze held. He wasn’t someone to let his emotions surface, not at all, that would leave his feelings too exposed, too unguarded.

He didn't seem to mind the rain dribbling over his leather jacket or his well-styled hair as he approached you. Although you had a defiant demeanor, you took a step backward in response, and your back met the wall covered in graffiti.

“Thought you said ‘I’d be fine on my own’.” you tried to sound confident as you quoted him, yet the alcohol running through your veins caused your words to slur together.

"Yeah, I said on your own! Not with some opportunistic macho man!" he said, referring to your previous companion.

He looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and anger, his eyes scanning your face as if he was trying to find some kind of explanation for what he was seeing.

And then, his anger boiled over, and he let out a shout that echoed through the empty streets. "No way. Are you fucking drunk?!" he yelled. "Are you nuts?!"

The force of his outburst hit you like a physical blow, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest. You had never seen Dean like this before, and it was clear that he was at his breaking point.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other in silence, the rain pouring down around you like a curtain. And then, slowly, you began to speak, your words tumbling out of you in a jumbled mess.

"You're one to talk. You, my dear friend, are the very reason I'm here, drinking my sorrows away." you scoffed at him.

Your eyes darted around, looking at anything but Dean. You felt intimidated—what with Dean’s tall figure and the disappointment you could discern in his expression.

“Drinking won’t solve anything, y/n. You know better than this.”

"Do I really?” you uttered, struggling to keep at bay your wobbly lip. “Last time I checked, I was just a kid to you.”

Hear the fallen and lonely, cry out Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope? At the end of the day we're helpless Can you keep me close? Can you love me most? Can you keep me close? Can you love me most? Can you keep me close? Can you love me most?

As the rain continued to fall, the rhythmic clattering of the water drops mixed with the sound of cars cruising over the wet pavement, creating an overwhelming melody.

The droplets seemed to grow in size and force. You welcomed the heavier rain, grateful for the way it obscured the tears that threatened to overflow from your eyes.

You knew that if he saw you crying, he would only see you as weak and immature, even more than he already saw you. You had always been strong and independent, and you didn't want him to think any less of you.

So you stood there, letting the rain soak into your clothes and hair, hoping that it would wash away the pain and sorrow you felt inside.

“I don’t think of you as a kid. I just prefer you staying away from those creatures. You know better than anyone what that demon is capable of. It killed your father, and you could’ve died today too, y/n!”

“Do not act like you care! And do not dare mentioning my dad ever again! You are too self-centered to take others’ needs into account.”

With a trembling voice, you lashed out at Dean, your emotions running high and your patience wearing thin. You couldn't stand the way Dean tried to control your life, always telling you what to do and what not to do.

You had grown up fast in the world of hunting, learning to fend for yourself and to take care of others. You had seen things that most people couldn't even imagine, and you had faced danger and death head-on. You were not some delicate flower that needed to be protected at all costs.

And yet, Dean seemed to think otherwise. He was always trying to shield you from harm, even if it meant keeping you from doing what you loved most.

"Do you even hear yourself, Dean?" you continued, your voice rising with every word. "You act like you're the only one who knows what's best for me. You don't trust me to make my own decisions, although I've been hunting just as long as you have. You're so wrapped up in your own fears and insecurities that you can't see how much you're hurting me."

"You're part of my family now, and as such, I must protect you," Dean declared, helplessness building up inside his chest. "Why do you find it so hard to understand?”

You were alone, left out in the cold Clinging to the ruin of your broken home Hear the falling and lonely, cry out Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope? The end of the day and we're helpless Can you keep me close? Can you love me?

“I-…Just…leave me alone. Please, Dean.”

And it was then when, acting on your most primitive impulses, you took off, walking away from Dean with no determined destination.

It was not that you were afraid of Dean, no, you had spent too many years among the Winchesters to know he would never voluntarily hurt you, at least not physically. You found him sort of intimidating, more like it.

It was well known among the Winchesters' acquaintances that Dean, although not often, could become livid if you pressed the right buttons. And no one would ever want that fatal rage to be directed at them, unless they wanted to know what hell felt like.

However, the emotion the hunter was feeling now was not anger. It was something else, something both mysterious and intriguing. Although his muscles remained tight, his eyes shone with unshed tears, and a pinched expression was plastered on his face.

You fought against the urge to turn back and run into his embrace, to apologize to him and leave this dispute behind. It was a struggle to hold onto your never-so-fragile pride when your love for him had never felt as powerful as it did now. Not since you had first fallen in love with him, at least, back when you were a silly, naive teenager.

A hand grabbed firmly onto your arm, forcing you into a halt. You did not have the courage to turn around and face him with a trail of tears cascading over your cheeks, even if the drizzling rain disguised it somewhat. There was no need for that, however, when he began speaking, not waiting for you to look at him.

"I'm sorry, y/n," he apologized in a small voice, unaccustomed to saying such words. "I didn't mean to push you away. I... I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. I'm scared, y/n. Scared of losing you like I lost my father, like I lost my mother," Dean confessed, his voice softening, dropping in pitch.

You turned to look at him, really look at him, and saw the pain and fear written in his face.

You felt a lump form in your throat at the raw emotion in Dean's words. You had always known that he cared about you, but you had never realized just how much you meant to him.

"Dean," you said, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his arm. "I'm not going to die. I'm strong, and I know how to take care of myself. But I need you to trust me. I need you to let me make my own decisions, even if it means taking risks sometimes."

You stopped, taking a big deep breath before continuing.

“What you said back at the motel, it hurt me, a lot. I have nothing left, Dean. My family is dead, I have no place to stay, no job, no nothing. I’ve lost everything.”

“You have me.” He took a step towards you, getting closer, and caressed your feathery cheek with his large hand. “You always have and always will have me.”

Dean wiped away a tear from your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin softly. "I'm sorry for pushing you away, y/n. I was just so afraid of losing you. But I promise, from now on, I'll trust you to make your own decisions. We'll face everything together, as a team."

A turmoil of heartfelt emotions whirled its way down to your very core as Dean's words sank in. And, as you looked up at him, you saw the love and devotion in his eyes, and you felt grateful like never before to the Winchesters for taking you in.

Seizing the proximity, you took a moment to admire him. The softness on his eyes only adding to his already perfectly alluring features. The green orbs standing out his face had never shone as bright, and his nose glowed as red as his eyes, probably from the cold air of the drizzly night.

Yet the part you spent the longest time observing was his lips. Sultry pouty lips, that rested slightly parted.

And as if in a dream, he leaned in intertwining his lips with yours in a genuine kiss. Sliding the hand that previously laid on your cheek to the back of your neck, bringing you nearer to his own body.

His grip was both firm and steady, but no less gentle, just so as if he never wanted to let go of you. Your movements kept in step with each other's, as your mouths melted in a much-needed dance.

None of you cared about the rain soaking your clothes or the idling engine of the precious impala of Dean’s, nor about the small crowd by the tavern’s entrance looking at you. You were in a deep immersion into the depths of the moment, and all you saw, all you could regard was the man in front of you - the man you’ve always loved.

The idyllic moment was short-lived, much to your dismay, as Dean pulled away and apprehensively took a step backwards. But the pain you felt then was nothing compared to the stabbing sensation in your heart when he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

part 2

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