#so i had/still have to act a certain way so they don’t Figure It Out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucyandthepen · 9 months

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salted caramel | lmh ( m )

you hadn’t been aware that mark’s jealousy followed the rules of baseball — three strikes, and he snaps?

read the first part here!

pairing: barista!bf!mark x reader verse: college!au rating: r warnings&tags: unprotected sex, mentions of creampies (although not an actual one), hickeys, possessiveness and jealousy, exhibitionism, sort of phone sex in conjunction with said exhibitionism, oral (m!receiving), mark has an understated but unending obsession with mc’s stomach, tummy bulges, we always love an implicit bigdick!mark, donghyuck is kind of a little shit and basically he has to cross a few lines for this “plot” to get to where it gets word count: 20.3k

a/n: this is a bit rushed and panicked because I basically wrote it in a feverish 2.5ish days… i’m so sorry that the pacing might be a little off, especially since I can never tell if it’s actually too fast or not. this is also unedited and unbeta’d but oh well because i never edit my stuff before posting and just re-edit when I re-read! regardless, i hope it’s something that you can enjoy, and i couldn’t pick between sweetest bf ever!mark and hottest mf ever!mark, so i guess you get a little bit of both!

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

You should have noticed it the first time, but in your overall defense, you find most things that you take note of about Mark Lee to be more on the highly positive and greatly endearing side — or, maybe, you just have a tendency to paint him in that kind of light.

You can’t really help it; he’s still got that halfway shy, softly adoring look in his eyes whenever he sees you, which is more often now than ever before, and you just can’t do anything but reciprocate, if only to see his eyes grow a little brighter. You wonder if Mark’s aware that if this were a Shakespearean scenario, you’d easily fall on your sword for him without question, for as long as he asked, but you don’t think there’s any pressing need to remind him — not with the way you spend most of your free time figuring out ways to be with him. You’re certain he should know, what with the fact that every time he looks at you, even just a glimpse, your gaze is always on him, ready to make eye contact whenever he turns his head — something he often acknowledges with one of those signature blushes that spread like wildfire across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears.

It also should be unmistakably clear that you’re head over heels for him, given how at least once a week, he’s got his face buried between your legs in an attempt to hear the thing he wants you to say the most (see: his name, in varying pitches and decibels) — but if he doesn’t notice then, you can’t hold it against him; Mark’s mouth is so attentive that you doubt his mind is anywhere else apart from what inch of you his tongue is going to meet next in that moment. At least, that much is true for you.

He should at least know, what with you waiting for his classes to end so you can walk to Starbucks for his afternoon shift; you even race the twenty-minute distance to the Department of Mathematics, still holding your European Renaissance History textbook from your last lecture, just to make sure you’re there right as he gets out — a fact he has to know is an act of devotion, considering how often he finds you heaving for air and leaning your back against the brick wall outside the Accounting 150 Lab. Even his professor knows you as Mark Lee’s admirer, which is all well and good, but if you had the breath to spare, you’d correct his terminology for accuracy. Girlfriend. You’re Mark Lee’s girlfriend.

It’s a fact you don’t mind reminding him of but that you actually have to do quite often, because when you call Mark the appropriate counterpart — boyfriend — his eyes still widen, like he’s hearing it for the first time. It’s cute, just like everything else about him. You just have to wonder, at times, if he doesn’t believe you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter; you’ll just keep telling him.

You don’t have any classes with Mark this semester, which is a shame, considering your favorite pastime over the last few months had just been to stare at his side profile and wish he’d look over so you could kiss him, but the fact that you spend almost every day with him now, using that time to remind him of how much you want to kiss him and actually getting it to do it right then and there, pretty much more than makes up for your previous schedule of daydreaming.

However, hanging out with him doesn’t always mean you’re just with him; you came to learn this after the first week of the new semester, and you’ve now gotten used to the fact that with Mark Lee sometimes comes his band of tall, often loud friends.

The loudest by far is Lee Donghyuck, the mysterious figure last semester that you’d only known by one syllable, now easily recognizable (and no longer enigmatic by any means to you) by his booming voice and even more demanding personality. He’s supremely outgoing, a trait you can’t say you mind, but there’s an interesting contrast between Mark, who tends to say things after carefully considering his ideas, and Donghyuck, who seems to just burst out in fits of impulsive rambling that often leads to some kind of semi-structured debate. It kind of gives you whiplash, in a funny, slightly perplexing way.

The whole friend group likes to meet up at Starbucks while Mark is on his shift, and now that they’ve come to know you as that girl Mark didn’t teach a single thing in College Algebra to but still somehow got lucky with (something you’ve wasted immense efforts into correcting but have ultimately failed to do so), you now find yourself sitting with them, all somehow waiting for who appears to be the nucleus of this group to stop taking coffee orders and hang up his (cute, but you’re the only one that thinks so, actually) green apron.

Again, you don’t mind it; new people aren’t an issue to you, and you’re also interested in finding out more about Mark through those closest to him. You get to see the few ways they’re alike in contrast to the staggering number of things that make them amusingly different from one another. Despite the broad spectrum of their intersecting interests, you’ve come to learn, through the conversations you’ve had to sit through over the last month, that they have varying opinions on said interests. For instance, you know they’re all into video games, Japanese manga, and long-winding fantasy movies, but every conversation takes flight the moment there’s even a spark of dissent from one person — and the source, usually (and quite unfortunately), is Lee Donghyuck himself.

Today is no exception.

“Dude, you’re crazy,” Zhong Chenle practically seethes. Whether by sheer coincidence or actual desire, he’s the one who most often finds himself staring Donghyuck down, trying to bend the latter’s will into admitting defeat. Donghyuck, on the other hand, has mastered the art of looking supremely unperturbed, especially when Chenle is in the heat of his rage. “The ninth was the worst, hands down.”

“Art and rendering were so solid.” Donghyuck raises a finger, and you’re not sure if it’s to start off a list or to shut Chenle up. You don’t want to ask, anyway, too busy finding amusement in the shifting expressions of despair, rage, anguish, and murderous intent on the latter’s face to speak up. You presume that’s why everyone else isn’t stopping them — or maybe they’re just preparing their own defenses and points to raise. “Intuitive combat and flawless combo chains. The fucking open world? Which other installment in the franchise offers that much depth in the gameplay?”

“Depth? Do you even hear yourself right now?” Chenle grips his head so tightly that when he pulls his hands away, there are actual red marks across his forehead and temple, and his bangs are askew. “What kind of depth comes from cloned movesets? The character designs are so stupidly traditional too. And—”

“There’s a unique kind of beauty in familiarity.”

“The open world was a disaster,” Chenle plows on. “It was so empty, and the map was the farthest thing from intuitive. It’s quite literally the worst thing KOEI has ever done. That’s exactly why they went back to the limited map strategy in later installments. Even the spin-offs.”

“I thought the grappling and ambush systems were pretty intuitive. Ingenious, even.”

It’s a singularly amusing sight — Chenle is one insult to his pride away from imploding, and Donghyuck is just checking the dirt under his nails like he’s waiting in line to take his school ID photo. Park Jisung, one of the quieter ones in the bunch, tries to diffuse the tension by clearing his throat and going ‘I actually really liked the Age Of Calamity Zelda one they released with all the different campaigns,’ but that just goes unnoticed by either party.

“You once failed an ambush play just because you were stuck behind a wall you couldn’t scale. Don’t say shit about the ambush and grappling mechanics.”

“Unlike some people sitting around this table, I learn from my mistakes. That’s also probably why some people — not naming names — just can’t appreciate the artistic beauty that is Dynasty Warriors 9.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even look up from his cuticles when Chenle explodes.

“You’re fucking impossible!”

“Can you guys relax?” Lee Jeno, who had somehow miraculously found the space and silence in the breaths between the entire argument to doze off, opens one eye, only slightly irate. “You’re making a scene over a dead game franchise.”

“It’s not dead; they’re on hiatus,” both Chenle and Donghyuck chime in together, apparently finding a moment of unique solidarity to shoot Jeno down before going back to glaring daggers at each other. Jeno shrugs, gives everyone else at the table an I tried kind of exasperated expression, and settles back into his seat, the one eye already closing before he’s fully folded his arms across his chest.

Your eyes wander away from the group over to the counter. You’re thankful for the fact that most of the time, you just get invited to share a table with them without necessarily being trapped in the middle of a conversation — especially one as heated as the one Chenle is prolonging while jabbing his finger accusingly at Donghyuck, as if he’s trying to pin a crime on the latter instead of just explaining why Donghyuck’s opinion is ‘borne of ignorance.’ When they’re all caught up in their business like this, you end up being able to revel in your more or less unobstructed view of Mark behind the barista’s station, where he’s busy piping an extra helping of whipped cream on top of a strawberry frappuccino for a kid that’s already jumping up and down next to the pick-up station.

The biting winter had already given way to the first signs of spring, and the Starbucks Mark works at has a supremely effective central heating system that allows people to shed their coats. This works in your favor, considering Mark wears nothing but a button-up shirt over his apron while he works, and he’s got this habit of rolling up his sleeves so they don’t catch any stains. You’re pretty sure he has a second motive, though; surely, he’s aware of how the view of his arms, muscles tightening under his skin whenever he even lightly grips something, drives you crazy. You’d bet a month’s allowance he’s doing it on purpose so that you start entertaining the thought of yelling at everyone in the branch to fuck off so you can grab him by the front of his stupid shirt so you can kiss his stupid face. Or ride it.

And for some inexplicable reason, he still has the audacity to act like there’s nothing amiss. When he looks up at you right after pushing the frappuccino towards the little girl, his eyes still brighten, almost innocent in their gaze, the corners of his lips turning up surreptitiously, hiding the smile he seems to save for only you from everyone else in the room.

You smile back, but when he turns away to take someone’s order, you let out a heavy sigh and take a long sip of your vanilla sweet cream cold brew until you start reaching the last dregs of it under the ice. Your brain pretty much cries out in protest, but you know it deserves as much as a mental cold shower for entertaining the thought of asking him to bend you over the counter at five-thirty in the afternoon in a Starbucks.

Stupid Mark. Stupid brain. Stupid fucking people in the room.

The warm breath in your ear alerts you to a slowly approaching presence, but you don’t have the reflexes to turn back to its source before it starts talking.

“Got anything to add to either of our cases, ___________?”

“What?” Your palm comes up to rub your ear as Donghyuck pulls away, laughing lightly. You’re sucked back into the foreground of the conversation, but you’re just as lost now as you had been before you started tuning them out in favor of your lust. “Uh — no. Sorry. To be honest, I know nothing about… sorry, what were you guys talking about again?”

“See, that’s how normal people act,” Jeno grumbles, both his eyes flying open this time. “Instead of hosting a presidential debate about Dynasty Warriors.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re quick to add, and Jeno looks mildly amused at your attempt to still mollify the rest of the group. “I’m sure I would have liked it. If, you know, I actually had been introduced to it at any point in my life.”

“And if you had, I’m sure you’d have the taste to assert alongside me that the seventh installment was revolutionary,” Chenle sniffs, but he’s looking more pointedly at Donghyuck, who’s still ignoring him, save for the fact that he’s now looking at you instead of at his nails (which doesn’t feel like such a great upgrade).

“Nah, she’d be on my side. ___________ looks like she’d appreciate a good, scenic open world and grappling system. Right?”

“Uh…” you say smartly.

“Man, shut up.” Chenle throws his hands in the air before he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back with astounding force. “Got me so pissed off I need to pee now.”

You have no idea what the correlation is between getting annoyed and needing to use the bathroom, but even if you wanted to bring up your doubts — which you don’t — Chenle is long gone before you can get your thoughts together. It’s only when he’s out of earshot that Donghyuck leans in, almost conspiratorially, to whisper to you again.

“Actually, I think the ninth sucks too. But isn’t it kind of funny how worked up that fucker gets?”

“To be honest, I’ve never known anyone with quite your talent in riling people up,” you admit, and even though you’re not sure what kind of meaning you want attached to that, you notice that he decides to take it as a compliment all on his own, his chest puffing out in pride. “Too bad I have no idea which opinion is really right, or I’d weigh in, too.”

“Not a Dynasty Warriors kind of girl, then?”

“No one is, Hyuck,” Jeno snorts, shaking his head. “You two are the only people I know who still played that past the fifth installment.”

“Fair. I nurture a love for old franchises.” Donghyuck leans back, looking supremely satisfied at how he’s managed to tick off one of his most important ‘to-do’ points of the day. “So what’s your poison, ___________?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You a Gardenscapes kind of girl? Tekken? Maybe you like some good ol’ fashioned LoL?”

“I honestly don’t have the hand-eye coordination to play,” you confess. “I know Mark likes to play PUBG from time to time. I mostly just sit and ask questions, though. The few times I tried playing with him, I swear any normal person would’ve cried. He had to babysit me like crazy. It was a miracle he didn’t throw me out.”

“She even tries to play with him,” Donghyuck whistles lowly. “Dude, how’d Mark get a chick like you?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re way too good for that dope.” His laugh is light and good-natured. “Never thought a moony-eyed weirdo like him would actually wind up with his dream girl — which he’s called you, more than once, by the way. Fucking disgusting, but… I get it. Doesn’t make it less crazy or weird to hear, though.”

“Sorry to put you through that.” You smile, using your straw to stir the contents of your cup. A warmth spreads through your shoulders and down your arms to the tips of your fingers as you digest what Donghyuck’s just said to you, and you find your eyes trailing back to Mark, who’s pulling off his apron. His eyes are already fixed on you, and when you lock gazes, he mouths a wait for me that makes you want to squeeze the life out of something in pure joy. You settle for a soft sigh. “I guess it won’t help if I say your friend over there’s my dream guy.”

“It absolutely will not,” Donghyuck groans, faking a gagging noise that has you laughing. “But tell you what — if you ever get tired of Mark playing PUBG and ignoring you like the clown he is, I’ll find you someone else more your speed.”

“No thanks,” you snort, taking the last sip of your drink. “More than that, I’d just want to be some kind of helpful to him if I ever play with him again.”

“We can help you with that too,” Jisung volunteers. “Jeno taught me the basics. I’m sure he can teach you too.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing you’d be a better student than mister “how come you didn’t tell me I had to focus the crosshairs myself” over here,” Jeno chuckles, surreptitiously pointing at Jisung when you cast him a questioning look.

“I’m pretty good at sneak attacks myself.” Donghyuck makes a show of pretending to slice your neck before grinning smugly. “We’ll take care of you. Mark won’t know what hit him next time.”

“What’s happening to me next time?”

You feel Mark before you see him, his hand landing on your head lightly and smoothing your hair back in an idle, gentle motion to announce his presence. You look up at him, already beaming, and he returns the favor as his hand settles on your shoulder.

“We were just talking about replacing you. Both as a friend and as a boyfriend, for your poor little dream girl here who’s just too nice to turn you down.” Donghyuck lies like it’s second nature; you wonder if that’s a Finance major thing or just a him thing.

“And you’re offering that to someone who didn’t ask for it?” Mark snorts, nudging Chenle’s bag over so he can sit in the empty spot.

“She’s so caught up in your sticky little web that she can’t struggle against you.” Donghyuck feigns a heavy sigh that suggests he feels sorry for you before he puts a hand on your free shoulder, shaking his head in a convincing kind of pity. “I’ll save you, so don’t worry. Mark can’t keep his grubby hands on you forever. Whenever you need to be saved, I’ll come a-running to free you.”

There’s a tightness on one shoulder that disrupts the balance of your torso, and you find yourself leaning closer to Mark. Your hand finds its way to his knee, giving it a light squeeze under the table, and his grip loosens by a fraction. Donghyuck’s as quick to let go as he is to hang on.

“We were just talking about PUBG,” you correct, and Mark’s eyes snap to you. “I was asking for help — you know, so I won’t drag you down the next time I join in?”

“I don’t mind whatever you do in-game.” He’s quick to comfort you, even if you don’t actually need it, but it feels warm and cold “I’m just glad you wanna try it with me.”

“No, but I kind of want to learn too. So it can be fun for both of us. Also so you don’t have to keep avenging me after five minutes,” you laugh. Mark cracks a smile then, and you don’t realize his expression had been slightly harder until it softens under your gaze.

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

“No, I want to surprise you with how cool I get. And then next time, I’ll even beat you.” You turn to Donghyuck, slightly unsure. “Uh… I can beat him, can’t I?”

“If you play different teams, yeah,” he confirms. “Trust me. I’ll help you kick his ass.”

“Or we’ll both kick yours,” Mark chuckles, his grasp now tightening and loosening intermittently. He’s massaging your shoulder lightly, and you end up sinking deeper into his side. You don’t miss the slightly nauseated amusement that passes across Donghyuck’s face nor the way he mouths ‘sap’ to Mark, who ignores this comment in its entirety.

“Yo, hotpot at seven? Renjun’s asking,” Chenle announces as he returns to your table, his phone in one hand and a crumpled paper towel in the other. “Jaemin can’t make it, though. Study group or whatever shit he always says.”

“I’m down,” Donghyuck immediately replies, and Chenle’s eyes shoot heavenward, like he’s already asking for the divine strength to not sock Donghyuck in the face later.

“Can’t,” Jeno yawns, both his arms outstretched as he tries to move the sleep out of his spine. “Pre-test tomorrow.”

“Dude, it’s a pre-test,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to study if they’re just testing how much you know before studying.”

“Gotta study all the same.”

“I gotta pass too,” Jisung looks actually apologetic. “I promised my mom I’d help her move some stuff to my aunt’s place tonight.”

“Boring,” Chenle grumbles before turning to the both of you. “Lovebirds?”

“Rain check,” Mark shakes his head. “Family dinner. My brother’s home for the weekend. How about Monday instead? Most of us can’t make it anyway. At least Jaemin doesn’t have study group either.”

“If that’s even what that weirdo’s doing,” Chenle sighs, already punching in a message to send to Renjun. “Fine; I’ll ask about Monday. You guys better actually reply to the goddamn group chat. I can’t coordinate in six different private chats ever again.”

“You can put my name down already,” Mark casts you a sideway glance, and you nod immediately. “Two names, actually.”

“I’m good on Monday too. When we see each other again, I’ll bring some prospects for you to sift through,” Donghyuck adds to you, and you laugh. “Cool guys. Jocks. I know this upperclassman all the girls say is really hot. I think I still have his Messenger from when we did a group discussion last semester.”

“I’ll have Mark look at them so he can reject them all for me,” you promise. Donghyuck feigns affront before looking at Mark in utter disbelief.

“How the fuck did you snag a girl like this, man?”

“I’m pretty sure she once told me I… what did you say?” Mark glances at you amusedly. “I had some moves, I guess.”

“You mean stutter and blush in her presence?” Donghyuck can’t decide how to look at you without being even the slightest bit offensive; he just settles on incredulity. “And that won you over?”

“Most powerful move in the Mark Lee playbook,” you shrug, grinning. “Had me from the first ‘um,’ and he’s had me ever since.”

“You lucky son of a bitch,” Donghyuck snorts, and neither of you misses the slightly abashed but unmistakable smugness in Mark’s face when you lean in to rest your head on his shoulder.

The second time it happens is on that Monday, in a far more noticeable capacity. You just aren’t quick enough to read the signs, as usual.

But in your defense (again), it hadn’t felt all that significant.

“Fuck, this is spicy,” Na Jaemin sucks air in through his teeth and lets it out in a sharp whistle that’s broken by a laugh that’s not necessarily at anything funny. Maybe he’s just laughing at the sheen of sweat across his forehead that he has to wipe off with the other side of his napkin.

Miraculously, the hotpot plan pushes through, with no small amount of effort in coordination on Chenle’s part; he’d even texted you just to make sure he’d gotten the head count right, despite the fact that Mark had already confirmed your attendance twice over. Even the often elusive Na Jaemin, who always seems to have one or another study group to attend on most nights, manages to come and is currently busy mixing his peanut sauce in his little bowl with such vigor that you can’t help but wonder if he’s not trying to drown the mala-flavored strips of meat in it completely.

“That’s why I said you need a bowl of water for dipping, you dimwit,” Donghyuck points his chopsticks at Jaemin’s messy plate in a way you can only describe as nagging, even if that’s actually impossible. “You’ve got super mala breath now.”

“Don’t know about me, but I can smell yours all the way from over here,” Jaemin quips back with an easy kind of nonchalance, hastily ducking the balled-up napkin that goes flying across the table. It lands on the floor behind his chair harmlessly.

It’s nice, you think, that Mark’s friends like to invite you to their outings now; despite all the jokes they’ve made at his expense, they’ve been consistently open to having you around. You’re not necessarily the type of couple that acts in a way that disgusts people into moving to a completely different table anyway, and you allow their conversations to unfold easily without ever interrupting, so you think that this arrangement works for all parties involved.

They’re even louder outside Starbucks, you’ve come to note; the restaurant is significantly busier than the cafe anyway, filled with people on their company dinners, so Mark’s friends all seem to want to rival that boisterous energy. Weirdly, you like it, even when they’re already half off their seats and one (Chenle) is just about to strangle the other (Donghyuck). The laughter flows freely, and there’s a messiness to the whole affair that makes it impossible to feel uncomfortable.

Even Mark pipes in occasionally, offering his opinion on topics he knows much more about than you, and you can’t help but admire how everyone listens to him when he starts to speak, even if he has nothing realistically important to say. His friends might find it odd that you’d been so drawn to him, but they just don’t know that even they’re victims of Mark’s natural magnetism, also falling quiet and eager to hear his voice, his light-hearted laugh, in response to the things they say.

But even when he’s mostly distracted by conversation, there’s a part of him that continuously pays attention to you in his own way. He nudges his ginger and soy sauce bowl towards you with the side of his wrist so you can dip your beef in, even if you’d adamantly declined him giving you your own bowl of it in the first place (you’d always thought you were peanut sauce or nothing kind of girl, but one sneaky venture into Mark’s sauce proved you wrong). His hand hovers over your head when you drop your chopsticks and bend over to pick them up from where they’ve rolled under the table, making sure you’re bump-free when you resurface.

And his palms always, always settle somewhere on you, no matter what he’s doing. If one hand is busy feeding himself, the other is intent on warming your thigh, passing over the denim in slow, steady strokes. His fingers tickle your knee when you laugh, just to make you laugh a little harder — you’d even almost kneed the table at one point, much to Huang Renjun’s alarm. But the most common place for his arm is around you, fingers lightly bunched into the side of your shirt, like he’s worried loosening his grip on you further will cause you to vanish. It keeps him close to you, keeps his scent and warmth washing over you in gentle waves, so much so that you often have to remind yourself that he’ll be the target of much light-hearted mockery if you so much as lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

But it’s hard to resist it, especially when his hand seems to be intent on outlining every curve on that side, passing over your hip and dipping into your waist. The motion allows him to slowly but surely lift the fabric of your shirt, up until there’s just enough of an opening for his palm to slip under, and suddenly it’s much warmer on that side, with the light roughness of his hand grazing at your skin. His fingers always stretch apart, like he’s trying to feel as much of you as he can, and the pads of his digits have a tendency to graze the plane of your stomach — his nails sometimes even travel featherlight just next to your navel, etching out words you can’t really decipher. Like he’s writing a message just for you.

It makes you feel like no matter what he’s doing, a part of his mind is always on you.

“You guys want to see that new horror movie? The Ghost Within, I think it’s called,” Jisung asks the group from over at the other end of the table, having to raise his voice significantly to make sure it isn’t swept away by the raucous laughter from across the restaurant. “I think it’s coming out in a week or two.”

“I’d be okay with it,” Renjun shrugs, although he doesn’t look enthused. “Kind of looks like a cliche horror with all those cheap jump scares and shit, but I’m down if you all are.”

A wave of assent passes over the group in general, but you notice Mark doesn’t immediately respond. You take this opportunity to lean in and confess your stance.

“If I have to sit around and watch a ghost pop out at me from a big-ass movie screen, you may never again see me in the same wonderful light you do today,” you warn. “Remember me as I am, not as I will be, Mark Lee.”

He snorts, coughing lightly as a mixture of ginger and fishcake sticks in his throat. “Yeah — we’ll pass, I think.”

“Scaredy-cat,” Donghyuck teases, and you’re surprised that Mark doesn’t come to his own defense. There’s something romantic in him not wanting to be the one to sell you out, but you suppose there’s also a kind of chivalry in being the one to take the bullet.

“Actually, I’m the one who can’t handle it well,” you smile in apology. “Sorry. I don’t have much of a reputation, so to speak, but what elegance may be attached to my name, however misplaced, is something I really want to maintain. At least until I graduate.”

“In short, you don’t want Mark to see you scream and cry,” Chenle deduces. You can’t even find fault in him figuring it out so quickly.

“Bingo.”

“Well, we can solve the problem,” Donghyuck claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention for no good reason. “__________, you sit beside me, and Mark can sit on the far end of the row. With how dark it is, he won’t see anything, and I get to sit next to a cute girl in a movie theater. Win-win.”

“Thanks for the offer,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But it’s not a win-win if I accidentally grab your hand out of instinct.”

“It is to me,” Donghyuck winks, and you feel Mark’s hand stop brushing over your stomach. His fingers curl in lightly, almost like he’s trying to make a fist but can’t quite get to that point out of personal restraint. “Or better yet, you could do what we all think you should do and dump Mark for someone you won’t be ashamed to cry in front of. I, for one, would not even bother to comment on whatever emotions you’re going through in the middle of a movie, so what do you say? It’s a pretty sweet deal, in my humble opinion. Me versus Mark Lee. The showdown of the century, right here in Hai Di Lao.”

You’ve noticed that the more Donghyuck piles onto his little teasing rampage, the more forcefully Mark tugs you over; his fingers aren’t just skimming over your skin but have now grown into the habit of gently pinching it, as if begging for your attention. It feels nice but also a little urgent, although it’s hard for you to understand why; the whole foundation of this group is built on teasing each other until someone (Chenle) snaps and lobs a bottle cap at someone else (Donghyuck), so it should be normal for Mark to be at the receiving end of some light banter.

“Should we ask the hostess to referee the match, then?” You ride along with the joke.

“No way. You’re the one calling the shots.” Donghyuck sits up a little straighter, putting on a smug face. “Okay, pick, __________. Me or Mark; who’s got the better punches?”

You make a show of acting thoughtful, even tapping your chin to pretend considering it deeply, but there was never any doubt on your choice. Still, you can’t really decipher the sudden slowness, the light tremble in Mark’s palm as it travels to your hip, where it settles, heavy, over the curve.

“It’s a complete knock-out,” you finally announce, grinning. “Championship belt goes to Mark.”

“Man, if I had a girlfriend as straight-shooting about her feelings for me as you are about your feelings for Mark, I’d propose in a day, max,” Jeno groans, half-exasperated and half-amused all at once.

“Man must’ve saved a nation or something in his past life,” Donghyuck grimaces. “No way he deserves a girl this hot and crazy about him. Hey — got any tips on stopping natural disasters or something? I could use a sexy, loyal girlfriend in my next life. Or maybe I’ll just poach yours in this one and see what it feels like.”

“I would actually deck you, so don’t even try it,” Mark snorts, his arm now winding full around your waist. You’re flush against his side, and he uses this opportunity to do something he doesn’t often do in front of his friends: show explicit affection by pressing a light kiss just behind your ear. It tickles, his breath grazing your earlobe, and you giggle, squirming in his hold. All he does is smile and pull you in tighter.

The bill’s split eight ways, but Mark’s fishing out cash to pay for your share even before you can get your wallet out from the bottom of your bag; it’s one of those quick, instinctive moves he likes to use on you, where he pushes the money and sends the bill back to the staff before you can even protest in full, so you have to settle on thanking him by returning the earlier favor — landing a peck on his cheek, which flushes a warm and contented pink the moment your lips make contact.

You just pointedly ignore the snickers that run around the table, particularly from Donghyuck and Jaemin.

The group splits ways at the front of the school dorms; most of them head in after their goodbyes, while Chenle backtracks towards his apartment building off-campus, mumbling something about how he hopes his roommate’s in because he accidentally left his key in the bowl next to their doorway. Mark should be piling in with the rest into the dorms, but he has a habit of insisting that he take you to the subway station; you’ve long since given up on convincing him against tagging along, mostly because he looks slightly hurt whenever you try to get him to stay put. You’re not going to complain anyway; for as much as you like being around Mark’s friends, it’s even better when you have this little slice of alone time despite the hassle it brings him.

Your fingers are linked when you walk under the street lights, the campus road leading to the station entrance significantly less busy at this time of evening; it’s cool enough for you to have an excuse to press yourself into Mark’s form, and he accepts this additional burden with an immense amount of grace, his arm finding its way around you again. Two minutes later, his palm is pressed against your bare skin once more, rubbing small, gentle circles just above your pelvis.

A part of you wonders if you’ll be able to do this — lean in, flush against him — when the summer heat starts to stick, but rather than really worrying about the logistics, you realize you’re more hung up on the idea of spending this summer with him.

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs out of the blue. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he looks down at you sheepishly. “Isn’t hanging out with my friends kind of driving you crazy?”

You hum in thought before shaking your head in resolution. “Not really. Not in a bad way, at least. I like how close you guys all are — and how big the group is. It’s usually just Yeji and Jisu with me, and they’re definitely not as rowdy. The change of pace is pretty fun.”

“Yeji and Jisu,” he echoes. “Your best friends. I haven’t met them yet, have I?”

“Not yet. Jisu started a part-time job across town, so we can’t get our schedules to align right just yet.” Your hip collides gently with his. “Should I let you, though?”

“One day… I think it would be nice to hang out with a less migraine-inducing crowd for a change.”

“I’ll tell them, then. They want to meet you.” You crane your neck up slightly, lowering your voice into a hushed whisper that’s completely unnecessary. “They want to know if you’re as cute as you look in your pictures.”

Mark draws back, laughing incredulously. “How do they know what my pictures look like?”

“I stalked your Instagram and showed them,” you answer simply. He throws you a funny look that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “They liked that one with the Spider-man costume.”

“Please don’t,” he groans, passing a hand over his face. “I should have taken that down, but I didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Why? I like it.” Your hand’s the one that manages to slip under his sweater this time, fingers trailing down his stomach; you feel him suck it in for a second in surprise before he lets out an exhale.

“I can’t ever understand what’s going through your head,” he chuckles, and you think it’s unfair that he manages to extract your hand from under the fabric while his is still firmly pressed against the side of your stomach. “You saw that and still wanted to date me?”

“Mark Lee, you simply underestimate how much I adore you. It’s kind of hurting my feelings at this rate.”

You’re just a few inches shy of the circle of light cast by the subway station sign. Your feet try to bring you forward, but Mark lingers behind, just outside the curve of soft white on the pavement, and his hand slips from under your shirt. You turn, and his hand skims down your arm instead, fingers locking around your wrist. With the slight distance between you, it looks like you’re caught in motion.

“I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

“What?”

“I just look over at you and feel like it’s not real. Like you’re going to disappear, and I’m just going to wake up from a dream and see you the next day, just some other stranger who doesn’t even know my name.” He licks his lips, and you want to reach out and kiss him already, but you know he isn’t done talking. “And I’m going to remember how much I liked you in that dream, but you won’t ever feel that same way.”

“You know I’m right here, though, don’t you?” Your fingers mimic his, squeezing around his wrist. “You can feel me. I’m here with you.”

Hesitation flashes across his face even when he nods, and you notice his eyes flit down to his shoes before looking back up at you — a habit of avoidance you know he’s trying to correct. “Sometimes I have to wonder if they’re right.”

“If… who’s right?”

“Them.” He jerks his thumb back in the general direction of the school dorms. “The guys. You know — when they ask me how I got a girl like you… the truth is, I don’t even really know. They can’t believe it, and it’s so crazy to me that I still sometimes can’t myself. So I start wondering if—”

You don’t let him finish this time; it’s rude to interrupt, you know, but you also know that what he’s about to say is probably something neither of you wants to hear anyway. Your lips connect with his, firm and demanding, and his words die in his throat, melting into a soft groan that vibrates against your skin. When you pull away, you don’t create the same distance, and Mark’s hands find their way to your waist, slightly trembling.

“They’re wrong,” you murmur, a quiet strength in your voice. “So stop wondering and just be with me.”

A smile starts tugging on the corners of his mouth, and the next moment, he’s nodding in assent, in wholehearted agreement, and the next kiss you share is one he starts, far more gentle than earlier.

“Next time I catch you entertaining nonsensical thoughts, there’ll be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me?” His laugh is colored with incredulity.

“Yes.” Your tone is firm, but your grin gives away too much of the jest. “Maybe I’ll ground you for a week, or something really childish.”

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” you snort, gently flicking the tip of his nose. He scrunches it on impact. “You’d be in solitary. You must reflect on your actions and all that nonsense. Meanwhile, I’ll be out having some good hotpot with everyone else.”

“If that happens, promise me one thing, then.” He maneuvers your stance until you’re both back in the blanket of darkness, just out of reach of the subway entrance. “Don’t sit next to Donghyuck.”

“And let him and Chenle give me an earful about how bad-slash-good the first Human Centipede movie was all over again? I think not.”

“No, really.” Mark buries his face into your neck, and you hear the quiet inhale as he breathes in your scent. On instinct, your hand comes up to thread through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I don’t want you sitting there and hearing him talk your ear off about how much I don’t deserve you or that he’ll help you find someone better.”

“You know he’s just joking — and I’m just joking, right?”

“Just promise me.”

You pause, wondering if it’s in your best interest to tease him for whatever act he’s pulling, but there’s a shortness to his breathing that makes the whole situation feel weirdly tense. He’s really waiting for something — an answer. The right answer, maybe.

“I promise,” you finally say, and you know you’ve said the correct thing when Mark’s lips press a soft kiss to your collarbone, like he’s sealing in your vow.

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

The strangest thing is that it starts at a time when you’re not even actually together; if you had to pinpoint the exact moment, it probably had to be when Donghyuck had walked you to the dorm from library. No — maybe even before that. Somewhere in the time you’d spent in there, he’d thought up yet another way to push Mark’s buttons. You just didn’t really know the exact minute he’d first seen you with Jung Jaehyun.

You don’t know how Jaehyun does it; he skips half his classes and somehow doesn’t even get in trouble, let alone fail. You’d only met him last semester, but he was just about the only person who was halfway familiar in your Anthropology 120 class, so you thought you could at least feel comfortable enough to chat with him about the weather or what had happened in the last meeting. You don’t expect him to strong-arm you into being something of a literal proxy for him; the first week of the semester, you’d spend almost each lecture period gnawing on your nails and fretting over the fact that your signature for attendance looked nothing like his. By the second week, you’d already come to realize that it doesn’t matter because he had only attended one lecture — the first one — thus far and your professor was as clueless about Jaehyun’s handwriting as you. By the fourth week, you had resigned yourself to being his slightly unwilling associate for his random escapades, allowing him to copy off your notes and turning in his homework for him.

Now that you think about it, that’s probably how he does it.

You sacrifice your free time for him today, caged up in a library for pretty much the afternoon. You can’t help but resent him, not just because the whole room is stuffy and the librarian keeps passing by, clucking to remind people not to litter between shelves, but also because you’d much rather do things that are important to you — like pretending to flirt with Mark for the first time when you place your order and watching him act like it’s the first time you’re saying something so sweet to him, except he’s definitely not pretending. Instead of watching Mark’s face color that cute shade of pink and that sweet little smile pull at his mouth until he’s basically biting his lips back to stop himself from grinning, you have to bore yourself with the sight of Jaehyun trying to decipher your handwriting.

“You should really be more legible with your strokes.” He has the audacity to chastise you as if he’s the one doing you a favor by giving you constructive criticism.

“You should really come to class more often,” you bite back, although there’s no real heat to your words. You just look out the window and watch the sun sink down behind the university hospital building, wondering if there’s a chance you’ll still be able to catch Mark before his shift ends.

“Would if I could.”

“You actually fucking can,” you say tiredly, and even the way he turns the page is so impossibly slow. “Can’t you just take a picture?”

“Nah; writing it down carefully really helps my retention of this kind of stuff.”

“So take a picture and then write it down carefully.”

“With your ridiculous handwriting? I’d probably fail.”

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

Your hiss increases in pitch, and it calls the attention of the librarian over to you. She swoops in, clicking her tongue, but she’s not even looking at you. Her eyes are zoned in on Jaehyun, who meets her gaze with so much innocence it’s hard to imagine you’d wanted to smack him two minutes ago.

“Jung Jaehyun,” the librarian snaps in an undertone. The slow, punctuated way she says his name suggests she knows him fairly well — and not in a great way. “I see you’re back in here after your probationary period.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Park.” He grins up at her, looking anything but apologetic. “I promise I won’t get in your way again today.”

“And this one—” She points to you, and you point to yourself in shock at being pointed to, and Jaehyun’s pointing at you and mouthing ‘this one’ with excessive mirth in his eyes. “Isn’t another one of those girls you plan on defiling my sacred space with?”

Jaehyun says ‘we didn’t defile anything’ at the same time you say I’m going to throw up, and the librarian just adds to the noise by shushing you on top of that jumble of words.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you two,” Mrs. Park warns before stalking away, tutting at a library assistant for wrongly shelving a volume of Encyclopedia Brittanica.

“Please, Jaehyun,” you groan, crossing your arms over the table and flattening your forehead against them. “Just hurry up. Release me.”

He ignores you, still leaning closer to your notebook to decipher your handwriting. “I would like to set the record straight and make it known I didn’t fuck anyone in the library.”

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

“Just making out.” You notice he has the energy to grin wickedly even without meeting your eye, even while he’s still scrawling on his own notebook, and you groan something incoherent and irate once again. “What are you in such a big hurry for, anyway?”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you grumble, raising your head. “That some people might want to do better things than sit here and watch you write stuff for ages?”

“No,” comes his simple reply. You bop your head onto your arms a few times in the hope that the impact will shake you out of this nightmare and you’d find yourself waking up in Mark’s arms instead, but you have no such luck. “By better things, do you mean fucking Mark Lee in someone else’s bedroom? That’s real defilement, by the way.”

“How’d you hear about that?” You squeeze your eyes shut and growl under your breath. “Fucking Youngho.”

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

He pointedly purses his lips in an effort to keep himself from letting out what you can only assume is, by the glint in his eyes, a witch’s cackle. “Almost done, man. Relax a bit. So did you guys get together — like, together together?”

You initially contemplate not telling him, but Jaehyun’s nosiness is probably going to reveal the truth to him sooner or later anyway. “Yeah. What’s it to you, though?”

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

For the first time today, you feel like Jaehyun has finally said something right. “Yeah — yeah, I am.”

“I bet his friends don’t seem to think so.”

“Is this something you know because it’s a guy thing or because you’re so nosy that you just can’t help but listen in on every other juicy conversation around you?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles. “Mostly just because I know Lee Donghyuck was giving him a hard time about it last semester.”

“I noticed that too — a bit, anyway. But it’s just banter, I think.”

“Probably. Imagine being his friend and getting a girlfriend; it’s like… the perfect ammunition for teasing. But I’m pretty sure half of the things that come out of his mouth are jokes meant to annoy.”

“What about yours?”

“I get it,” he sighs, shutting your notebook resolutely. It makes a thud that alerts the librarian two tables away, and she glares at you like you’re climbing onto Jaehyun’s lap in the middle of the References on the Korean War aisle. “I’ll set you free. Thanks, by the way, for letting me copy from you. Same time next week?”

“Or how about you look up the schedules for our classes and actually come instead of piggybacking off of my efforts and making snarky remarks about my handwriting while you’re taking advantage of my goodwill?”

“Sounds like too much effort on my end,” he yawns, waving you off as you stuff your notebook into your bag. “Later, ___________. Say hi to Mark for me. The normal way — not the girlfriend way, please.”

You stick your tongue out at him before you make a mad dash for the door, ignoring Mrs. Park as she shushes your footsteps on the marble. You’re so intent on fishing your phone out of your bag that you almost ram the door into the person standing behind it.

“Oh, fuck— Jesus, I’m sorry, I wa— wait, Donghyuck?”

“Great to see you too, ___________.” He rubs his jaw where the edge of the door grazed it. “You in a rush?”

“I was just about to go see if Mark was still at Starbucks.”

“His shift’s probably almost over. I’m headed back to the dorm if you wanna tag along.” When you nod, he starts leading the way, breaking the silence again soon after. “Were you in a study group, or something?”

“No,” you jerk your thumb backwards towards the minuscule form of Jaehyun, who’s now busy wasting time and space playing something on his phone where you’d left him. Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s my classmate who never comes to class. I was just lending him my notes.”

“Oh, Jaehyun, yeah.” Donghyuck snaps his fingers. “We were classmates last semester. He never went to class either, but I don’t know who he mooched off of to pass. You guys close?”

“Not really. I just fell into the trap of being too nice to him.”

“It’s funny,” he hums, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Jaehyun seems more your speed. On paper, at least.”

You can’t help but look taken aback, and Donghyuck laughs at your expression. “What do you mean, my speed?”

“Not sure.” He pauses, trying to find the right words to explain himself. “Someone who’d fit more into your social circles. Someone who probably likes Formula One and considers men’s health magazines to be classic literature.”

“That’s your impression of my social circle?”

“You know what I mean. People like Jung Jaehyun or Seo Youngho. I literally thought you were dating him last semester, so it was totally crazy to hear you asked Mark out.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Like… you asked him out. Not even the other way around. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” You know he doesn’t mean anything bad by it; Donghyuck has next to no filter, and something about him being unable to process your relationship is honestly a little funny. “A girl can’t ask a guy out?”

(You try not to think too hard about the fact that up until you’d cornered him in Youngho’s room, you had been praying to whatever god could hear you to convince Mark Lee to do the romanticist thing and ask you out.)

“Nah, dude. Like… a girl like you asked a guy like him out.”

“I didn’t ask him out because he was a guy like that,” you say pointedly. “I asked him out because he was a guy I liked. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else out if it weren’t him.”

Donghyuck falls quiet for a while, and only the crunching of the leaves underfoot accompanies your walk. “You really like him that much, huh?”

“I’m crazy about him.” His nose scrunches up like he’s been hit with a horrible smell, and you laugh. “Can you stop giving him a hard time? Or tone it down? I know you probably don’t like it—”

Donghyuck’s chuckle is light and easy. “I’m not teasing him because I hate it; let’s be clear on that. I actually really like that you guys are together. I’ve never seen him this happy with anything or anyone.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because he’s Mark.” A devilish grin creeps up his features as he holds the door to the dorm lobby open for you. “And teasing him is my favorite thing to do.”

You shake your head; you can’t help your amusement, but you’re not sure you fully understand this kind of friendship. You suppose if Mark is okay with it in its totality, then there isn’t much you can say to change it either.

The next twenty minutes pass in comfortable back-and-forths; Donghyuck is, as you already have learned, an expert conversationalist, and while he doesn’t aggravate you the way he does Chenle, he does manage to navigate a quick-fire kind of exchange of thoughts and information that allows you to see the speed at which he thinks. There’s barely any lag between when he digests what you say and when he responds. You suppose there’s a measure of wit in that, but it’s also a little bemusing to see someone speak without at least running it through the conscience checker every once in a while. You decide you’ve never met anyone quite like Lee Donghyuck before.

He’s in the middle of asking you what the Anthropology professor is like because he’s planning on taking it as an elective if he can when you notice a familiar figure pushing into the lobby, backpack swinging on a folded elbow.

“Mark!” The brief confusion on his face morphs into a surprised joy when he spots you on the couch, even though a bit of it lingers upon recognizing that Donghyuck is seated next to you. He walks over in long strides, and your posture straightens to meet his palm as it comes down gently against the crown of your head again; it bumps lightly, causing the both of you to laugh.

“Hey, you.” His voice is warm and fond in its greeting, and you beam up at him. “Did you have a busy afternoon?”

“Unfortunately. Did you just get back from your shift?”

“I passed by the co-op to check out the new university letter jackets. Design’s pretty dope.” He nods towards the elevator. “You wanna head up for a little bit?” You almost get to respond before your companion cuts in instead.

“Hey. Can’t you see we’re having a riveting conversation over here?” Donghyuck sniffs, making a show of hitting Mark’s shin lightly with the heel of his shoe. “Have some respect.”

“Is the conversation so riveting that I can’t take my girl for the evening at all?”

You mouth out a no, but Donghyuck’s flair for dramatics has him humphing and shoving Mark’s hand away from your hair. “Yeah, man. At least let us finish up.”

“What’s this even about?”

“How Jung Jaehyun asked her out in the library today,” Donghyuck replies easily. You start, shaking your head immediately, but Mark’s jaw slackens a little upon hearing this. Donghyuck continues loudly over your protests, and you can’t keep your voice straight because you’re adamant and yet, somehow, still laughing incredulously in your shock. “Oh, dude, let me tell you. He had his arm around her like this — and he was giving her the bedroom eyes… I wouldn’t have blamed her if she folded, honestly.”

“Mark, no,” your stupid gasp comes out as half a giggle as a result of Donghyuck trying to reenact his imaginary scenario. He’s slung his arm across your shoulders and pulled himself in, doing his best expression of a pleading dog’s gaze, which is both perplexing and hilarious. “He’s just kidding—”

“Then he got all close like this—” Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, and the view he allows himself blocks him from having to look at Mark. You, on the other hand, are still trying to resist a misunderstanding, your palms up and every part of your body that can move shaking vehemently, but you can see Mark’s face turn a violent shade of red you can’t remember having seen from him before. “Spoke all low — you remember he had that sexy, husky voice, right? ”

“He’s just messing with you,” you wheeze out, trying to extract yourself from Donghyuck’s hold, but he only tightens his arm around your neck, almost to the point where you can’t inhale properly.

“And he said ‘you’re the hottest chick I’ve ever seen—’ then you know what he did, Markie?”

Mark doesn’t respond; you’re not even sure if he can, considering his Adam’s apple is bobbing dangerously like he’s one misstep away from exploding. You laugh again, stupidly, because you don’t know what else to do; you know Donghyuck’s teasing him, and you know Mark usually takes it in stride, but you’ve also never seen the latter look so focused on anything that didn’t involve a math problem or eating you out. “No, really, nothing hap—”

You don’t even have the space to finish your sentence. Donghyuck’s too quick when he grabs your face and plants a comedically sloppy kiss on your cheek, bursting out in laughter when he pulls away. You can only sit there, probably as stunned as Mark looks, raising your hand slowly to wipe the spittle Donghyuck left behind in his wake.

“Oh, Jesus,” Donghyuck rasps out between snorts. “Your face is priceless, man.”

“Not funny,” Mark grumbles, and there’s a hoarseness to his voice that makes you feel like it’s barely controlled.

“Also not true. I just bumped into her on the way from the library. We were talking about one of her classes or whatever.” Donghyuck dramatically wipes the tears from his eyes, and you sigh, nudging him. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Man, don’t even worry. She’s downright crazy about you. Even if Jung Jaehyun had asked her out—”

“Anyway.” Mark reaches down, lacing your fingers together, pulling you up and closer to his side like he’s worried you’ll catch Donghyuck’s crazy. “If that’s all of it…”

“Yeah, yeah. You two lovebirds go moon over each other already. I just love seeing your face like that.”

Mark snorts, yanking on Donghyuck’s earlobe punitively, and the latter cries out sharply (and a little exaggeratedly) at the pain. Mark doesn’t even seem to care; he leads you to the elevator and punches in his floor. You barely have time to call out a belated ‘bye’ to Donghyuck, who acknowledges it with a raise of his palm, before the doors slide shut.

It’s a slow elevator, given that it’s an old building, and the first couple of floors pass without much noise between the two of you. You’re not unaware of how tight Mark’s grip is on your hand, but you don’t comment nor take it against him. By the fourth floor, you’re raising his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

“Nothing happened.” You confirm his unasked question, and you see a modicum of tension leave his shoulders. “He was just messing with you because he thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I know.” Even if he says it like that, there’s still lingering doubt in his voice. “Were you with Jung Jaehyun today, though? Is that why you didn’t show up?”

You nod. “He was copying my notes for Anthropology. Guy barely shows up to lectures, so he borrows my stuff. I can’t believe he hasn’t been suspended yet. Or punched in the face by the people he leeches off of.”

“No kidding.”

You step out on the sixth floor with him. Even if you already know where Mark’s dorm is, you let him lead the way, and he ushers you into an empty and dimly lit living space while taking his shoes off. His roommate barely seems to be around; you’ve seen him all of two times, and it doesn’t look like he’s here either right now. You pause anyway, listening to any signs of life just to be sure, but when you both confirm that there’s no one but the two of you, you busy yourselves with turning on the lights and plugging in the water dispenser.

You work in relative silence; it isn’t anything unusual since you’ve done this a million times, and you’ve come to learn that small talk isn’t necessary when you’re just washing your hands or opening the refrigerator aimlessly even if you know you both plan on ordering in. But there’s a weird aura around Mark that you’re not sure how to place; he doesn’t seem like he’s mad, but there definitely seems to be something off — a problem, at least, that you’re not sure you know how to ask about.

So you just try to diffuse whatever it is by completely ignoring it.

“Pizza or Chinese?” You ask, flopping onto the couch as he plugs the television into the outlet. He looks up at you, and you notice his eyes are slightly dazed, like you’ve just woken him up from a dream. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse the first time he says it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“We just had pizza, so I’m thinking Chinese is the better option. Cream shrimp? Fried rice? Not the salted fish one, though, maybe.”

You hum in assent, but when he straightens up from behind the television, you extend your arm to him, attempting to clarify yourself. “I mean, what are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.” His answer’s a little too quick. A moment of awkward silence passes where you telepathically tell him you know he’s lying and he has to come to terms with his horrible lying skills, and he sighs, crossing over to the couch and settling beside you. Immediately, he tangles your fingers together, belatedly returning the favor from the elevator and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “He didn’t ask you out, right?”

You know he knows the truth, so you decide to bat your own question back at him in an attempt at rhetoric. “What would it matter if he did? The answer would have been the same, real or imagined.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. There’s a red flush on his neck that’s only started fading, it seems. You reach out and skim your finger along the vein that runs down the side of his throat. “I know. I don’t like it all the same. I hate… even thinking about it, actually.”

“Really — nothing happened. If you don’t count the fact that I almost strangled him for keeping me there — which I’m sure you’d agree doesn’t count as anything in favor of him.”

“I heard Jung Jaehyun’s kind of a playboy.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” His head lolls to the side, and his eyes hold a sadness that pulls at your heart. “It means he really could have made a pass at you. Or you could have — I don’t know. In the end… I just worry.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your lower lip juts out, and his eyes widen slightly, his head shaking before his mouth can even work out a proper response.

“No — I mean, yes, absolutely. It’s — I mean, it’s just—” He inhales again to gather his wits, two fingers still rubbing his forehead. “I trust you, without a doubt. I don’t trust other people — not around you. Not Jaehyun, or Youngho, or—”

“Or Donghyuck?” You smile a little apologetically at his embarrassment, clear on his face when his eyes stray from yours. “Mark, you know he’s only messing with you, right? I thought it was a funny thing for you guys.”

“It’s not funny if it’s about you,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He looks up at you again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I know. I’m trying to control it. Sometimes… I don’t know why it gets under my skin. I guess it’s because it could happen — you… finding someone else. I kind of hate the thought of that.”

“And if I said I hate it even more than you?”

His gaze softens, something like relief passing over his features, but the rest of his body still holds a significant amount of tension; you know by the way he’s running agitated circles on the back of your hand. You gently tug on his arm, allowing yourself to use it as an anchor to shift your weight. Mark makes a soft noise of inquiry but says nothing more, waiting until you’ve maneuvered your body to settle on his lap.

The view is reminiscent, and you can see that the core memory you share flashes through his mind too. A small smile, still somewhat reluctant, plays on Mark’s lips, and you hate that it’s all you get right now, so you rectify this by leaning down and leaving a small, chaste kiss on them. You pull away much too soon, and his head follows in response to the distance, chasing your lips until you’re realistically too far to reach. His arm extends instead, swiftly tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your fingers close around his wrist, and your head turns, continuing the kiss against his palm — short and firm.

“Stop doing that.”

His eyebrows fly upward in questioning, his other hand freezing in its trail up your thighs. Even his breath seems to catch, and what’s left of it comes out as a raspy whisper. “Stop being jealous? I’m… I’m trying.”

You shake your head. “Stop being sexy when you’re jealous.”

The ‘what’ he seems to want to ask dies in his throat, his mouth only able to form half of the word before you interrupt, your lips taking in the rest of the syllable. When you kiss him this time, there’s a slow hunger to it; your teeth find his lower lip even before he’s able to get into the rhythm of kissing you back. You just want him to know — everything about him drives you wild, even when he doesn’t know it.

You’ll never grow sick of the taste of him, you’re sure; today, he tastes even more enticing, the hint of something rich mixing in with the stronger flavor of coffee on his tongue. It’s familiar and comforting, and it’s only when you break away, both your faces flushed from a prolonged lack of air, that you puzzle out what the taste is — the lingering aftermath of a vanilla sweet cream cold brew, one he must have prepared in anticipation of you this afternoon.

You briefly squeeze your eyes shut and thank whoever’s listening for the gift of Mark Lee.

“Mark,” your murmur, your voice much softer, intent on coaxing him into releasing his worries. “You know, right?”

His ‘hm’ is only half-there in focus, the rest of his attention on his hands, which have found their way to your ass and have started digging his fingers into the flesh beyond your jeans. You have to tilt his head up with one finger under his chin, and there’s a whirlpool of emotion in them: curiosity, desire, and, interestingly, a quiet, almost suppressed kind of anger.

“If it isn’t you,” you whisper. “Then there’s nobody else.”

You see his jaw tighten, feel his grip against you do the same, and his brow furrows, like he’s trying — much too hard, and for no good reason — to stop himself from tipping over. You don’t like that either; if he’s there, you think, you should take him over the edge.

“But if you want them to know so badly, then…” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, bringing the expanse just a little closer to his mouth. “Why don’t you go ahead and put your claim on me?”

You swear you see his pupils dilate right before he presses his mouth to your skin. With a low, almost pained groan against your neck, he latches his teeth in lightly, and you feel the soft sting, the increase in pressure the moment he starts sucking a mark just above your collarbone. There’s a wet, messy pattern to his movements, always punctuated by the sweep of his tongue to soothe your flesh. Even with that, his movements are slow and careful, still gentle in the way he’s handling you, but you feel it anyway — all of his tension’s concentrated in his grip, the way he keeps you close, hips pinned against him as if he’s worried anything less will cause you to disappear.

“Every time you worry, remember you can do this.” You pause, your breath catching in a lilt as his teeth dig in a little more fiercely. “You’re the only one that can.”

His lips detach with a soft groan, fingers squeezing your ass tight for a moment. Warm breath cools against the damp patch on your neck, and a second later, you feel his mouth graze against the few inches of skin, sensitive and slightly raw. “I know. It’s just not fair.”

You hum in questioning, but he doesn’t answer immediately; his mouth busies itself just under the mark he’d surely left, already starting up the same routine. You’d let him, and you want him to, but you want to hear his voice more. Your fingers tangle into his hair, and you use that hold to ease his head back, urging him to look up at you. It’s almost a mistake, seeing him like that — lips slightly swollen and definitely slick with his own saliva, parted just a little to reveal teeth he’d been desperate to nip your flesh with again. It crosses your mind that Mark has a mouth made for kissing — no, that isn’t accurate.

A mouth made for you to kiss.

“What’s not fair?” You ask softly. Even now, he takes his time in answering, his eyes falling close for a second; you watch him swallow, lick his lips, breathe in before he speaks, and all of those mundane things he does somehow make you lose your mind all the more.

“How badly I keep wanting you,” he breathes out, his eyes slowly opening. “And how it makes me think everyone wants you just as much.”

His hands leave the curve of your ass, traveling up your shirt, resting against your sides. He holds you like he’s careful in trying not to break you, his fingers spread wide to make sure his thumbs almost meet against your stomach, but there’s a smoldering headiness in his gaze that tells you he’s thinking a little too hard about wanting to break you.

“I touch you like this, and I think that everyone would kill to do the same.” His fingers squeeze against your flesh, inching upwards until they rest just under your breasts; his thumbs stroke the curved underline of your bra. “I think about kissing you and it feels like everyone’s thinking it at the exact same time. I look at someone next to you, even if you don’t know them, and I wonder if they want to pull you close, if they want to feel you against them just as much as I do. When I—”

He inhales sharply between his words, and the exhale comes out somewhat shaky. For a moment, he grits his teeth, jaw flexing in an attempt to keep himself in check. You worry he doesn’t want to continue — doesn’t want to let you hear it, but it feels so important that you can’t let it go. “Tell me.”

“When I think about fucking you,” he breathes out, voice barely audible. “Whenever I look at you and think about how much I want to feel you around me, feel you cum around me… I just know everyone else wants the same thing, and it’s driving me crazy because… because they can’t.”

It’s there again, flashing in his eyes — a determination that reads almost like fury.

“They can’t,” he repeats, his voice firmer. “I won’t ever let them. Never.”

You don’t stop him this time when his mouth reclaims your skin. You let his thoughts fuel the need in his movements, allow yourself to move only in reaction to what he does — the tilting of your head to give him more room, the tightening of your fists against his shirt to keep yourself steady. A surprised mewl leaves you when you feel his teeth pinch against your flesh again, and it’s harder, sharper this time, his quiet anger finally dictating his strength. You grapple for words, but they come out in weak gasps.

“It doesn’t — doesn’t matter,” you manage to whimper out. “How many people think that way, how much they want me that way. I only ever want you.”

His breathing is caught, warm, in the pocket of space just between you and his mouth; it tingles against your skin, tickles your senses into heightening. Your fingers unfurl, pressing against his chest, and you can feel his quickened heartbeat thrumming under your palm.

“God, please,” he murmurs, the soft peck of a kiss landing against your collarbone. “Please, tell me.”

“Mark, I’m yours.” There’s no teasing in how you say it; it was never meant to rile him up. It even escapes sweetness, the romanticism it usually comes with when you remind him on any other occasion. This is a promise to him, something you’re reinforcing as fact, something that can’t ever change. “I’m always going to be yours — no one else’s. I’ll never let anyone have anything that’s yours. Ask anything, take everything you want. I’ll never say no to you. Only you — always you.”

You know something’s different in a number of ways; his arms circle around you, but instead of keeping you firm and stable in his lap, they’re tight, squeezing a whine out of you, holding your torso flush against his. His face never leaves the crook of your neck, but you hear — feel — something there — a soft growl of need, of frustration that begs release. Suddenly, you find yourself off the couch; you barely have the presence of mind to wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your thighs against his sides before he’s carrying you to his room, kicking the door open and letting the rebound of the impact against his wall slam it shut behind him.

You’ve been in Mark’s room before, so there’s absolutely no need for you to take in the scenery when he sets you down on his bed. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if this were your first time; Mark’s crawling over you, his face flush and eyes sharp with hunger, and he looks so enticing that you wouldn’t want to pay attention to anything else around you anyway. His limbs cage you in, arms on either side of your shoulders and his knees just by your thighs, and you don’t really know why he’s already panting, but it just makes you want him all the more.

“Never,” he groans out, leaning down to nose against the patch of skin his mouth had worked on. “I’m never going to let anyone take you, ever. You’re all mine.”

His name fades on your lips, carried away by a moan when his mouth reattaches itself to your neck; it moves, almost frenzied, to renew the mark he’d left, make it a deeper red, a slightly bruised purple. You’re usually careful not to do anything that will require any attention or cover-up after, but Mark seems a little too far gone to care, and you realize you like him best this way.

Even with all the attention he gives your neck, his fingers are busy; they work on the button of your jeans, sliding them down with the help you offer by raising your hips. They only reach halfway down your thighs, his reluctance to come back up for air stopping him from peeling them off completely, but it’s all he seems to need for now.

Eager fingers ease between your thighs, two at once, pressing against your folds. You’re unable to spread your legs like you usually do, but this tightness makes you all the more sensitive, and you keen as his digits fit themselves into your slit. Frustratingly, they don’t move right away, and you have to raise your hips again just to get some sort of friction. Even then, Mark doesn’t take the hint — or, perhaps, the bait — keeping a light pressure against your clit without doing anything else. His focus is still on your neck, now slightly aching under his lips, and when he finally pulls away, you see a look of triumph on his face. He tilts his head back slightly to admire his work — the blooming dark patch you’re sure he’s left where your skin tingles the most.

“If I said I wanted to mark you all over, would you let me?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t ask for it?”

He chuckles, tightening the pressure of his fingers against your clit; you say something that sounds halfway between ‘Mark’ and a sob.

“I want to, so badly.” He admits, gaze still fixed on your neck. “I’d want to see you walk out of here, walk into class covered in them. I’d want people to ask you how you got them, and who gave them to you. And I’d want you to say it proudly — that it was me who did it. That I fucked you all night and made you mine over and over again.”

“Why don’t you?” His eyes snap up to you, a small smile forming on his lips. “I want to say that too. Let me brag about having you. Let me tell everyone how good you always make me feel. Then you can tell everyone who doesn’t believe you, too — how I let you take me every single time. Show me off and tell them to look at how you made me yours.”

Another laugh escapes him, but there’s more disbelief than humor in it; he seems to find it amazing, that you can just agree with what he says, no matter how strange he thinks it is.

“Show you off? If I mark you in other places, do I have to show them every part?”

“Do you not want to?”

“I want to, and I don’t.” He pauses, slightly amused, and you know he’s remembering the first time you fucked. “I don’t them to see your body, but I want them to see what I did to it. I don’t want them to look at what’s mine, but I just want them to know it is.”

“Then you can fuck me in front of everyone and make them watch you ruin me completely.”

He shakes his head, even if desire flashes clear across his features. He busies himself with actions while he mulls it over, tugging your jeans down alongside your panties and casting them aside before he straightens up. His eyes rake over your form; you’re bare from the waist down, your shirt halfway ridden up, the underside of your bra peeking out from under the hem. Again, his eyes land on your neck, and his smile widens slightly.

“Can’t.” He decides finally. “You’re too pretty for that.”

You hum thoughtfully, and he raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t move, even when you sit up, shifting yourself so you can tuck your calves under your thighs — not even when you reach out to undo his belt or tug down his zipper. He only reacts a little when your hand presses against his hardness through his boxers, the girth now easily familiar to your palm.

“What about something like this?” You ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed. You’ve started slow strokes against him, the fabric creating extra friction, more heat under your palm, and you watch his jaw clench as he swallows back a soft grunt. “Would you let them watch me do this for you?”

“Let me think about it,” he chuckles softly, and you nod, letting your fingers work to make your point. You don’t have to undress him completely to get what you want; all you need is to tug down the front of his boxers to free him, and you already have him wrapped in your palms, stroking his shaft to full hardness.

“Think faster,” you urge, and he shakes his head, slightly bemused. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t even want them to watch me jerk you off?”

“At least give me a full minute.”

You laugh lightly, whispering a ‘fine’ before you press a soft kiss against tip. He inhales sharp through his teeth, already sensitive, and you waste no time in letting your tongue flick out against the smooth head. He doesn’t need the lubrication, realistically; his precum’s already leaking from the tip, mixing in with your saliva as you run your tongue around it. All you do is make him a little messier, a little slicker, your spittle running down his length.

Taking Mark in your mouth is a demanding task, but one you’re always up for; there’s something uniquely satisfying about letting him fill your mouth, inch by inch, and watching his breathing hitch and stutter until your lips are closer to the base than to the head. What you can’t reach, your hand always squeezes around, eager to make sure he feels good completely. His expression is sublime when you draw your head back the first time, sucking as you do so — his eyes are half-lidded, and he doesn’t stop the moan that falls from his lips. His gaze is fixed on you, hazy but still able to drink the sight of you in, and you’re not sure how, but you almost feel like you could get off to watching him watch you taste him.

You try, somehow, vaguely conscious of the movement of your hips; you’re grinding at nothing at first, so your knees give way just enough for you to press yourself against his sheets. It’s slightly uncomfortable, a strain in your thighs that you’re not really used to, but you don’t care; Mark’s sharp inhale at seeing you attempt to grind your pussy against his mattress is pretty much as arousing as anything else. His cock twitches hard in your mouth, and you suck just a little harder, a little messier, your head bobbing down to meet your hand, still firmly wrapped around his girth.

The room’s filled with nothing but slick sounds and soft groans; Mark’s hand has found its way into your hair, tangled into a makeshift ponytail, and while he isn’t guiding your mouth to do anything, you can feel his hips stutter then start to move, pulling back when your head does. He tries to hide it, tries to keep himself steady, but pride blooms in your chest when you note that he can’t; he wants to feel like he’s fucking into your mouth, into your hand, the way he does when he takes your pussy.

It’s relatively quiet for that time, nothing but muffled moans from you that mix in with his noises, but you only realize you’d been waiting for an answer to something when he speaks up again.

“It’s… still a no for me.”

Your movements slow, your gaze lifting to communicate your mild confusion to him. You don’t want to ask; you just don’t want to lose the taste of him on your tongue just yet. He looks down at you, smiling with overflowing tenderness, almost like he’s apologetic.

“Even just this — you’re too pretty when you do it.” His hand reaches down, thumb stroking over your cheek. “I can’t let anyone see what you look like when you’re like this. They’ll keep thinking about you doing it for them. And you’d only do it for me — right?”

You nod immediately, your response causing your mouth to slip down his shaft just a little more. It elicits a guttural noise from him, one that fuels you into sucking him just a little harder, your enthusiasm overtaking your restraint. His fingers have let go of your hair, stroking it back into smoothness, almost comforting in their movements.

“God, I wish you could see yourself; you’d know what I mean,” he continues to murmur, his voice just a little louder over the eager, wet noises you’re making. “How pretty you look with your mouth wrapped around me. How perfect you are when you’re kneeling like this for me — how happy you look when you’re sucking me off. I can’t share that with anyone. Fuck — not ever.”

Your mouth draws back, completely this time, and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock. You lick a long stripe up his shaft, moaning softly at the light throb you feel, and you watch him tip his head back. The groan that follows soon after is almost close to a frustrated growl, ending in a whispered ‘shit’ before his eyes land back on you. He watches you press kiss after kiss against his tip, coaxing the precum out even more, and you take special care to leave more down each inch of his cock until you’re finally able to release your hold on his base so you can leave the last one there.

His hand combs your hair back before it falls to cup your chin, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to gently clean up the froth of spittle there. You smile up at him in thanks, and his thumb sweeps over the seam of your lips to follow the slight curve.

“So pretty,” he repeats, and your cheeks glow pink under the palms that caress them. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Pretty as hell, fucking perfect — and you’re all mine.”

You kneel up again, chasing his lips with your own, and he locks you in his arms as his tongue slips its way past your teeth, the aroma of coffee still on it. He leaves today’s taste of him against your tongue, on the ridges of your teeth, until you feel like you’ve all but consumed him, and you whimper softly when he pulls away, urging you to turn around and lean back into his chest.

His mouth reattaches itself to the same spot; it’s like a home base for him, and he breathes in your scent from there before giving the same patch of skin a light suck, almost as if he’s worried it’ll fade in a few minutes’ time if he doesn’t give it attention.

“Show me.” Hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them lightly, like a prompt for your response. “Show me how pretty you are for me.”

His palms never leave you, not even when you detach yourself from his chest and bend down; your elbows meet the mattress, but your hips stay raised, giving him a view of your pussy. Your gasp easily turns into a moan when his digit dips into your wetness again, his other hand pushing gently at your asscheek to keep you open.

You think he’s about to slip his finger in, the tip brushing against your entrance, and you tense in anticipation, but it doesn’t happen; he continues to run his finger down your slit, careful not to linger against your clit for too long. The result is that you tighten around nothing, and you hear him suck in a breath as he watches your hole grow smaller for a second. You laugh breathily, resting your chin against the backs of your hands, one folded atop the other. “Pretty enough for you to fuck?”

“Do you have to ask if you already know?”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

His finger slips into your hole, finally, and you keen softly as he breaches the first ring of tightness. He doesn’t really move it, just tests your tightness, feels you contract around him as if to know what his cock will feel in a few moments.

“Your pussy’s too pretty not to fuck,” he manages out, and his throat sounds as tight as you feel. “Seeing it like this… makes me think there’s no way anyone can resist. It’s exactly why I can’t let anyone see you like this.”

You hum as his finger presses in deeper, and you know it’s nothing in comparison to the real thing, but you like feeling that mild stretch, the depth it reaches all the same. “How should we let them know, then? That I’m all yours.”

His finger stills, and you hum softly, swaying your hips to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in. He’s grown quiet, but there’s a thoughtfulness in this pause, like he’s seriously considering your question. You laugh lightly, ready to tell him you’re just egging him on until he fucks you, but he slips his finger out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing again. You can’t help the confused noise that comes out of you, but you at least know he isn’t completely backing away, his other hand still firmly on your ass.

“Mark, what—”

You get your answer in the thud that interrupts your question — he’s tossed his phone onto the bed, having it land next to you. Something in your blood runs hot, and your fingers tremble when you pick it up. You see yourself reflected in the blackened screen — excitement in your eyes, your lips glossy from your blowjob.

Mark’s silent as you let the meaning of his actions settle; wordlessly, he slips his finger into you again, followed by another one this time, and you shudder in pleasure at the difference in the stretch. He doesn’t ask, but you can tell he’s wondering if he’s gone too far— if you think he’s crazy. He lets his fingers stay anchored in you, unmoving, waiting for you to say something, but from where he is, he just can’t know the smile that passes your face.

Finally, he tries to speak up. “We don’t have to— I just meant—”

“What’s your passcode?”

He breathes out, the exhale quivering as much as you probably are. “Your birthday.”

Your smile only widens when you tap the screen to life and see a picture of you — you don’t even remember when he’d taken it, but it’s a shot of you sprawled on his bed, bundled in his blanket and reading something that looks oddly like your textbook for your European Renaissance History class. It’s grainy and dimly lit, a stolen photograph of you, but it makes your heart swell, and you laugh lightly as you key in your birthday; the screen unlocks, allowing you access to all his applications.

“What’s funny?”

“Just thinking about how you should replace this wallpaper.”

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

His fingers curl in you, pressing down against your walls, and you push your hips back in a bid for more friction; you hear him hiss out a ‘fuck’ under his breath, and his hand digs harder into the flesh of your ass.

You open Mark’s contacts, scrolling down aimlessly. Most of the names, you don’t recognize, but you see a few familiar ones crop up here and there. He doesn’t ask, only starts pumping his fingers into you in quiet anticipation, wondering how far you’re willing to take it, how much you’ve bought into this crazy idea.

“Mark,” you call out, and he hums in response. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

“So if I called Donghyuck right now—” His fingers hook into you, the delicious pressure on your walls making you squeak instead of finish your sentence immediately. You twist your torso to meet his eyes, and you’re slightly surprised but not at all displeased to see something crazed lingering in his gaze. “How much of a show would you want to put on for him?”

He shifts his weight, his knee sinking into the mattress as he slots it between your legs. This change in position allows him to angle his fingers a little differently, driving down into you with a force that makes you squirm. You almost forget you’ve asked him something again until he leans in closer, his murmur almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his finger pressing into your hole.

“Just… enough for him to know you’ve always been mine.”

Your thumbs are shaking when you scroll through his contacts again, up and down until you find the right name — Lee Donghyuck — and Mark watches you intently, wordlessly, as you press his number, start the call, and put it on speaker.

The wait feels like an eternity, with Mark’s finger slipping in and out of you in a steady, languid pace as you watch the line connect, but in reality, Donghyuck really only answers after the fourth ring. “Yo, Mark.”

His voice is casual, lacking in any sort of expectation; you can hear explosions and gunshots in the background, and you’re willing to bet he’s in the middle of an action movie. You’re proven right when you hear random English babbling soon after.

“Hi, Hyuck.”

“___________?” He sounds genuinely confused that it’s you that greets him. “Where’s Mark? You okay?”

“He’s right here with me; don’t worry.” Your voice is a soft croon, and he has to lower the volume of the television to be able to hear you better. “We’re totally fine. What are you up to?”

“Watching Resident Evil. Uh, is there a reason you called?”

You want to draw out the lie of something casual for as long as you can, but Mark doesn’t let you. His fingers push, suddenly forceful, into you, and you let out a soft cry into the receiver. You look back at him, eyes wide with amusement, and he shrugs, having at least enough sense to look slightly abashed at his experiment.

One moment, you’re listening to a female voice shout something, and the next, Donghyuck’s side of the call is silent except for his breathing. When you don’t bother explaining what had just happened, he takes matters into his own hands.

“Hello?”

He sounds equal parts affronted and amused, like the shock of it has tickled him. You can’t help it; you laugh too, but it’s quickly cut off by another whine when Mark pulls his fingers out. Donghyuck makes an incredulous noise.

“Now, what the fuck is all this about, you freaks?”

“You kept wondering why I ended up asking Mark out,” you evade his question with another one. “Should I tell you why, if you’re that curious?”

“No way. Have fun, weirdos,” he laughs, and the line goes dead a second after.

You snort out a laugh, and Mark mumbles something that sounds vaguely like that was crazy before he leans down and presses a kiss to the small of your back. You make to turn so you can finally face him, but you’re distracted when his phone screen lights up again, and Donghyuck’s name flashes across it.

You exchange amused glances before you pick up the call, and you don’t even get a ‘hello’ out when his voice rings out, sharp and clear.

“But pretending I am,” he says, as though he hadn’t hung up the call a few seconds ago. “Exactly what kind of answer would I get?”

“The kind that’ll hopefully shut you up for good,” Mark pipes in instead of you.

“What’s that even going to sound like?” Already, Donghyuck’s activated whatever toggle in him that gets him to push Mark’s buttons. This time, though, you can’t say it works against you; you feel Mark inch closer to you, and a moment later, the fat tip of his cock nudges against your entrance. “I bet you can’t even get her to yawn, man.”

Mark doesn’t have to respond; you do it for him when he pushes in, torturously slow, as if to draw out your moan. It works a little too well, with you keening into the phone, and yet no part of you is acting for his sake. As familiar as the stretch is, it’s not something you’ve ever been able to commit to memory fully, and it feels like a new breaching of your tightness each time. Your legs fold in slightly, a useless movement that attempts to get you adjusted to his size faster, but Mark interprets it as discomfort, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” He sounds genuinely worried for a second, forgetting that Donghyuck’s still on the line. Your cheek brushes against his sheets as you nod, trying to meet his eye even in this position to let him know you’re being honest.

“Fucking big, Mark.” You hear Donghyuck tsk from his end, and you laugh breathlessly. “You don’t like knowing he’s big?”

“I just hate that fucker,” Donghyuck quips back easily, but there’s no seriousness in his voice. If anything, it sounds a little raspy, with him clearing his throat soon afterward.

“Well, I’m crazy about him,” you whisper into the call, and your breathing hitches as Mark finally bottoms out, groaning at your tightness. “I’m crazy about the way he touches me, the way he tastes. I’m crazy about how big his cock is, how deep it gets when he’s inside me, how he stretches me out — fuck—”

Your verbal rampage is cut short by a loud moan as Mark draws his hips back and pushes forcefully into you; you haven’t fully adjusted, and you’re even tighter now from what you’re saying, so the friction inside you is nothing short of delicious. He starts a pattern of thrusts, not bothering to build up from his usual slow and steady pace — hearing you talk that way and knowing that Donghyuck is listening is enough to get him to abandon self-imposed restrictions.

“Mark,” you whine out, accidentally pushing the phone a little further away as you reach out blindly for him behind you, and he catches your wrist to let you know he’s there. “Mark, fuck, it feels so good—”

You tighten around him as if to prove your words, and he growls in response. You find yourself having to press your cheek in a little harder into the mattress as he gathers your wrists together into one hand, pinning them to your lower back, and it’s with that hold on you that he leverages his thrusts, pumping into you a little harder each time.

You’re not completely unaware of your surroundings, but it takes a while for you to process the sounds coming from the phone’s speaker — labored breathing, the sound of a zipper being pulled down. You want to wonder if this is working a little too well, but nothing comes from your mouth apart from soft whimpers, and it’s all the cue Mark needs to be the one to fill in the relative silence himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, and you feel his lips press between your shoulder blades. It feels like a chaste kiss at first, but he leaves his breath there, still flitting over your skin as he continues to speak. “I’ll never get tired of how pretty you are — how pretty you always sound for me. Doesn’t she sound pretty, Hyuck?”

“Fucking pretty,” Donghyuck agrees, though his voice sounds somewhat distant. You can only sob back a quiet ‘fuck me, harder, harder,’ in response.

“Can you imagine how much prettier she looks under me?” It’s almost a full-blown conversation now, but even if Mark’s addressing Donghyuck, the rest of his attention’s fully on you. He adjusts his stance, still keeping his hold around your wrists as he angles himself deeper into you, causing you to cry out and squirm in pleasure. With your face pressed against the bed and his weight driving down into you, you feel utterly trapped, in the best kind of way. Mark, in the way he is now, is inescapable, almost incorrigible, and he pistons deeper into your pussy, his free hand brushing your hair away from your shoulder so he can leave a kiss against it. “Bent over, legs spread just a little, all for me to take. Pretty little hole wet for me, and so fucking tight. Can you imagine that?”

“I’m doing it right now.”

“It’s a thousand times better in person. Trust me.”

The same hand slips between your thighs, two fingers spreading your folds apart; the middle one circles your clit in a pace that matches his thrusts, sudden and shocking, and you arch your back upwards slightly with a choked noise. He finally releases your wrists, and you claw at the sheets helplessly to keep yourself somehow upright as the force of Mark’s hips, their impact against the backs of your thighs, pushes you forward, closer to the phone again. The stimulation is merciless, endless, and in the haze of your pleasure, you wonder if you should make Mark a little more jealous everyday if it gets him to act this way.

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

“Not yet,” he whispers, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if to bring you back to reality. You shudder at the pain, the pleasure that accompanies it, and when you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, you notice that a few tears escape your eyes. “Hold out for me a bit, okay? Please. It’s not enough. Not yet enough.”

You wonder if ‘enough’ is a concept the both of you even understand when it comes to wanting each other; already, you feel desire pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill from you, and clenching around him isn’t helping you stop it the way your body seems to think it’s supposed to. It also doesn’t help that Mark’s fingers are relentless, one still drawing tight, heavy circles around your clit, and the other creeping up under your shirt to tug down the cup of your bra, letting a breast spill into his warm palm. He kneads with an unusual — but not unpleasant — roughness, and you squeak out incoherently as he tweaks at the hardened bud of your nipple, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hold on for me a little,” he continues murmuring, even after you shake your head and whisper ‘can’t’ to him over and over. “Do it for me. Tell Donghyuck — tell him how good it feels. How much you want to keep feeling me inside you.”

You don’t even know what to say; the pleasure that washes over you, the new kind of roughness that Mark exhibits has you drawing a blank, and you can only whine in a last attempt at protest, only for your tongue to start moving on autopilot, fueled by your want.

“It’s not enough,” you echo — and even if it feels like it is, even if it feels even more than you can possibly handle, something tells you that it’s true. “Not enough — need to feel you more, Mark. God, I want to feel you stretch me out, fuck my little hole into the shape of your cock— until no one else can fuck me but you—”

“What,” Donghyuck breathes out, his exhale coming across as static. “The fuck.”

You don’t have to explain; your babbling’s doing most of the work in that regard anyway, and you can tell by the wet, staccato noises on the other end that Donghyuck can easily piece together the scenario anyway. He’s jacking off to the both of you, something in your mind whispers, and the notion of that alone has you tightening around Mark’s cock. The change doesn’t go unnoticed, and his fingers sink deeper into your flesh; you cry out softly when you feel a jolt of pleasure as he gives your clit a sudden pinch.

“How much tighter can you get?” He sounds incredulous but also, interestingly, proud — there’s a smug tinge to his voice that arouses you even more. “Does it feel that good?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, the syllables quivering in your throat. “So good I’m going to lose my mind. Let me — God, please, let me—”

“Not yet,” Mark mumbles, and you whimper as he slows and slips out of you, his hand gently rubbing your folds in what feels like comfort — a small apology for his overt enthusiasm that you don’t even really need. “Just a little more. I need to see it.”

“See what?” Donghyuck’s voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and pretty much muffled by the sound of his hand pumping his own shaft. Your head’s light, so your body moves on its own when Mark inches away slightly, giving you room to turn yourself around and lay on your back. You’ve barely even settled when he lifts your hips, dragging you closer to him and easing your thighs apart to slot himself between your legs.

His cock weighs heavy, pressed up against your folds, and he pushes his hips in a superficial thrust to get them to spread. His eyes fall briefly on your swollen clit, the wetness that you left on his shaft, even more of it still leaking from your hole. When he looks back up at you, there’s something triumphant in his gaze.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he coos, so lovingly it’d be hard to imagine his cock still sliding against your folds if you couldn’t feel it yourself. “I’ll never get enough of your perfect pussy — so perfect that it was made to take me.”

“See what?” Donghyuck presses, an impatience now coloring his voice. Mark chuckles, nodding at you and mouthing silently. Tell him.

Your inhale’s shaky, quivering like the rest of your body, and you don’t ever break away from Mark’s gaze, even as you speak.

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

Donghyuck’s ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ is drowned out by your cry of need as Mark pushes back into you. There’s no lag time now, no wait for any kind of adjustment; he takes you in one motion, until you feel his hips hit the backs of your thighs again. Your walls flutter around him, unable to process his size fully, and all that comes out of you is a string of messy mewls that’s constantly interrupted by the wet sounds of his thrusts.

Your body feels almost weightless, the only thing you can understand being the feeling of his cock pumping into you, stretching you out further. You’re only able to shake yourself out of the reverie when you feel his hands push back against your thighs, folding you in half, before they crowd atop your stomach.

“God, I need to feel it,” he groans out, his palms skimming under your navel, searching. “Please — do it for me.”

Even with your brain muddled, you don’t even have to try to figure it out; you let him feel it every time he asks. You inhale, deep and slow, until your stomach sinks, and the walls of your stomach flatten against his cock, which pauses briefly in its movements as he revels in the newfound feeling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and you flush in pleasure, in satisfaction at his praise. “Love seeing my cock inside you.”

He adjusts himself before he starts pumping into you again, burying his shaft all the way to the hilt each time; each thrust is followed by a soft sob from you, and you reach out, planting your hands on top of his. You obviously can’t feel his cock under your palms, but you don’t have to anyway; the fit’s tight enough that it feels, ridiculously, like he’s fucking your whole body, like he’s pressing into the deepest part of your core. You just want him to feel it more — the movement of the bulge under his hands, the resistance it has to push through to get to your stomach.

“Love feeling me inside you,” he continues, and his breathing stutters then, signaling that he’s also barely hanging on. “Love seeing how pretty you look when I rearrange your insides.”

You mouth out a disbelieving ‘what the fuck’ that earns you a simple smile, but Mark’s unrelenting in his movements anyway, his palms completely covering your stomach.

“Dude, I wanna see it too,” Donghyuck reminds you both of his presence when his voice comes through the speaker. “Put her on video.”

“No way,” comes Mark’s swift, firm reply. Donghyuck makes a noise of protest. “This is just for me.”

“Selfish as hell, calling me without really sharing.”

“The point wasn’t really ever to share.”

Mark’s hands suddenly press down on your stomach, and you stifle a soft scream; the pressure increases tenfold, as does the tightness of the fit, his cock brushing against your walls in a way that makes you feel breathless — it makes you feel used. Your hands fly up, fingers locking behind his neck, and you squirm under him, knowing fully well that you can’t escape anyway — not that you really want to, anyway.

“Mark,” you warn him again, your voice thin and airy. “I can’t anymore — I really—”

“I got you,” he murmurs — something you’ve come to learn he always says, always wants to let you know. He’ll be here until you break, until you can’t take anymore. “One second, okay?”

“Bro, what? Are you serious—” Even Donghyuck sounds confused, although his voice is tight too; he must be close, your mind weakly registers, but it doesn’t matter. Mark, albeit reluctantly, slips one hand away from your stomach — for a good cause, he must think, and you learn what it is when he ends the call, effectively cutting off Donghyuck’s complaints. Your eyes widen in confusion, but all Mark’s gaze is to you is reassuring, gentle, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he answers your unspoken question.

“Can’t let him hear you cum,” he murmurs against your mouth. “That’s only for me, isn’t it?”

You nod, letting the movement of it brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one I’ll cum for — the only one that can make me.”

Above your head, his phone is trilling noisily; the vibrations course through your back, weak but persistent, and for some reason, it heightens your arousal all the more. Mark ignores it completely, single-mindedly focused on pistoning into you with the bulk of his strength. His hands push down just under your navel, increasing your awareness of the feeling of his cock, him fucking you, coaxing out your climax.

“Do it. Show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”

You don’t think it’s possible for him to inject any more strength into his movements, but he proves you wrong time and time again; the wind’s knocked out of you as he braces himself and fucks you harder, sharper into the bed, and the only noises you can make are weak whimpers and choked sobs. Your mind’s so overrun with pleasure that your climax hits your body first before your mind fully parses it; your back arches again, and you mewl out something broken, something that sounds like his name as you come undone.

Mark still doesn’t relent, the tremble in your legs somehow only inspiring him to put more power in his thrusts. Even through the dazedness that comes with all the stimulation, you can see the fine details you’ve come to know so well — the tightness in his jaw, the growing flush across his collar, the quick heaving of his chest. He’s close too, so close he’s just holding himself back out of sheer force of will to make sure he can watch you come down from your climax completely. You don’t know why he has to, but you want to see him let go too, and you scramble for words, for more touch — pressing your thighs firm against his sides to keep him close, locked — just to get him there.

“Will you mark me up one last time?” You breathe out. He reacts almost instantaneously, moving to lean down and press his mouth against the still-untouched side of your neck, but your palm on his chest stops him from doing so. Surprise crosses his face, followed by slight confusion. You squeeze your thighs against him, trying to make your point, but even then, his brow furrows. “Mark me — inside.”

His eyes widen, and his hips stutter before they resume pace, his fingers digging into your stomach almost painfully as he tries to keep himself in control. “I— no, you know I can’t…”

“Do you want to?” You egg him on, your hand dropping from his chest to land on top of his again, adding to the pressure until you’re sure he can feel every small movement, every throb of his own cock inside you. “You can, you know — make me yours, from the inside out.”

“God — we can’t; you know we’d be in so much trouble.”

“But I’d let you anyway, if you wanted to. Do you ever think about it, Mark?” Your fingers toy with his, almost like you’re having a casual conversation instead of a situation in which he’s deep inside you, already aching for release. “Fucking your cum deep into me, letting it seep into my stomach — making sure no one else can fill me up?”

“Jesus,” he growls, and he reluctantly slips his hands out from under yours to grip your thighs. Realistically, he has enough strength to peel them away, have you release him, but his hold just tightens, not really making any motion to do so. You see the thought flash in his eyes, serious even just for a moment. He thinks about it all the time.

“Think about it,” you urge, your voice soft but close to a demand. “And every time you do, remember one day, you will — because you’re the only one that can.”

He tilts his head back, letting a growl rip from his throat, and he finally manages to push your thighs apart. You let him, let them fall apart so he can slip out of you. You watch him shift upwards, his knees on either side of your torso, and you’re met with the erotic sight of him fisting his cock in front of you, urging himself into completion. You do the only thing you can think of to help; you open your mouth wide, pushing your tongue out, silently asking for his load.

“Even when you do that, you’re fucking pretty,” he groans out, and his thumb presses his cock down, resting the underside flush against your tongue as he rocks his hips. “How much prettier are you going to look with my cum all over your face?”

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, and you don’t have to respond; he gets the answer he wants with one last thrust against your tongue, and you close your eyes briefly, allowing yourself to drink in the taste, the smell of his cum as it streaks across your cheeks, all over your lips. You hear his release as it comes too — the soft rumble from his chest, the release of air that gently whistles through his teeth.

When you open your eyes again, Mark is looking down at you, a warm flush creeping up his cheeks and ears again; he’s breathless, panting as he comes down from his high. From the daze of his climax, a slightly sheepish look of apology crosses his face, and he reaches down, seemingly without any real plan, to clean you up, only to withdraw, slightly bemused, when you shake your head.

A laugh escapes him when you shimmy out from under him, straighten up, and extend your arms upward, puckering your lips in slight demand. You think he might reject you, but Mark doesn’t even hesitate longer than a second. He swoops down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, and your thighs press together tight as you enjoy the feeling of his tongue swiping away his cum from your bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, sucking softly as if to clean you completely.

When he pulls away, his head dips into your shoulder; again, his face turns to press against the mark he’d left, and his teeth nip at the soft bruise that’s already begun to blossom. Satisfied by the soft noise you make at the sensitivity you feel from the contact, he breathes out, long and steady, against your skin.

“Just… can’t get enough of you,” he finally exhales, pressing another kiss to your neck; it’s gentler, situated just under your jaw.

“You don’t ever have to think about having enough,” you whisper, leaving a light nuzzle against his shoulder. “Just always think about having more.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, but he nods, accepting your offer anyway. A moment of silence passes, where you’re wrapped up in each other, his weight against you in a blanket of heat, and it stretches to what almost feels like an eternity — if not for the phone suddenly ringing again, Donghyuck’s name coming up on the ID. You both start, and Mark reaches over, fumbling with the sides of his device before he finds and toggles the silent switch.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, watching the call drop just for it to start up again, the screen flashing.

“We kind of left him hanging, to be fair.”

“No fairness.” Mark tosses the phone to the foot of the bed, where it lies, facedown and buzzing. “He got more than he deserved today.”

You watch him as he slips off the bed, rearranging himself before clipping his jeans button back into place. He whispers a gentle ‘be right back’ and exits the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. You hear the water run in the bathroom, and a few moments later, Mark returns to your side, holding a damp towel.

He leaves a kiss after each light swipe across your face, as if to apologize for the pain he thinks he might be causing; you laugh, partly because it’s ridiculous, but mostly because you like it. He cleans your mouth last, even though there’s already nothing left, just so he has an excuse to leave a long, lasting kiss there.

You think it’s the last you’ll get for now, but he surprises you by bending down even further, hiking your shirt up your torso again. His hand rests on your thigh, keeping himself balanced as he presses a flutter of kisses around your navel, lingering at the exact spot that sits above where he knows his cock hits every time he bottoms out in you.

“One day,” he whispers into your skin before he looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’ll really make you all mine.”

“Dummy.” Your voice is just as low, and you pull his head up again, enjoying the brush of his hair against your hand, the swoop of his jaw under your palm. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Every single day, considering I’ll never get tired of it.”

You hum, not one to deny him of what he asks anyway; you push him back onto his calves, climbing back onto his lap; it’s your favorite way to be near him, you decide, with almost nothing between you, almost everything of yours touching everything of his — like you fit in him perfectly. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling their soft rise and fall as his breathing steadies, and you squirm a bit, if only to make sure his arms are locked securely around you — to make sure he won’t let go. Just like that, in his arms, you say it again — a truth, a fact, and a promise.

“I already am.”

4K notes · View notes

cinnaminsvga · 2 months

Text

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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blue-jisungs · 2 months

Text

JAM & BUTTERFLY

author's note. i love wonwoo so much?! also this songs is so cute wtf:(

summary. just a sweet morning with your boyfie<3

word count. 1036

warnings. may appear as a slightly suggestive if u squint :3 and! shirtless wonu (blame @slytherinshua)

warmth spread on your skin, sunlight peeking on you through the window. as you slowly stirred awake, you embraced the feeling of coziness – fresh air, comfortable blanket and duvet, fluffy pillow… warmth, so much of it.

but in a pleasant way. a way that hugs you and surrounds you in a bear alike grasp.

and you knew that another source of it was your personal teddy bear boyfriend wonwoo.

finally peeking an eye open, you saw the man himself. and, as per usual, mere seconds after waking up you were already stunned by his beauty.

he had his glasses on, resting on the ridge of his pretty nose. plush lips were parted as he was focused. wonwoo was reading a book, holding it with his right hand – pinky and thumb holding the pages down as the rest of fingers were supporting the weight. his upper back was pressed against the headrest, probably not the most comfortable position.

the sunlight fell on his figure, usually ebony eyes being now lighter, reminding you of pools of honey. they moved as he scanned the letters, fully emerged in the text.

sliding your gaze down, to his attractive neck and collarbones… down to his bare chest. you couldn’t help but smile, the gesture probably imprinting on his skin.

that is always a signal that the weather has shifted and it’s warmer: wonwoo is sleeping without his shirt. not the flowers blooming or astrological signs… just wonwoo and his lack of upper piece of clothing.

”someone’s awake, hm?” he hummed, his deep morning voice sending shivers down your spine. you’ll never get used to this - even though his voice (and laugh) might be the most beautiful sound in the whole universe.

“mhm…” you purred, too lazy to form words yet.

you just realised wonwoo’s left hand was holding you. it snuck under your (his) oversized t-shirt and moved in soothing motions on your bare back.

deciding to get even more of him, you shuffled closer and tucked your head in the crook of his neck.

“i made breakfast, it’s still warm” wonwoo announced softly and you could feel the vibrations coming from his neck when he spoke.

whatever he did, it always gave you butterflies. whether it was… breakfast in the morning or just washing the dishes for you. he made feel like a teenager again; all sweet inside.

“in a sec…” you grunted, letting your eyes close again. you were just so… comfy… so…

“hey, misses, don’t snooze” wonwoo chuckled, his chest buzzing. a smile sprung on your lips but your eyes remained closed.

“you’re reading either way, i’ll just nap” replying, you weren’t sure how he understood you: half of your words came out as a slurred speech.

but he understood, he always did.

you felt him move a bit, probably to put the book away. then, it was all sudden but oh so soft, his right arm wrapped around you as well. your face momentarily squished into his chest (not like you minded) before he quite literally manhandled you – rolled over a bit closer and then made you sit up on his lap. trapping him between your thighs, one hand resting on his chest and the other rubbing your eye in a sleepy manner.

this was apparently very funny because wonwoo laughed wholeheartedly, hands squeezing your sides.

“what?” you huffed, trying to act annoyed.

“you’re just so cute, baby” he replied with that boyish smile of his.

there was a certain way in which he looked at you. for a while you didn’t realise, only when your friends pointed it out: wonwoo admired you, looked at you as if you hung the stars yourself.

“don’t look at me like that” you giggled, realising he’s doing it now. sure, he wasn’t doing it in purpose. but wonwoo just couldn’t help himself but scan your pretty features, take in your appearance in front of him – basking in sunlight, having messy hair and a bare face.

“why?” your boyfriend teased, poking your sides gently.

“because i’m shy” you let out a grunt and hung your head down, trying to hide your face from him.

“ah…” he sighed, amused. you moved closer and pecked his forehead, taking his hands off you in the meantime.

and then you tried to escape, to brush your teeth.

keyword: tried.

because in no time wonwoo’s cat-alike instincts trapped you in his hold again.

“where are you running off to?” he teased and patted the spot were you were sleeping. you sat there, crossing your legs and as you yawned loudly, he placed down the breakfast on a wooden trace.

fresh strawberries and some watermelon (no blueberries, though), toast with jam, croissants with chocolate and coffee.

“when did you prepare that?” you asked and reached for a strawberry. wonwoo shrugged and grabbed the toast.

“i woke up quite early, couldn’t sleep. i went on a run and on my way back i made the coffee. i decided to leave it here and read a chapter or two… and then you woke up” your boyfriend explained casually but your heart was racing like crazy. he’s saying it like it’s nothing but… you were whipped. wonwoo was like honey, you were like a bee – not only was he sweet but it would always make you stick to him. maybe it was a cliche metaphor but that’s how you felt.

you noticed a bit of strawberry jam in the corner of his lips and you just smiled, reaching for the croissant.

“thank you, i appreciate it” you hummed before taking a bite.

“anything for you, angel” wonwoo smiled sweetly.

after finishing the breakfast and putting away the plates, you decided to stay in bed a little more. you grabbed a tissue and cleaned wonwoo’s face from the jam, giggles and chuckles escaping from both of you.

“a big baby, hm?” you cooed, cracking a grin. wonwoo just rolled his eyes dramatically and after you threw away the tissue, he pulled you closer. capturing your lips in a kiss, you could taste the sweet, sweet strawberry jam. smiling into the kiss, melting upon the moment you came to a conclusion that what’s what dating wonu feels like. like jam and butterflies.

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver,, @eternalgyuuuu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu

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sundrop-writes · 2 months

Text

Careful - Chapter Five

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter Five: Brick By Boring Brick

Her prince finally came to save her, and the rest you can figure out.

Summary:

The world is closing in around you. You're supposed to sit in your home and wait for a killer to come to you, and your son seems to prefer a man that you were convinced never should have been in his life in the first place.

What happened? Where did you go wrong?

The only way to find out is to reflect on the past - and to perhaps, forgive something you once thought was unforgivable.

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 9,700

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: again, general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder, stalking; the reader character is being victimized by a serial killer; angst - lots of emotional angst; the reader character and Spencer argue and hash things out; this chapter shows the flashback of how their relationship ended; mentions of drugs/drug use/drug addiction - there is mentions of Spencer’s drug addiction after the incident with Tobias Hankel; mentions of the reader having an eating disorder (in the past, before meeting Spencer); mentions of how pregnancy can affect eating disorders; mentions of the reader having an absent father; mentions of Spencer’s trauma/PTSD after the Hankel incident; mentions of lack of hygiene/lack of cleaning his apartment due to trauma and depression; Spencer uses his profiling skills to insult the reader; I believe that is it for this chapter.

A/N: This is it! This is the big chapter where we all find out what happened for them to break-up! I hope everyone enjoys it. (I am not gonna lie, I am really starting to mentally stall with this series, and I am really eager to work on something else lmao. So let's hope I can stick it out and get it done.)

...

Spencer considered lying to you.

He knew that you were going to have a hard time taking the news - there was no safehouse, no protective custody. Just him. Everything he had been offering before, nagging you about - it wasn’t truly being offered to you now. You would take it harder because now, in a sense, you and your son were being used as bait to lure the killer out and catch him in the act.

He considered lying to you. But he knew that it would ruin all the progress that the two of you had made.

So he made what he hoped was the right choice. He laid it all out for you as plainly as he could. They needed to catch him into the act, or he might choose a different victim. More innocent women might get hurt, their children being orphaned in the process. There would be unmarked cars stationed nearby, ready to help when Spencer called them in.

He would be there to protect you.

You still had a glisten of tears in your eyes, and he thought that you were going to panic. He was surprised when you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him again - but he embraced you tightly, feeling a certain selfish joy at having you back in his arms.

“As long as you’re here to protect me.” You sniffled quietly, burying your face in his chest once again.

“I’m not going to leave you.” He promised. “I don’t care what happens - I won’t let you out of my sight until we catch him.”

You didn’t bring up the fact that this likely meant sleeping in the same bed with Spencer. You weren’t sure if that was something you were looking forward to or dreading.

…

Spencer encouraged you to go about your usual routine - especially because he didn’t want Sebastian to be afraid or paranoid, even if such a smart boy could sense that you were upset and didn’t understand why.

Sebastian was easily distracted from the underlying tension when he realized that Spencer would be around to tuck him into bed.

He became so ripe with excitement that you thought it might be difficult for him to sleep. Even though his bed time wasn’t officially until later, he skipped his evening TV time to rush up the stairs so that Spencer would come with him. He insisted that Spencer help him pick out his pajamas, and then he wanted to show Spencer his toothbrush that played Moonlight Sonata (a toothbrush that was designed to play exactly two minutes of a song so that kids knew how long to brush their teeth).

You followed them upstairs and any efforts you made to help - showing Spencer which drawer the pjs were in and pointing to the drawer with the toothpaste in it - you were brushed off by Sebastian, who insisted that they didn’t need your help. He only wanted help from his new best friend.

Observing the whole thing truly made you wonder what the past four years of your life would have been like with Spencer there.

It caused a kind of lovesick nostalgia to flood you. Something that overtook you as you watched Spencer kneel down by the sink to get on Sebastian’s level, quietly complimenting him on his brushing technique and reminding him not to miss any spots - ready with a cloth to wipe your son’s face when he was all done.

You could only imagine how sweet he would have been with the newborn, tightly swaddled Seb; how he would have taken care of you so well after you gave birth, how perfect he would have looked with a baby in his arms. All of it left you stewing in regret, and you tried incredibly hard to hide a frown from Sebastian for the dozenth time that day.

Soon, Sebastian was rushing to jump into bed, and shouting an all too familiar request.

“Mommy, the stars!” He cheered brightly, pointing toward the lightswitch.

Spencer’s expression grew confused at this, and you felt a tingle of delight surge over the fear and anxiety for the first time in hours.

You turned off the lights, and then you walked over to a bookshelf on the far side of the room - on top of which, you had set up a star projector for Sebastian. It was something you had gotten for him as a night light when he was still very little. Even if it was an unconscious whim at the time - you couldn’t deprive Spencer’s son of the stars.

You switched it on and an array of bright stars were projected onto the ceiling, causing Spencer’s neck to crane upward in awe. Sebastian giggled in delight and flung himself backward in bed to look at it.

“He usually sleeps with this on as a night light, but he’s probably gonna want a story before he goes to sleep.” You said, motioning toward the book shelf. “You can turn the side lamp on.” You pointed to that as well. “Are you guys gonna be okay while I go get my pjs on?”

You knew that Spencer wasn’t likely to let you out of his sight - and that was exactly the look that came in his eyes; hesitant dread, clear to you even through the semi-darkness with the bright swirling lights moving across the ceiling reflected onto his face.

“Don’t lock your door.” He told you quietly. “And make sure to holler if you need anything.”

He chose his words carefully, not wanting to alarm Sebastian.

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him. “I’m right down the hall.”

Then you turned to Sebastian - who was laying on his back, still admiring the stars, already looking sleepy. He’d had quite an exciting, usual day - so that wasn’t entirely surprising to you.

“I’ll come back and kiss you goodnight in a minute, okay?” You told him. “Spencer is gonna read you your goodnight story. Sounds good?”

“Yeah!” Sebastian easily agreed. “I love you, Mommy!”

That grin, those big eyes looking up at you - it really reminded you why all the pain was worth it. That you would do anything to protect him.

“I love you, too, Seb.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead, and then you moved to walk out of the room.

He added something on that caught you off guard, though, causing you to freeze in the doorway.

“Mommy?” He called out, and you turned back to look at him. “Can Spencer stay forever?”

You felt as though a fist had been jammed into your throat.

All of your bones were concrete stiff, and you couldn’t bear a single glance in Spencer’s direction - you felt his eyes on you, but you couldn’t face him.

“We - we’ll talk about it more tomorrow, okay?” You replied, having to clear your throat roughly in order to get the words out.

“Okay.” Sebastian huffed quietly, rolling into a yawn.

When you left the room, Spencer felt an intense temptation to follow you simply to pursue that subject - but he had an obligation toward his son now. Something he hadn’t had the privilege of partaking in before.

A simple bedtime story.

Spencer settled in with Sebastian and you rushed down the hallway toward your room. You closed the door behind you (not locking it) - the second that you were alone, the tears rushed out before you could stop them.

Of course your son had missed his father’s presence in his life. Even if he didn’t know that Spencer was his father - their personalities were so well-matched, and Spencer was so good with him.

How could you have been so stupid? Who were you to deny a child of his father?

You walked over to your bed and sat on the edge, and then you took your jewelry box out of your bedside table drawer - you kept it right next to the lock box that contained your gun. You opened the jewelry box and took out the star necklace that Spencer had given you, staring at the pendant in the middle of your palm with deep contemplation.

You had broken up with him for a good reason. Many good reasons. And you had known your reasons back then - and they had been life-altering. Back then - it felt like choosing between a secure life for your baby and choosing the chaos of chasing the life of your love. Back then - Spencer was so unstable. He hadn’t been fit to raise a child.

The Spencer who had swept you off your feet and treated you like a princess - the man who had given you the necklace; he was not the same person you had faced down, vicious and bitter on the night that you had broken up with him.

But that man who gave you the necklace - it felt like the same man who held you in the kitchen and promised that nothing would happen to you. It felt like the same man who looked at your son like he had hung each and every star in the sky.

You put the necklace back on with shaking hands, struggling to clasp it for a moment. You hoped that it would be an omen. The man who had given you this necklace was back, to stay - he could raise a family with you. He could be your stability. He could be what you and Seb needed.

Then, you tried to shut off your mind as you went about getting ready for bed yourself. Even though you were pretty certain that you weren’t going to sleep with all this hanging over your head, it was still nice to be in comfortable clothing; to have a routine. You did your nightly skincare (but you didn’t bother to brush your teeth, knowing that you were likely going to want some coffee soon), put on your pajamas, and uncaring if Spencer noticed - shed your bra, needing to relieve some tension from somewhere.

You left the room wearing a pair of loose, thin pajama pants and a large tee shirt with Garfield on the front of it; along with your slippers and an unzipped hoodie. You had the necklace freely untucked from the neckline of your shirt, knowing that Spencer would spot the silver chain and know what it was anyway.

He was a profiler, so he could read you like a book anyway. You hated that.

When you walked back to Sebastian’s room, you found it oddly quiet.

You were surprised that you didn’t hear the sounds of Spencer’s soothing voice reading a story, Sebastian’s laughter - his small voice egging Spencer on to read more even though it was time to go to sleep.

You stood out of view, just beyond the doorway for a moment before you decided to peer inside.

The sight inside made your chest twist with a very unique kind of pain.

Spencer was laying half on the small single bed, one of his feet on the floor to keep himself from falling off completely, his head awkwardly propped up against the headboard. Sebastian was about half a foot off the wall, cuddled up closely to Spencer, his head laid in the middle of Spencer’s chest. The Rubble plushy that Spencer had gotten him was curled up under his chin, Spencer’s arm gently petting his curly hair while he peacefully slept on top of his father for the first time in his short life.

The way Spencer looked at him was what truly broke your heart.

You knew that was the gaze of a man who had missed so much - whose own heart was breaking from all the time he had missed. Someone who was enjoying this moment more than anything in his life because he had missed out on so much of Sebastian before this.

After a few moments of you standing in the doorway silently, tears gathering in your eyes, Spencer felt your presence there. He was finally able to tear his gaze away from Sebastian’s gentle, sleeping face to look up at you.

“He said he wanted to hear ‘a new story’.” Spencer told you. “I started reciting The Old Man and The Sea from memory, and he only got about five pages in before he fell asleep.”

It didn’t surprise you that Spencer knew the novel by heart. It didn’t surprise you that his theatrical, meditative speaking voice had so easily soothed Sebastian to sleep.

You nodded, and deeply against your will - a thick tear rolled down your face.

Unable to face it any longer, you left once again - feeling like a prisoner in your own home, running from corner to corner in a poor attempt to avoid the inevitable. You rushed to the kitchen and clicked on the coffee machine before you began attending to the larger dishes from dinner - pots you had left to soak in the sink that you now wanted to scrub at in an effort to distract yourself.

Spencer felt a sense of urgency rise up in him when he saw you start crying (seemingly out of nowhere). He hated watching you run away from him for the dozenth time that day.

Any calm he had felt from watching his son fall asleep was chased out of him. But of course, he didn’t want to wake the peacefully sleeping boy, so he had to very slowly, very carefully wiggle out from underneath the sleeping boy. He adjusted Sebastian’s head onto the pillow, making sure to cover him up and tuck him in with his toy before he left the room - leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar behind him, with the star lights still circling the ceiling.

And then he practically raced downstairs to see you.

What had he done to upset you?

You wanted him to be a part of his son’s life, right? You wanted him to be a good father, right?

What the hell had he done to upset you now?

When he came into the kitchen, you were standing at the sink with your back to him, furiously scrubbing at one of the pots from dinner.

“What the hell happened?” He sighed, tired and frustrated. “What the hell could I have possibly done now?”

“You didn’t do anything.” You replied, your voice short, angry, and still choked off by tears.

In truth, it was your most honest view of the situation.

This made Spencer spike with an even deeper frustration.

He thought that the two of you had been making progress. But now, you were cutting him off again. You were trying to placate him with lies when he so badly wanted the truth. He wanted to air it all out. The two of you needed it out - out it in the open instead of festering away like a damn secret.

“No, no.” He pressed, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, swarming with bitterness. “Come on, I must have done something.”

You remained silent, letting out a single sniffle as you continued to scrub - the only sound going through the kitchen being the sloshing of water through the sink and the bubbling of the coffee maker.

“Trust me, I know how it is.” Spencer sighed. “I don’t open up enough, I don’t trust you… it’s always my fault.”

In the months after the break-up, he had done a lot of thinking. He had gone over it in his head again and again - he had picked apart his own flaws in his mind, wondering how he could have been better for you.

“That’s just it.” You replied, your throat closing up due to your own tears. “You’re perfect.” You sniffled again. “You didn’t do anything.”

This left Spencer silent and confused - wondering for a moment if you were being sarcastic.

You put down the sponge and grabbed a dry dish cloth off to the side, drying your hands as you turned back to Spencer.

When he caught your eyes, he knew then that it wasn’t sarcasm. You were swimming in sadness, turmoil, but most of what he could see was guilt. You didn’t blame him for any of this.

“Y/N-”

“All day, you’ve been perfect.” You huffed out, cutting him off. “I’ll be honest, at first, I thought it was an act. I thought you were just playing at it, trying to show me that you could be a good father to get in my good graces. To maybe get me back.”

Spencer was hurt by this. But with the way you had started off the sentence, that didn’t seem to be your opinion now. He remained silent, letting you continue to get the full stream of your thoughts out.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to keep it up. I thought something would happen. I thought you’d slip… but then, I realized: you can’t fake it. You’re not faking it. The way you are… you’ve changed. You really have changed.” You sighed.

He was glad to hear that, but he knew that there was something else. Now, he was determined to find out why you were upset.

“Look-”

“Did I hallucinate the whole thing?” You spoke suddenly. “I just feel so crazy… Did I really break up with you for no fucking reason?”

This stung Spencer.

He knew that there had been a myriad of good reasons at the time. But something he had gone over in his mind, stewing with regret over and over again - he had never wanted it to be a break-up. He had wished over and over again that the two of you could have worked on things instead of just ending them so suddenly.

“You did have your reasons back then.” Spencer admitted quietly. “I know that you did.” Then, after a moment, he felt the need to add on: “I… I know they were good reasons. I don’t blame you for wanting to end the relationship.”

He chose his words carefully in that sense.

He fully understood ending the relationship. That was your choice. But the one thing that still plagued him-

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you were pregnant?” He asked, entirely exasperated.

It was as though he had flipped the knife around, plunging it into you this time.

You remained stunned and silent, not prepared to be confronted by the question, and Spencer, utterly hurt, continued on.

“You stole four years of his life from me! Four years!” He shouted, his words whipping at you in a way that made you flinch. “And you were never planning on telling me! You were gonna let me miss everything! His first day of school, his college graduation, his wedding! You never wanted me in his life! You-!”

“Because you weren’t good enough for him!” You shouted back, utterly defensive.

You hated that you couldn’t take it back - you hated the pain that flooded across Spencer’s features.

“Not back then.” You added on, knowing that it was barely a worthy addendum. “The man I left standing in that apartment wasn’t someone I wanted to raise a child with-”

“How is that any excuse?” Spencer spit back bitterly.

You glared at him.

You had your reasons then. It felt like you were on trial, now, though. And you had to scramble to put together a defense - to explain it to him when he had been the accused in the crime at the time.

“You really can’t understand why I didn’t tell you that I was pregnant?” You gaped, still defensive.

“No, I really don’t get it.” He agreed, shaking his head. “You had to know that I would have done anything to become a father. No matter what, I would have stepped up, I-”

“Oh, don’t give me that!”

You were raising your voice now, years old anger bubbling up in your veins, awoken by his self righteous attitude - his foggy nostalgia when viewing his past self.

“It was bad, Spencer. It was a bad time. And you can’t tell me with all honesty that you would have turned it around like that,” You snapped your fingers to help demonstrate the point. “Just because you found out that when you came inside me, it stuck.”

“I would have tried.” Spencer pressed.

“But you wouldn’t have tried for me?” You replied desperately.

That stung you deep, tearing open some of the wounds you still had from that night.

It was something you had suspected, but you had never heard him confirm it for certain.

When you had been back there, begging him to change - he had turned on you. You alone weren’t good enough for him.

Spencer’s face fluctuated rapidly between shock and discomfort, and with no words from him, you continued.

“A baby would have been enough for you, but when I was sobbing, begging you to get better - that wasn’t good enough?” You continued, fresh tears clutching at your throat, beginning to simulate the sight he had been met with on the night you had broken up.

It was a terrible mirror. You standing in front of him, your face a picture of pure pain with glassy tears dancing in your eyes - begging him for answers, begging him to show that he loved you. That he would step up and improve out of love for you.

Because that’s what it was.

It hit him so suddenly then.

He saw that night - that deadly, world ending fight - in a whole new light now.

…

Just before the break-up, you and Spencer hadn’t officially moved in together, but you did have a key to his apartment. Moving in together was supposed to be the next logical step in your relationship, and he was heavily considering asking you to move in with him.

Well, he had been thinking about it - before his entire world was turned upside-down by a man named Tobias Hankel. When he came home scarred and emotionally chaotic, thinking about taking ‘next steps’ in life wasn’t really something he was doing.

Instead, he was in survival mode. And for the first time in his life, he was trying to do as little thinking as possible. Whenever he spent too much time in his own head, he had nightmares - he found himself back in that tiny room, strapped down to that chair, cold and unable to escape, with death looming over his head.

He hated that he relied on the drugs to drown it all out.

Among the mess that he often found between his ears - he often forgot that you had a key to his place.

When he came home that night, he was expecting to take a particularly heavy hit that would hopefully put him right into a long, dreamless sleep. He definitely did not expect you to be there. It wasn’t something that the two of you had discussed beforehand. If you had asked to come over, he likely would have said no. He squinted against the lights as he opened the door to his apartment and a particular wave of nausea hit him as the smell of food cooking hit his nose.

Perhaps it was that ironic kind of nausea that only comes after starving for so long. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Of course, his body seemed to run perfectly fine on nothing but coffee and that precious thing that felt so heavy in his pocket. As far as he knew, he didn’t need to eat.

“Spencer?” You called out his name when you heard the door creaking on its hinges, and Spencer sighed deep in his chest when he realized that the interaction was inevitable.

So much for a peaceful night.

You had been so much of a nag lately. The way you had been acting, he would even border on calling it bitchy.

When he wanted you there for meaningless sex to get his mind off things or even if he just wanted to cuddle, when he needed you to hold him - you always wanted to talk. You were constantly on him, asking him what was wrong, and how you could help. You wouldn’t just shut up and leave well enough alone; no matter how many times he told you to lay off and insisted that he was fine. (He knew that it was a lie, but he didn’t force you to talk about your problems. He wished you could see that he just wanted to be left alone. That he could get through this on his own.)

The last time he had seen you, he had torn out of your apartment at the speed of sound when he had taken off his sweater in anticipation of some hopefully mind numbing orgasms - and instead, you had asked about the marks on his arm.

And he had been dreading seeing you again ever since.

“Hey.” He called back dully, slinking in the door and closing it behind him.

He tossed his keys onto a nearby table - one that was already messy with books and newspapers. He took off his messenger bag and tossed it down carelessly too, still not turning to look at you as he peeled off his outer jacket. He left a sweater on underneath to keep his arms covered; he didn’t need any more questioning from you right now.

“I made you dinner.” You pointed out, your voice tentatively hopeful. “It’s that cheese tortellini that you said you liked. And I stopped by that little shop downtown and got some of those chocolate cupcakes.”

When Spencer finally turned around, you were holding a bright pink box with the lid open, displaying two very plump, beautifully decorated chocolate cupcakes - a small, tired smile on your lips while you waited for him to say something about the kindness of the gesture.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled over him at the sight and all he felt was annoyance.

(What made things worse was that you had clearly taken the time to dress up. You were wearing one of your nicer dresses, a matching cardigan thrown over your shoulders. A light, but well done dusting of makeup across your beautiful features. If Spencer wasn’t mistaken, he could hear the clack of heels beyond the counter where he couldn’t see your lower half. You looked gorgeous, and it made him feel all the more like garbage where he stood.)

“You didn’t have to.” He huffed out, still trying to be civil, even though all he wanted at the moment was to be left alone in his own home, rather than having you there, bothering him.

“It’s okay, I wanted to.” You giggled, closing the box and setting it aside. “You’re absolutely worth it.”

That was it. That was the comment that truly cut through him.

Because he wasn’t worth it - he was a scumbag. He was a piece of trash who pitied a man who had killed seven people, and he should have died in that shitty little shack in the cemetery instead of standing here with you while you took the time to buy him cupcakes and make him dinner. He shouldn’t get to be spoiled by you after everything he had done.

Every ounce of that anger that he was feeling toward himself boiled over like a terrible overcooked pot and came spitting out like hot oil, ready to burn you.

“Can you just shut up?” He snapped. “I didn’t ask you to do any of this.”

He felt regret churn in his stomach when your face curled with hurt, and he was surprised when you didn’t immediately leave.

“It’s okay.” You said quietly.

The fact that you rolled over so easily, so apologetic - that annoyed him more.

He watched on with shock as you reached a hand toward your purse, which was sequestered off on one edge of the counter - a space you had clearly cleaned off before you had started cooking.

(Spencer could only imagine how much you looked down upon him, considering him a lazy pig with how messy and generally unhygienic his apartment was because - even though he hated it - he couldn’t bring himself to clean with his generally mental disarray as of late.)

You put a hand into the open zipper of your bag and soon came out with something you easily knew was there, didn’t even have to dig around for, and Spencer watched on curiously as your hand came back with a thick fistful of colorful pamphlets.

“I also got these for you.” You said, extending the arm out to him.

He had a terrible knot in his gut.

He stepped forward on shaking legs and when he grabbed them from you - surely enough, it was exactly what he had feared.

Spencer’s eyes grew tense with anger as he scanned over it all.

A bunch of crap about sober living with generic stock images of people smiling - well paid models who had never known a single day of pain in their stupid, well groomed lives. People who could never even imagine what Spencer had been through.

“We can talk about it when you’re ready.” You told him, anxiety keeping your breath tight in your chest as you spoke. “I know it’s hard, so-”

What the hell did you know?

“God, you are so fucking full of it!” Spencer shouted, tossing down the pamphlets, causing them to scatter across the counter in a mess, his sudden spike in volume making you flinch.

As though you had been slapped, it took you a moment to recover from the pure shock of his words before you could actually speak any kind of reply.

“What?” You gaped at him. “Spencer, what the hell do you mean? I’m trying to help-”

“‘Oh, I know it’s hard.’” He repeated your words in a mocking voice. “Please, what the hell do you know?”

That caused a dangerous shift in you, turning the understanding and pity inside of you toward fed-up anger.

“I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me!” You shouted back. “You won’t even tell me what the hell is wrong! It’s like you don’t even fucking trust me!”

Unconsciously, this is exactly what Spencer had wanted. He had wanted a fight - claws, noise. He needed to be punished. He couldn’t stand you sitting around, acting so damn calm, being so sweet to him when he was so awful.

“Why should I tell you?” Spencer argued, grasping blindly at nothing, yelling just to make noise. “It’s none of your goddamn business!”

“Why wouldn’t this be any of my business?” You gasped. “Spencer, we’ve been together for - what? Almost three years now?”

It had been two years, eleven months, and three days since your first date. It had been two years, eleven months, and fifteen days since he had first spoken to you. It had been three years and four days since he had first laid eyes on you - thinking that you were the most beautiful woman on earth, thinking that he would never, ever work up the courage to speak to you. Thinking that there was no chance on earth that you would ever actually be his.

And now, he was about to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

All good things must come to an end, right?

“I care about you.” You said, your voice cracking around the words - the ghost of tears beginning to form in your throat, like dark clouds forming in the sky before a storm. “That makes it my business.”

Spencer huffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“It’s not just ‘whatever’, Spencer!” You screamed, your frustration flaring up once again.

He didn’t speak, he just kept on glaring at you. This pissed you off more - finally gave you the balls to say it.

“You’re on drugs!” You finally found the courage to speak it aloud. There was a tense stare down as you waited for him to deny the accusation. When he didn’t, a sharp spear pierced your chest, and the first tears fell. “You’re hurting yourself. This is a big deal, baby. You need help.”

Looking back on it now - it had been four years, nine months, and eight days since the last time you had called him ‘baby’. He should have seen it then, but this was the beginning of the end.

He should have latched onto it as a safety line and pulled himself ashore. He should have accepted the help that you were so graciously offering him.

But instead, at the time - it only stung him more. It only showed him a display of the sweetness that he didn’t think he deserved. It only caused him to turn on his defenses more.

Like a poisonous plant evolving his instincts in the worst way - it made him fight back harder.

“Don’t tell me what I fucking need!” Spencer cried out, every inch of his voice utterly insulted. “So what if I’m on drugs? You’re not a fucking peach yourself!” He let out a bitter, airy chuckle with these words, and instantly your face shifted.

A very large part of you knew that he was resorting to personal attacks because he was desperately trying to shift the attention away from himself - away from talking about his own problems. But with the shock and hurt pulsing through your system, you couldn’t truly focus on the logic of it all.

“What?” You gaped. “Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“You - you act so goddamn perfect all the time, but-”

He stuttered, hesitating for a fraction of a moment, watching the hurt and confusion tangle over your beautiful features - he could have blamed it on the drugs in his system or the fact that the trauma had been so recent and he technically had not ‘recovered’ from it. But he made the final move, then, hurling a harpoon into your relationship, making a giant wound that couldn’t be recovered from.

“But you’re a pathetic, shallow little girl with abandonment issues because your father left you before you hit puberty-” He said, breaking you down in that intense, psychological, profiler way. “You seek validation from me, the man you’re having sex with, in the most utterly Freudian way, and when you don’t receive that validation, you starve yourself in the name of vanity, seeking satisfaction and control that you’ll never truly obtain because you’re a narcissistic control freak!”

He managed to hit every point perfectly; he had used his skills to look into your soul, hand-picking every single thing that would have hurt you most. Given, he also had information that you had told him during late-night conversations where the two of you had bonded. You had told him about your shitty father and the eating disorder that you struggled with on and off since childhood (and still occasionally struggled with since you had met him). He had told you about his mother and his own shitty father - but it was never something that you would have used against him.

You knew that it was meant to hurt you - to distract you. You knew that he was lashing out in order to put a wall between himself and you. But you couldn’t help the giant lump that rose up in your throat, the flood of tears that poured freely down your face.

Hearing those words right from his mouth was one of your worst nightmares come to life - as though one of your safest, softest places to land was now a bed of thorns.

Spencer’s gut twisted when he saw you crying, but like a man possessed, he couldn’t stop himself.

“Did you honestly think that being with me was going to fix you?” He let out a dark chuckle, sounding well and truly like a super villain, punching right through your heart. “Maybe, you should spend less time focusing on me and my supposed problems,” He griped, sarcasm tight on his lips. “And spend a bit more time fixing yourself.”

You sucked in a chest rattling breath, and began gathering your purse, leaving the pamphlets on the counter as you moved to grab your coat off the hook.

You would forever regret turning back for one last word, your throat quaking hard and struggling to even get the words out.

“And how would you recommend that I do that?” You asked, entirely bitter.

“Well, for starters, you could use a few less cupcakes in your life.” He replied, snarky, demanding.

He was angry about the cupcakes because they represented everything good about you - your generosity, your kindness, your propensity to view the small things in life as a representation of life being good as a whole.

It came off sounding like a jab at your weight, degrading your perfect body - especially after he had called you narcissistic for having an eating disorder.

A sharp jolt went through his chest when the words fully penetrated his own ears - when he truly heard how terrible it was.

Especially when he saw the look of horror that struck your gorgeous, tear-soaked features.

“Y/N-” He said your name so softly, and an apology begging to be chased from his lungs.

But you wouldn’t let him.

“We’re done here.” You declared, a dark finality in your voice as you turned and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind you.

At the time, Spencer simply thought you meant - done with the conversation. He didn’t know that you had already decided that your words were declaring - done with the relationship. At the time, you were well and truly done with Spencer Reid.

He ached to chase after you, to scream apologies down the hall, no matter who would hear him - but his feet only carried him as far as the door before he collapsed against it, pressing his forehead hard into the wood while his soul clawed at the inside of his chest, aching to get to you, mourning that he had hurt you so badly.

Spencer left the food to go stale, turning off all the lights in the apartment. Then he took a strong hit, and cried himself to sleep.

He woke up the next morning stewing in regret. He called you, and of course, you didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of his bed, thinking. He wondered if he should go to your favorite coffee shop, get your favorite breakfast and go to your place to force his way in so that he could talk things over with you. He wondered if he should agree to go to one of the sober treatment programs that you had picked out just to please you.

While he was considering all of this, his phone rang, and he rushed to pick it up, thinking that maybe it was you. It was JJ, alerting him to a case. He gathered his things and left for work, letting you fall into the back of his mind, thinking that he would be able to pick up the pieces and apologize when he got back.

But it had been too late.

The next time he opened his apartment door, he tripped over the key he had given you. You had slid it under the door in order to return it to him after locking up.

You had let yourself in to gather your things from Spencer’s place, and to leave a very large box of his things that had been left at your place in the middle of his kitchen counter. Beside that box was an envelope with his name on it. A six page handwritten letter from you, explaining all of your reasoning for not wanting to speak to him in person, wishing him well in getting sober, telling him not to make any efforts to contact you again because he had hurt you so badly and you simply needed to heal - and declaring the end of the relationship finite and official.

(Your pregnancy, of course, was mentioned nowhere among those six pages.)

Several weeks later, Spencer would receive a similar letter from Gideon when he left the BAU without telling anyone.

When he read your letter, Spencer sobbed so loudly that his throat hurt.

And after reading it several more times, letting it truly hit him - he flushed the last of the stash he had down the toilet. A few weeks later, after he had worked up the courage, he went to your apartment. After a while of him knocking on the door and calling your name, begging for you to come out and see him, one of your neighbors came out. They yelled at him to shut up, and informed him that you had moved.

That was the first day Spencer went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting.

…

It had all happened so fast.

You found out you were pregnant, and you knew that the end of your lease was coming up. It had been a time you were hoping to move in with Spencer, but with that hope blown to shreds, you needed a fresh start.

Your mom knew someone selling for cheap because it was in a newly developing area, and most of the other houses around it weren’t finished yet. She thought it wouldn’t appeal to you because it was in a different state, but - you found yourself calling the real estate agent and packing up your boxes that week.

You figured that because you had done so well growing up without a father, your kid didn’t need one either. You didn’t want Spencer to cause more trouble being in his life and being unstable than not being there at all.

So you fled. It seemed like the wisest decision at the time.

…

Spencer had been so stupid.

Not only had he hurt you badly - but you had wanted him to get sober out of love. You had been so patient with him, so soft, so loving. You weren’t talking about his addiction because you wanted to pick apart his flaws. You hadn’t gone to his apartment that night because you wanted to hurl around accusations. You hadn’t wanted to be invasive; you hadn’t thought that he was a genuinely horrible, broken person and you simply wanted him to admit that.

You saw that he was hurting and you had wanted to help him heal.

At the time, you had nothing but love for him - and you had even loved those broken parts of him. He hadn’t been prepared to accept that love. He had made a terrible mistake. And there was only one thing he could do now.

Spencer shocked you when he moved from leaning on the kitchen counter and got down on his knees in front of you. Your jaw slacked in shock and you stared down at him as he clasped his hands together as though praying, staring up at you with his wide, wet eyes.

“I am so sorry.” He said, his voice quaking around the words. “I know that I could never apologize enough for what happened - I was horrible to you back then. You definitely didn’t hallucinate that.”

“Well… it wasn’t all you, right? I mean, you weren’t really yourself then.” You sniffled, clearly making an implication toward the fact that he had been taking drugs.

All this time, you had put a lot of emotional stake in that. When you looked back on your memories with Spencer, you hoped that drugs was solely the reason he had turned into a different person - a kind of person who would make such harsh personal attacks toward you.

It made a lot of sense as to why he was so sweet, so normal, so personable, so good with Sebatian, so himself now. He must be sober.

“That’s no excuse.” He told you. “I need to take full responsibility for my behavior. I treated you with the type of cruelty that no person should ever have to experience, let alone a partner.”

“Spencer, get up, please.” You reached over and grabbed the fabric at the shoulder of his shirt, and he let you haul him to his feet.

It felt all too natural to stay close to you.

As you leaned up against the counter beside the sink, your hands drifted to his waist and pulled him to you. And his hands lingered behind you on the counter, bracketing you in. His face hovered close to yours - this was the closest he had come to kissing you all day. His eyes lingered on your lips.

But he knew that the two of you were too close now - too close to the truth.

He had to let you speak instead. He couldn’t risk ruining things again.

“I accept your apology.” You told him quietly.

It was something you had been waiting years to hear him say. This moment - this whole day - it was like something out of your distant fantasies. You didn’t think that you would ever get to see this version of Spencer again. And now, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with him. You still felt too cautious.

“I really want to work on things.” It was the truth, and you knew that you had to speak it out loud. “I really want you to be a part of Sebastian’s life.”

I really want to work on things.

It was the tiniest scrap of hope, but it was all he needed to pursue things.

“Are you and I gonna work on things?” Spencer asked, barely above a whisper, reaching a hand up to oh-so-gently brush his fingers across the side of your face. “Is there a future for us?”

He closed his eyes and tentatively pressed his forehead into yours while you tightly gripped onto the fabric of his shirt. His soul was clawing at his chest once again, feeling all too much like the night you had left him in the apartment all alone.

But this time, he wasn’t prepared to let you go.

“Can you answer something honestly?” You whispered.

“Anything.” Spencer replied.

“Have you…?” You breathed out, unsure how to phrase the question. “When was the last time… are you clean? Like - are you sober?”

You were almost certainly sure that he was. He was acting so different, so much more like the version of Spencer that you had fallen in love with. But you couldn’t have someone who was actively on drugs parenting your son. And you had to hope that his prolonged trip to the bathroom earlier wasn’t for that reason.

“One thousand, seven hundred, and two days.” Spencer replied. “That’s how long I’ve been sober.”

That was a very long time. You let out a breath of relief, and Spencer felt it puff out against his chin. To clarify, he then said:

“It’s about - four years, eight months, and two days.” He added on.

“So… a little after the time I ended things.” You concluded.

You felt a pang of guilt flow through you. At the time, you knew that breaking up with him was a risk. It was a painful event, and he could have turned to drugs even more for comfort. You had taken away his support system, something that could have helped him in getting sober. But he was spiraling, and you couldn’t stay there and let him take you down too.

When you found out about the pregnancy, you realized that a large part of how quick you were to act and how rash you were was likely due to the pregnancy hormones. But you weren’t going to rush back and apologize to Spencer because you didn’t want an addict helping to raise your child. You didn’t think that he would simply quit cold turkey because he found out about the baby - not from the way you had seen him.

But apparently -

“The break-up… the way things ended, it was a huge catalyst in helping me get sober.” Spencer told you. “And I’m thankful for that.”

That part surprised you.

At the time, you know you could have severely relapsed in your eating disorder.

The only reason you didn’t was because you found out that you were pregnant. Knowing that you had another human life to support, that your body wasn’t just your own - it pushed you to eat healthy, and allowed you the mental room to eat ‘treats’ when you wanted to. Nobody cares if a pregnant woman gets fatter, and that did make you feel safe, in a sense.

You knew that you didn’t want to date after Sebastian was born - you were focusing so much on him that you didn’t have too much room to be self conscious of your Mommy body. You exercised by lifting Sebastian and carrying him around. Later, you got plenty of exercise chasing him around when he could walk. You didn’t think too much about your diet, because you mostly just ate what he did, and made sure that he was eating healthy.

In a lot of ways, he saved you. Becoming a mother was the best thing that could have happened - for your mind, body, and soul.

“What I was doing… it was not the kind of coping mechanism I should have used.” Spencer spoke up again, distracting you from your own thoughts. “But knowing that I hurt you like that - knowing that I lost the best thing in my life… it made me realize that I was turning into someone I didn’t want to be. I was turning into this utterly horrible person, and I needed to change.”

“Spencer-” You choked out.

Hearing him describe himself as an ‘utterly horrible person’ did hurt.

“It’s okay.” He said softly.

“Can - can I ask what happened?” You whispered. “What made you turn to-? I mean… you left and then when you came back… you were so different.”

He knew what you were talking about.

He wasn’t even sure how he could put it into words for you.

A man in Georgia who had taken on the personality of his father in order to survive. Seven murders in the name of religion. A case that was supposed to be straightforward - a time where Spencer had nearly met God himself.

He had refused to tell you back then because he didn’t want to be seen as weak. He didn’t want to taint you with the details. He wanted to be comforted and coddled by you without you knowing why he needed that comfort.

After a moment of Spencer not speaking - standing there with distant horror in his eyes as it all replayed in his mind, you spoke again.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” You said, reaching up and gently petting a hand down his arm. “You’ve done a lot of healing since then, and I know it’s in your past now.”

“Tobias Hankel.” He told you, confusing you slightly for a moment before he continued. “He - he was a man who killed seven people. It was a case in Georgia. It was supposed to be standard. We were called in to profile the murders, and actually - he was listed as a witness, and JJ and I went out to interview him. It was a really secluded area. And we got separated.” Spencer took in a breath, and you continued touching his arm, a gentle assurance that you were there, that it was okay. “And… he caught me off guard. He knocked me unconscious.”

Spencer didn’t feel the need to give you all the dirty details. How he had been shocked by Tobias speaking in the voice of his father, by the appearance of ‘both suspects’ in one body. How he had begged for mercy.

“And he took me to another location. And when I woke up… I had no clue where I was.” He said, this throat tightening up as the memories came flooding back to him.

“Oh baby, that must have been so scary.” You said, the word flying from your lips out of instinct as you moved your hand to his chest - instinctively trying to protect his heart with the whole of your palm.

Hearing it from your lips, so gentle, so soothing - baby.

Spencer felt like he was at home again. It was the last thing he needed to crack open that door - everything he had been holding back, every raw emotion - it came flooding out.

He blinked out tears, and you thought that it was terror resurfacing from that day.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You told him, reaching up to wipe those tears away. “I’m here now.”

That’s all he had ever wanted. To be here with you. All he had ever needed.

“Thank you.” He said quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me.” You replied, your voice gentle.

“At the time - he drugged me.” Spencer continued the explanation - the one he so dutifully owed you. “That - that’s why.” He stuttered out. “When I came home… I couldn’t stop. It was the only thing numbing the pain. The only thing stopping me from… truly facing it all. From thinking about everything that had happened to me - processing it. I didn’t want to like it, but… it was the only thing that got me through when I was… when I felt like I was so close to death. I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to exist without it at the time.”

Spencer took in a sharp breath.

“And when you left, I realized that I needed to stop - I needed to stop the drugs, or I was just gonna lose everything.”

“You are so strong.” You said, your own voice ripe with tears as you continued to hold Spencer’s face, holding both of his cheeks now, forcing his gaze toward you. Your eyes were burning passionate, every inch of the declaration intense and strong. “Spencer, you got through that and came home. I don’t know if I could have done what you did.”

“You could have.” He told you, entirely truthful. “You’ve been raising a child by yourself for four years. Never doubt how strong you are.”

He wanted to deflect - eager to stop talking about himself now. But he was doing it with compliments this time. He knew that he could never make it up to you, but he would never stop with the flattery. He would never stop trying.

“God, Spencer. I missed you so much.” You said, your throat clenching around the words. Then, before you could stop it:

“You know I never stopped loving you, right?”

He swore that his heart stopped in that moment.

“I - I don’t think I could have stopped loving you if I tried.” He replied, his tongue fat and dry in his mouth, having to swallow tightly after he spoke.

You used your hands on his cheeks to pull him toward you, then, and like the inevitability of the earth rounding the sun as the years passed - Spencer came home to you, sighing into your mouth as he felt your lips in that perfect, beautiful kiss. He finally felt that tightness ease in his chest - maybe it was a feeling he had been waiting to pass for years, his heart locked up and tight with that love for you strangling him from the inside, clawing to get out with you not around for him to truly love you the way he needed to. With his son somewhere out there in the world, waiting to be loved by him.

Your lips were so smooth and perfect against his - and it wasn’t long before that sweet love turned aching, insistent, and passionate.

Spencer put his hands on your hips and scooted you back up onto the counter. You let your body naturally shift with the movements, letting yourself slowly fall into the trust of being touched by him again. You let out a moan into his mouth and embraced his tongue past your lips, one of your hands moving to tangle into his now much wilder hair. You loved the feeling of his voice vibrating a moan against you as you gave his roots a gentle tug.

Heat surged through your body as he stepped between your now wide open knees, pressing himself right up against you where you were sitting on the counter - he needed to get closer. He needed to feel you. His crotch pressed tightly against yours - causing a stirring of heat and wetness in your underwear matching him as he was just beginning to get hard.

He had missed you so much. And it had been so long for both of you - you had barely looked at other people since the break-up, and having the touch of a lost loving stirred something in your bodies that made you both so hungry.

Spencer pulled away from your lips and began kissing down your neck, eager to suck and lick and kiss and consume as much of your skin as possible. When he came across the chain of the neck sitting on your skin, he gave it a loving lick and hummed into your skin, and you moaned his name into the air.

“Spence, oh!”

And then-

Then there was a crash from somewhere else in the house. The sound of glass breaking.

You hadn’t set the alarm - because typically that was something you did before going to bed.

Someone was breaking into the house.

The killer was coming for you.

“Spencer!” You said his name with more urgency now as his head whipped up from the crook of your neck, looking around for the danger, not yet moving from between your legs as he assessed the situation.

There was a crash from your office as something was knocked over. The sound of someone stumbling as they climbed in through the broken window.

He grabbed one of the nearby kitchen knives from the block, quickly realizing that his gun was his bag by the front door - too far to run for.

“Go upstairs, get Sebastian, take him in your room and lock the door.” He told you, his voice as authoritative as you had ever heard it. He took his cellphone from his pocket and thrust it into your shaking hand. “Call JJ or any contact in this phone labeled BAU. Call until they pick up and tell them that we need back up here. No matter what happens or what you hear, do not open the door for anybody. Got it?”

...

Keep reading here: Chapter Six - That's What You Get (Finale)

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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kyluff · 6 months

Text

— ↺ Jealously

✎ luffy x reader !

✦ summary ➠ you start feeling a little jealous after a certain incident

✦ warnings ➠ nsfw, flashing, swearing

— The fight with Crocodile and Baroque Works was finally over, it felt like the brawl lasted years. But now, the Straw Hat pirates could get all the rest they so desperately needed. In return for helping the kingdom, the pirates were allowed to eat as much as their heart desired. They were also invited to enjoy the palaces royal bath.

You now sat in that very bath with Nami and Vivi. It was a beautiful place, to say the least. Everything was dressed in shiny gold, glistening as the mist from the warm water filled the room. You were in the women’s side of course, but you thought if this side was this grand then the men’s area must be just as nice. This made you think of your boyfriend, Luffy. He was just on the other side of that wall, you guessed he was fooling around like he usually would.

As you admired the bath, Nami and Vivi chatted about what the world could hold for them; how the world has so many secrets that are just waiting to be found out.

“Y/n, could you get my back?” Vivi asked sweetly, her long blue hair was slightly darker due to the water. She chose to have a towel wrapped around her figure rather than being fully naked. You too chose to have a towel on.

“Of course, your highness.” You joked as you made your way towards her to take a seat on the stool behind her. You gathered the sponge that was soaked in soapy water, gently but firmly scrubbing the blue haired princess.

“Don’t call me that!” It was light hearted but it did hold some truth, she truly felt like you guys were friends now and she was grateful for all that you have done.

“Her highness is angry!” Nami added in, laughing along with you as you both ganged up on Vivi. She caved in too, she couldn’t hold in her giggles any longer. It was nice just to enjoy each others presence after all the fighting.

A comfortable silence overcame the room, all three of you smiling. Until suddenly, Nami’s smile dropped as she stood up. This made you and Vivi turn your heads in that direction, what you saw surprised you. All of the guys were now on your side of the bath, peering at you over the wall.

You clutched the towel tightly, ensuring none of your body would be exposed. “What are you doing, you freaks?!” You and Vivi screeched together, this is the girls side, you idiots, you thought.

“Peeking on us.” Nami walked closer to the group, she too had a towel on. “All right pervs, I expect each of you to pay $3000 for this!” Nami declared as she let the cloth fall to the ground, letting the men see all of her.

You were shocked, not only because she just showed them her naked body, but also because your boyfriend was part of that group that saw her. oh.

They all toppled backwards, many noses oozing out blood from the sight they just saw.

Something bubbled deep inside of you, jealousy. You don’t know why you felt this way, it’s not like Luffy asked to be flashed, it’s not like he wanted that to happen. You told yourself that, but you still felt the same as before, jealous.

Nami and Vivi left the bath and so did the men that were laid out on the floor. But you stayed, you decided to wash yourself with the sponge you were using earlier on Vivi, you need time to yourself to think and calm down from the previous event. He saw another girl naked, and it was one of your closest friends.

As you rubbed the sponge along your bare legs, you yelped when you felt a hand touch your shoulder. “Wha-”

“It’s me Y/n!” He smiled and used that tone he always did, a energetic one. He was acting the same as always, like he didn’t just see Nami in the nude. That makes you irritated slightly.

“Oh, hey Luffy.” You brushed his hand off your shoulder, resuming the wash on your legs.

“What’s wrong?” His furrowed with worry, he kneeled in front of you where you sat on the stool. He took note of the coolness in your tone, how you barely looked at him as you spoke. Usually you’d have a soft smile on your face, usually you’d be eager to talk to him. But now you were different.

“Nothing, just busy. I didn’t get a chance to properly wash myself fully. You can go.” You said nothing was wrong but that was a lie. You really just wanted to be alone in your thoughts right now. You would rather Luffy not be here because you were afraid you’d lash out at him for no real reason, you didn’t want to hurt him.

“No, I wanna spend time with you.” He was still kneeling down, now leaning closer to your body. “I’ve been sleeping for 3 days!”

“Ya well, that’s what happens when your bleeding out and have poison in your system.” You turned away from him, making more room between the both of you. Now you were just being mean.

“Y/nnn, tell me what’s wrong.” He whined, looking at you with those big eyes, they looked so desperate to know your answer. Those eyes make you weak, they make you cave every time he wants something.

“It’s just…” He still held intense eye contact, listening intently. “Earlier, you know when Nami.. did what she did. You saw her body, you saw her breasts and her hips and her.. you saw everything!”

“Oh.” Is all he says, he looks zoned out. Is he mad at you? Does he think your feelings are stupid. You look away, starting to feel embarrassed. But his hand on your chin brings you back to his eyes. “Is that what you’re mad about?”

You nodded while still in his grip. He pulled you in, placing a gentle kiss to your lips. You couldn’t help but reciprocate, even if you were still a little jealous.

“You don’t have to feel jealous, Y/n.” He whispered between kisses. “Because you’re my girlfriend, not Nami. You’re the only one I want to see naked. I want to see you naked right now, actually.”

You pulled away from the kiss, blinking a few times at his statement. You weren’t feeling much jealousy anymore, mostly just lust. You grabbed the top of your towel, where the piece of clothing wrapped around itself to keep your body concealed. You tugged on it, making it fall off your body and drop to the ground at your ankles.

“Pretty.” He reached out both hands to grope at your boobs, squishing them between his fists once or twice. “These are the only pair of boobs I think about, prettiest ones I’ve ever seen.”

He went down to lay kisses all over them, sucking when he got to your nipple. He’s always had a thing for you chest, he would spend all day kissing them, licking them, laying on them if he had a choice.

He smiled up at you, laying one last kiss to your nipple before lowering to align himself with your heat. He spread your legs apart further to allow room for his head, snuggling up close to your pussy.

“This is the best pussy out there.” He used his fingers to split your lips apart, face diving in. He started by licking on your clit, he knew you loved when he did that. And it was proved by how your hand slipped in his dark hair, pulling on the roots of it. You shoved his face in harder, wanting to feel more of him.

“Luffy!” You moaned out, curling your toes. He sucked on your clit next, making you lose your breath.

He starting sucking harder, licking more aggressively, wanting you to reach your orgasm quickly. You panted, feeling sparks starting to form in your lower half. Your legs shook and shut around Luffy’s head, trapping him in.

He slid out of your thighs, licking his lips clean from your juices.

“You have the only pair of boobs for me, you have the only pussy for me, you’re the only one for me, Y/n. K?” He kissed your cheek and grabbed your towel to drape around you again. He took your hand and pulled you along behind him, leading you away and out of the royal bath.

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 3 months

Text

The Stunt ^**

This one is based off of the following request where Harry and Y/N are in a PR relationship and he realizes he likes her until it's all over.

A shout out to whoever created that AI pic, it was a repost from TikTok so I'm not sure who actually made it!

Warnings: PR relationship, mentions of PR drama from the past/present, heartbreak & failed relationships, verbal arguments, jealousy, a quick non-consensual kiss, alcohol consumption, fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex

WC: 19.6K

It seemed really stupid to you, a PR relationship with your co-star for a film? Sure, this was your debut into acting, but you had confidence in your ability to perform well and were certain that the film would do great, it was a lovely story! You didn’t need additional PR help to make the film successful. You loved the script, it was a nice, yet realistic friends-to-lovers story. It had range, happiness, sadness, comedy, intimacy…you wouldn’t have chosen a stupid script for your first attempt at the silver screen! So the fact that your agent had written this into the contract with whoever your co-star was going to be, it felt a little insulting to you.

“It’s offensive! I don’t want to fake date anyone, Fred!” You whined into the phone, “Everyone’s going to see it coming from a mile off…what if they cast someone I hate? What’s gonna happen then?” You asked and he spoke calmly, trying to appease you.

“Think of it as more acting practice! You have to act like you’re into the person when in public.”

“No one is going to agree to that.”

“Sweetheart, everyone will agree to it. It’s a classic PR move! They’re just gonna be kicking themselves for not thinking of it first! It basically guarantees film success for these rom-com type of things.” He said and you sighed and nearly hung up out of frustration. You wished that he had at least asked your permission before including this in the contract.

A few weeks later you were called in by the production and directing team for a few chemistry tests with the two actors that they were split between. They didn’t want to tell you who they were looking at for casting as to prevent any bias on your part during the chemistry read. They wanted to see it for themselves who you vibed with the most. Fred had told you to stop trying to figure it out because both picks were fairly new to the acting world. And when the day came, you were sick to your stomach. You hardly ate anything since the night before because of it.

When you were introduced to the first guy you did recognize him a bit but you couldn’t really place him. He shared that he had done a lot of supporting work and this would be his first time in a lead role if he got it. He was trying so hard though, trying to make it look like you guys were vibing well. Your interactions felt really inauthentic. The way he would knock his head back and laugh in an exaggerated manner whenever you said something slightly humorous, the way he would lean in closer to speak to you, and touch your arm or shoulder even when you crossed them over your body to indicate that you were uncomfortable. Then when you guys did a couple of test scenes, one of them being the lead up to one of the more intense dialogues between the characters, he came on really strong and theatrically and it was cringey; even you knew that he wasn’t it as they thanked him for his time and off he went.

“We’re gonna break for a few minutes. Meet back in here in 10!” Someone announced and you took full advantage to go make yourself a tea while they reset the makeshift “set”. Fred knew better than to talk to you right now, you were still quite annoyed at him for putting you in the PR dating situation. So when you felt someone come up beside you, you didn’t say anything, he’d get the hint.

“Ummm, pardon?” You heard an unfamiliar voice and you did a double take over your shoulder when you realized that the person who was looming behind you patiently was Harry Styles, the glasses he had on threw you off a bit.

“Oh god, sorry! I’m taking up the whole counter aren’t I?” You apologized as you grabbed your phone and dropped it in your purse and grabbed that from the top of the counter to make space for him and he smiled at you.

“That’s alright.” He assured you, “I just wanted to introduce myself before we all have to head back in.” He explained and you nodded. You quickly set down your tea packet and extended your hand to his and you shook it firmly and briefly. “I’m Harry.” He introduced himself.

“Y/N.” You smiled warmly.

“I know. Umm, I really liked your EP.” He said to you and your eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh wow, thank you so much! I like your glasses.” You said stupidly and he laughed as he glanced down at the ground between you and you mentally scolded yourself, “ Y-your albums too!” You added in, “I genuinely love all of your albums.” You giggled, trying to mask the star stuck feeling and embarrassment from your little blunder. “The last one, it was phenomenal! I put so many friends onto it.” You shared and he smiled timidly as he glanced away for a moment again before looking back at you.

“Thank you, that’s very generous of you.” He thanked you modestly, as if he hadn’t won an album of the year Grammy for it.

“It really was the least I could do. Great work.” You assured and he chuckled. You knew that one of his best friends was producing this film and you’d heard rumors that he might be writing on the soundtrack, so while you were shocked that he was here for this chemistry/screen test you didn’t think it too odd. Maybe it was going to help him get the vibes between you and whoever else they cast opposite you so that he could start working on the music. “So are you going to be writing some pieces for the soundtrack?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yeah, I thought the script was so genuine and I don’t know, I’m quite partial to hyperrealistic stories like this. The ones that show the challenges as well as the good things.” He said and you nodded.

“Oh my god, same. I know that films should sometimes be an escape, a reprieve if you will, from reality and just be optimistic and romanticize the good but I really love it when it feels like I’m looking in the mirror, you know? Or when it helps me relate to others more. I just love the humanity so much.” You explained and he nodded along.

“Yeah, definitely.” He agreed. “What do you love most about this story?”

“Just the hope of it all…” you sighed happily, “I mean, who isn’t a sucker for a good friends-to-lovers trope? That whole “it’s been you all along” moment has happened to so many of us, I think. Like it’s the ideal scenario for falling in love, no? When you discover that your love for someone is so much bigger than you thought it was. But what I loved most is the way Cara learns to love herself and knows when to choose herself. It’s shows so much strength and integrity to herself. But yeah, I mean the love story between the two characters is also really great, so…normal.” You hummed.

“Yeah, it’s so pure, isn’t it? I love how it builds so realistically, like you know all the good bits but also all the bad bits of a person and still love them and they you just as you are.”

“Exactly.” You hummed and he smiled.

“And how’d the last guy do with that?” He asked you, “You can be honest, I won’t tell.” He assured you with a little grin.

“Honestly, a little too forced for my liking. Like fake laughing and inside jokes kind of thing, it was a bit cringey. And well, the acting was far too theatrical for film in my opinion. He very clearly comes from a theater background, it was like really over the top.” You explained to him and he hummed.

“Hmmm…Well, I hope I do better than that.” He said and you froze.

“Wait. You’re the other choice?” You asked him and he nodded, “Oh…”

“I didn’t come and say hi just for fun. It was strictly business.” He joked with a playful grin and you shook your head in disbelief.

“And here I thought you were just here out of the kindness of your heart. To like pick up on the vibes for inspiration for the music.” You chuckled, feeling even more nervous now. “I was basically told that this was amateur hour by my agent.”

“Well, between the two of us, I’m quite the amateur when it comes to acting.” He said and you laughed a little in disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is my first acting gig since…my high school play where I was dragged into playing Rizzo because the original cast member dropped out the week before because she hated how she looked in the wig!” You exclaimed, “Please forget the modesty. You’ve been in a Nolan film!” You said to him and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Yeah, and all I did was swim around in the freezing cold ocean trying not to drown in that heavy ass uniform. The panic I portrayed was very real! There was no acting talent required. I was genuinely fighting for my life on that set.” He joked and you laughed and shook your head.

“Well, I think you’ll get the part. We’re genuinely laughing, right? Or are you acting so well that I can’t tell whether it’s genuine or not?” You asked and he raised his eyebrows smugly.

“Definitely acting, even wore my glasses since the character does int eh script.” He said jokingly and you giggled.

“Well, they suit you.” You complimented and he smiled bashfully.

“Thanks.” He responded, “But ummm, we are genuinely laughing…I think we’ll do good in there.” He said with a little more confidence.

“I think so too.” You hummed.

“Here’s to hoping. Well, I’m gonna head back in now, but I’ll see you in there, okay? Wish me luck!” He smiled warmly and you smiled and nodded as you watched him head back into the reading room.

************

It almost goes without saying that Harry was cast as the other lead opposite you. You guys did get along well and you also read well together, the screen test was great too. It was evident how personal these roles felt to each of you. So after a few days you were sitting before each other with your teams present to work out the terms of this PR relationship you’d have. It was all pretty basic; some of the parameters set were that this was business so no canoodling outside of the contractually obligated appearances, there were an agreed upon number of appearances you’d have to do during and post production. There were strict boundaries on what PDA was okay and what wasn’t, it was all very straight forward. So with both parties having most of their conditions met, you guys signed the contract.

…. ONE MONTH LATER ….

Now, you guys were a quarter of the way through filming and being the delusional hopeless romantic you were, you’d started developing real feelings for Harry. He was just so sweet and fun and thoughtful. For example, your birthday had fallen during production and he bought you flowers and a cake and had everyone sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you. Or when you had a scheduled appearance but were feeling ill from your period cramps, instead of making you sit through dinner at a restaurant, he drove you to the nearest pharmacy and walked around with you to buy you tampons and snacks. You loved it and everyone else did too. Or just little thoughtful things he’d do for the staff after a long day, he was just a complete sweetheart and it was getting harder and harder for you to just ignore it and not take his kindness all that personally.

Harry wasn’t really one to talk your ear off, he loved conversation, but mostly the listening bit. He liked to learn and hear other people’s thoughts and opinions. Like a sponge, he absorbed all the information and stowed it away for a later time. You could tell by the way he looked at you that he was listening. Like now…

“-it was just really stupid.” You sighed in slight irritation, “Like you just don’t follow someone to their car in a parking garage at night to ask for their picture!” You ranted and he nodded.

“You’re absolutely right. That’s scary, when someone follows you all the way to your car…”

“It was! And it was one of those things where like, if I started to run I knew they would start running after me so I tried to stay calm but in the end I just freaked out a little bit.” You explained, “Fuck, now they’re going to write shit about me being rude online.” You sighed as you guys drove out to the wine bar you were going to be spending some time at this evening.

“Look, you know you did nothing wrong and you’ve never lost it on someone before. If they do post that video and see an empty car park no one is going to think you were being rude. You can’t chase down a woman at night in a parking structure.” He said and you sighed.

“You’re right…” you agreed after you calmed down a bit. “H-how do you do it?”

“Chase women down?” He asked with a playful smile and you rolled your eyes and giggled at his little joke.

“Seriously though. Like deal with the obsessed people and the stalkers that just follow you around from a distance.”

“It is scary for me too. I mean, it sucks to say you get used to it, but you will.” He said and you nodded, “Like I don’t really go out alone in the evenings any more, try to do everything in the day time, with friends if possible. And like at night I’ll drive if I really need to go out, but like I’ve caught people trying to sneak in behind my car at the gate at my home in London. Or just like wait out there for me to come and go. I hate having security there all the time, but for a time I did have someone around patrolling a bit, it did help. Gave me some peace of mind, you know?”

“Yeah…well sorry if I…dampened the mood, I’m just still a little shaken up.” You explained.

“No, I get it.” He assured you with a smile, “Well the wine bar we’re going to is very low-key, so I don’t think anyone will bug us until we walk out to leave. Unless you’re in the mood for something else?” He asked you and you shook your head.

“The wine bar sounds really good right now.” You said to him and he smiled.

Your evening with Harry had been really fun. Not that you guys never had fun, but he was being extra sweet and attentive considering what had happened to you the night before. There were an assortment of board games available to play or you could choose to color and talk, but seeing as you weren’t too keen on any of the games you pulled out your trusty deck of cards from the depths of your purse. He found it extremely amusing that you just had that in your purse but went easy on the teasing.

You rotated playing a few games, you taught him how to play 21 and Speed and it was getting so competitive. Obviously, you were at an advantage considering you knew how to play the games already. He did alright at 21, but when you started to play speed your expertise shone. You were kicking his ass and eventually beat him enough times (four times) that he decided it was time to change games. He kicked your ass at Scrabble and Connect 4 for retribution, but by that point you’d had at least four glasses of wine and were pretty tipsy. He was too, he was all giggly and pink in the cheeks and the tip of his nose, almost as if he were freezing cold and not teeming with warmth. His voice had dropped a bit deeper and his eyes had a slight glassy sheen over them and they were a bit lidded. You were both far more touchy now, it started rather innocently though.

“You’re cheating.” You said to him as he laughed.

“How can you cheat at Scrabble!?” He asked through his laugh.

“You’re picking your tiles.”

“I am not!” He scoffed through a laugh.

“Let me pick one for you then.”

“Hell no.”

“I’m only getting consonants! I need to prove that something is up.”

“How is that possible?”

“It just is!” You said and he laughed.

“Only if I can pick your letter.”

“Okay, deal.” You agreed and you drew his next five tiles after he’d put down ‘reflex’ joint to your previous word, ‘car’.

“I got one consonant, a good one too.” He said as he arranged them on his rack.

“Of course you did…” you murmured as you looked over your options. You really only had consonants. “Okay…” you said as you grabbed the only three tiles that would work with what was on the board, “Eggs.” You said with a small smile as you tagged on the g-g-s to one of the e’s in ‘reflex’ and he burst into laughter.

“That’s all you have?! I don’t believe this.” He said.

“It is!” You laughed through your insistence.

“Let me see.” He said reaching for your rack of letters and you batted his hand away.

“Stop cheating!”

“I’m not! I’m trying to help you.” He chuckled as he grabbed your wrists in one hand to grab the rack and turn it towards him. When he saw your letters his smile dropped, “Mmmm, I see your predicament. And here I thought you just couldn’t spell…” He teased with a smirk and you arched your eyebrows up at his little joke.

“Ha-ha.” You mocked and he chuckled.

“Come here.” He said patting the spot beside him on the tabletop and you were tipsy enough that you didn’t question it. You dragged your stool over beside his and he sighed that you were too far and you squealed in surprise when he grabbed the edge and tugged you even closer to him as easily as if he had slid your empty glasses of wine out of the way. You knew he was strong, you’d seen it with your own eyes over the course of your professional relationship together. But with your growing feelings and the wine fogging up your brain you melted inside at this simple display of strength.

“Geez!” You gasped and he chuckled.

“Sorry.” He hummed with a smile before patting at your hip and looking back at the rack of letters he took from you. “Okay, so…you’re a bit fucked.” He said after scanning the rack some more.

“Well, you didn’t need to drag me over here to tell me that.” You giggled and he turned to you.

“Well, you’re here now, so win-win I’d say.” He flirted and you felt the blood rushing up to your face and making your cheeks and ears go hot.

You didn’t move from his side the rest of the time you were there. All games were forgotten, you were just fiddling with each other’s fingers under the table, your hand resting over his thigh, talking nonsense, and giggling as the alcohol got to the both of you. The way he was looking at you was making you feel like the only other person on the planet. You typically shied away from intense, undivided attention but he wasn’t ostentatious in the way he gave it. It was subtle and personal, it made you feel seen. After ordering one more glass you decided it was time to go, so Harry called your driver. You were getting hungry for some real food as you’d only been munching on the complementary bread they’d been bringing you guys.

“Bill’s here.” He informed you and you reached for your bag while Harry came around and helped you off of the high stool. You were wearing some heels because he was just so tall, but of course, your landing was a bit shaky and you both laughed as he grabbed around your waist. “You good?” He asked with a grin and you nodded up at him, “Sure?”

“M’sure. Just got a little wobbly there.” You giggled as you glanced up at him.

“Here.” He said extending his hand.

“It’s alright. I’m good.” You assured him.

“I’m sure you are, but we’re supposed to do the pictures for the paps, remember?” He said more quietly.

“Oh right, right…” you mumbled and it made you a bit sad as you handed your hand over. He took it and started guiding you though the bar to get out.

You could see people in the bar also taking videos of you guys walking out, calling all this attention to yourself like you were supposed to. But hey, at least you were holding his hand. When you guys got outside the flashes started going off and the paps were calling out to you both but you kept your eyes down at Harry’s shoes, you were a little too tipsy for this. Harry’s grip on you tightened as he pulled you to the car waiting right along the curb and then opened the door to help you in before sliding in behind you.

“God, didn’t think there’d be so many.” He said and you nodded as you buckled up.

“Heading home?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, please. And can you make a little detour on the way so we could get some food?”

“Certainly.”

“Okay, we’re still choosing we’ll pick something on route to her place.”

“Sounds good, just let me know.” He smiled and Harry thanked him before asking you again what you wanted.

You eventually settled on some dumpling place on the way and placed your order online so that it would be ready to pick up when you arrived. Thankfully, that all went to plan and soon you were being dropped off at your house. The lack of stimulation really perpetuated the tipsiness you were both feeling. You were laughing as you navigated your way to your kitchen in mostly the dark, guiding Harry through so that he wouldn’t get hurt.

“Here we are. Can’t wait to eat.” You said and he nodded in agreement. You guys split the food and then curled up on your couch to watch something on the TV while you ate and chatted. Harry started to sober up a lot faster than you which was great as he had to go home after this. You were trying to get on his level so you chugged your big glass of water and then dropped back onto the couch.

“You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, a bit better.” You said and he smiled.

“Good. Did you have fun?” He asked and you nodded.

“A lot of fun actually. Though to be fair, I think you pick fun things to do.” You said and he smiled.

“Oh good! I mean I think I’m quite boring.” He confessed.

“No…I don’t think you’re boring at all. I’m definitely more of a homebody so getting to do all these different things has actually been really great.” You assured him.

“Funny, I pegged you as more of an extrovert than me.” He said and you shook your head.

“Oh no, I’m definitely more introverted than anything.” You chuckled.

“You know, I have a lot of fun with you too. I’m glad it’s you I get to do this with.” He said as he glanced towards you and you smiled down at your lap.

“Yeah, me too.” You responded weakly, but he didn’t catch it, thankfully.

Truth be told, you were still tipsy and were having a hard time getting down to his level of sobriety. And with that came this avalanche of sincerity that could not be avoided or misdirected. In fact, the longer he stayed with you the more you felt the thread of your composure starting to fray. You were fighting against yourself and your need to get closer to him, you wanted to feel his warmth radiating onto you, you wanted the scent of his cologne to waft over you as you buried yourself into his side. You wanted to feel the rumble of his chest when he spoke lowly to you.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…thinking.” You said through a tight lipped smile.

“About?”

“Just the film and how much fun I’m having. S’gonna be sad when it’s over.”

“Yeah, it will be. But you don’t have to think about it being over just yet.” He reminded. “We’ve still got a couple more months of filming and things…and this.” He said and you nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You decided and suddenly stood up. “I need to go to the bathroom. Ummm, let me take all of this…” you said of your food containers.

“It’s alright, I’ve got this, you go on.” He assured you and with one more confirmation via a firm nod you headed off to the bathroom.

You just needed to splash some cold water on your face or something. Do anything to freshen up a little and get out of your head. So you did just that as soon as you’d relieved yourself. You grabbed one of the hand towels and soaked it with cold water and dabbed it all over your face. After a few moments you were heading back out and to the kitchen where Harry was just filling up the bag the dumplings had come in with you trash.

“Do you want the vinegar and and chili oil?” He asked, hearing your steps behind him.

“Ummm, just the chili oil. I repurpose it.” You said and he smiled and dropped in the two little sauce cups of black vinegar before tying it up. “You can just leave it, I have to take it out back.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Alright. Well, it’s nearing 1am, I should get going.” He said as he turned around and you nodded.

“Yeah. Ummm, are you good t-to drive?” You asked and he nodded.

“Yeah, the food really sealed the deal.” He chuckled and you smiled.

“Positive? You can stand on one leg?” You asked jokingly and he did so. “Count down from 100 in intervals of 7?” You asked with a raised eyebrow and he scrunched his face down pensively.

“I can try…I didn’t finish high school so it might be a bit harder for me thank most.” He said with a small grin.

“Mmm…don’t think that’ll hold up in court.” You joked and he laughed and shook his head.

“You’re quite funny, you know?” He said and you smiled and shrugged.

“Triple threat.”

“I think that third is supposed to be the dancing bit actually.”

“Who cares about dancing? Would you rather a partner who can dance or who makes you laugh?”

“Mmm…Facts.” He smiled and you shrugged.

“No brainer.” You said and he nodded, “Okay, I’ll uh, I’ll walk you out.” You said and you guys made your way to your door.

“Genuinely, I’ve had an especially fun time with you tonight.” Harry said as you got into the foyer.

“Me too. I’ve never done something like that before.”

“Well, we could always do it again, maybe you’ll have better luck with Scrabble.” He smiled and you chuckled.

“Yeah, maybe.” You said, “Hey so ummm, in a few months the LA Opera is opening up Turandot.” You said and he looked at you quizzically, “I’m sure you know the most famous song, or at least heard it?”

“How does it go?”

“It’s the…Nessun dorma, nessun dorma. Tu pure o principessa, nella tua fredda stanza… you’ve heard it.” You said and he nodded.

“Yeah, I think I have.”

“Yeah, it’s this incredible Italian opera and I’ve always wanted to see it but none of my friends are really into that. Not that you are, but you said you like classical music, this is kind of a branch of of that…in a way and-”

“I’d love to go.” He said and you smiled.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. We could tally off another one of our appearances.” He said and you bit your lip as the pang of hurt radiated from your chest and out to the rest of your body. But you smiled and nodded.

“Y-yeah, exactly. Just get another one of those out of the way.” You responded, trying your best to ward off the growing knot that was lodged up in your throat. You really were just inviting him as a friend, not as part of your PR arrangement, so the sting of rejection remained.

“Cool, I’ll get the details from my team then.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, holding back the need to cry now. It hurt so bad, you hadn’t been in this position in a long while, the unrequited affections position. You really just struggled with dating so you hadn’t really spent a lot of time with someone you were into in a long time so everything was just intensified in a way, including the disappointment. You quickly opened up the door to get him out of there as soon as possible so that you could go cry it out for a bit. “Remember we don’t shoot tomorrow morning.” You reminded and he smiled.

“Positive?” He asked as he turned to you and you nodded.

“It’s an afternoon shoot tomorrow.”

“Okay, thank you. When’s call time?”

“For you it’s 3pm.” You said and he nodded.

“Okay…I really should start adding these to my calendar.”

“You should.” You concurred as he turned back to you with a smile.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He said and you nodded and he stepped closer and went in for a hug. You did hug sometimes, but you didn’t want to just now, but you gave in anyway, relaxing into his embrace as he squeezed around you just a bit. “Sleep well, alright?” He said softly as he started to pull back and you nodded but then he turned his head a bit and your noses bumped together.

“Sorry-”

“S’my fault.” He chuckled and then glanced down at your lips. “I ummm…” he trailed off and just grabbed your jaw gently and tilted it up and kissed you quickly on the lips. You didn’t even have time to react before he pulled away. “Shit.” He cursed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! Obviously, that was a mistake, I shouldn’t have done that.” He rambled as he let you go and took a step back.

“It’s alright, Harry.” You said and he shook his head.

“I didn’t even ask you and ummm…I don’t know, something just came over me and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean t-to kiss you. Fuck…” he cursed at himself.

“Harry, I’m not upset. It’s fine.” You assured, trying to hint at the fact that you were very okay with this.

“It’s not fine, Y/N. It’s not.” He said firmly and you couldn’t help it as your eyes started to well up, “It was a mistake. I’m not like into- like it just happened, okay?” He said instead and you just nodded. He was backed up enough now that he couldn’t see your glassy eyes all that well anymore.

“I get it, Harry. Drive safe.” You rushed out and then hurried inside and closed your door before locking it and resting your forehead against it as a soft sob broke past your throat.

*****************

After the initial shock wore off Harry rushed up to your door again, about to knock and apologize again but just as his first raised up he heard the latch of the deadbolt and sighed in defeat. He rested his forehead against the thick door for just a moment before he walked to his car. He got in and then glanced up to see if he could spot you through a window or make out where in the house you were by the flick of a light, but it just stayed dark for a minute or so and he shook his head.

“Fuck…fuck me.” He grumbled before taking off.

Harry actually had no idea where that impulse to kiss you had come from. He did like you, he wouldn’t have agreed to anything more than the film if he didn’t. And he had also had so much fun working with you so far, it was just so easy and such a good vibe that he often forgot that it was “work”. Like tonight, after having a few glasses of wine he was feeling rather touchy and vulnerable, like he usually did when he drank, and it was so nice to feel that relaxed around you. He felt comfortable and it really was just one of those impulsive thoughts that he had. He had thought about kissing you before, you would for the film. But lately it was on his mind a lot more because those scenes would start filming soon. Maybe even in the upcoming week.

Harry wanted to call Tommy or Jeffrey and tell them what he did but he kew he’d get an earful and he didn’t want that right now. He just needed a little sympathy and possibly another drink. So he called one his more discrete friends as she also lived in Beverly Hills, just about 10 minutes away from you. And they sat out by the fire pit as they sipped on a cocktail. He was petting at her dog’s back while he shared what he’d done and how anxious he was feeling about having to face you at work now. He told her about the PR stunt and how he felt like he’d majorly crossed a line. And when she asked him why he was beating himself over this so much he wasn’t sure what to say. And she helped talk him down and reminded him that if you had said it was OK and you weren’t angry that this was entirely about him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re making it bigger than it is. I mean…do you like her?”

“Of course I like her. We get along really well and-”

“You know what I mean, H.” She said with a knowing smile and he licked over his lips.

“Yeah, I guess I do a bit. Like starting too but I can’t you know? Last time I got involved with a co-worker it didn’t turn out so great for her. People were cruel.” He said.

“Well this isn’t last time. But I mean, if that’s now a boundary that you really don’t want to test ever again then do what’s going to make you feel better. But I mean, attraction and feelings are sort of out of our hands, you know?” She said with a smile, “And burying those too deep also isn’t good for you.”

“Yeah.” He sighed.

“Did she kiss back?”

“No.” He said quietly and she hummed, “I mean, it was fast…maybe she would have…I’m glad I didn’t stick around to find out though.” He admitted.

“So…I think you know how you want to proceed then.” She said and he sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess…I guess I do.”

He ended up staying the night there as neither of them had anything in the morning. But he headed home after one final pep talk from her, he needed to mentally prepare for seeing you again. He was an absolute wreck over it, his stomach was turning anxiously when he arrived before his call time just to talk to you, you were likely already there in hair and makeup. There was a dinner party scene you guys were filming, it was the scene where his character began to see yours in a different light. Very appropriate.

“Hey Harry.” One of staffers greeted him as he breezed by.

“Hello!” He waved and then pushed up his glasses further not he bridge of his nose. He hurried over to the hair/makeup trailer. He knocked and heard a cheerful “come in!” From the artist Veronica. Harry stepped inside and as soon as your eyes met through the mirror you looked away quickly and then his eyes met Veronica’s.

“Hey H! I wasn’t expecting you yet!” She said with a smile.

“Just wanted to drop by a bit earlier.” He said and she nodded.

“Well feel free to sit, I’m almost done with Y/n. I’m ahead of schedule.”

“Thanks, ummm, I actually needed a word w-with Y/n.” He said to her, “If I can?” He asked and then glanced to you, to see if that was alright with you. You held his gaze for a second before you nodded.

“It’ll just be a moment, V.” You said to her.

“Maybe like 5-10 minutes.” He said to you and your inhale literally stopped. Your stomach fluttered violently, your heart pounded hard, and your mouth slightly dried.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll go get a drink. Do you guys want anything from the cafe?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”, “No thank you.” You and Harry responded and she smiled and gave him a pat on the arm as she walked past him and out of the trailer. Harry approached and sat in the seat adjacent to yours. You turned to him and he looked sad, defeated.

“Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry.” He apologized again and your eyes flickered down to your lap and you shook your head with a small smile.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Harry.” You assured him, “I’m not mad. Quite frankly I’m relieved because…because I…I uh-”

“Please, don’t.” He interrupted and your eyes fluttered up to his as the lump in your throat grew, “I know you what you’re about to say. Please don’t say it.” He implored and you bit down on your lip to hold back from frowning. “It doesn’t work. It won’t.” He said with certainty, “I’ve been there…I’ve fallen in love with a really wonderful person who was working along side me and it messed her up.” He said with a frown. “I can’t do that to anyone ever again.” He explained.

“I get it.” You whispered.

“Believe me, it’s hard. I think we work well together, don’t we. We mesh!”

“Really nicely.” You agreed.

“Yeah.” He confirmed, “So let’s-lets just do what we need to do and call it a day.”

“Okay.” You nodded your head robotically. You just shut down all your feelings because you couldn’t show him how deep in it you were by now. If you could save yourself from anything, at least the embarrassment.

“Does this change anything for you in terms of like the dates-er appearances w-we have to do?” He asked and you shook your head.

“No. Don’t want to make a fuss. Fred is kind of a nag, don’t want him harping and teasing me about it until something more embarrassing or astonishing makes him forget it.” You said.

“Yeah, they can give you a hard time…” he said and you nodded.

“Well uh- actually there is one thing.” You said and he nodded, “T-the opera thing ummm, let’s not do that.” You said and he frowned a bit, “It’s just that when I asked I ummm…I wasn’t asking you to go as an idea for the appearances. This kind of means a lot to me and I was actually asking you to come with me as a friend.” You clarified, “I’d want to go with well…someone who-”

“I get it.” He said with a small smile.

“Thank you.” You nodded.

“Well that’s it I guess.”

“Yeah.” You whispered and he stood and left quite awkwardly.

Once again, he was kicking himself over what he’d just done but it was for the best. He needed to put an end to this before he let himself like you a little too much and it ruined everything. Or worse, he gave in and you guys tried for a bit before things inevitably went to shit because of how awful the public were to you until they wore you down…better safe than sorry. He needed to stop this before it was too late.

***************

You were definitely hurt but you understood where Harry was coming from. And maybe he was right, it was just a bad idea to get involved more than professionally. Admittedly, if you had been in the place of his last girlfriend there was no way you could’ve been as poised as she was through all of it. Through all of the rumors, all of the hate, all of the lies, all of the tasteless jokes… you were confident in yourself but not to that extent, surely you’d have a public breakdown at some point with all of that pressure.

But as the days went by you realized that you’d soon be filming the more intimate parts of this film. Normally, films didn’t film chronologically but this one did. The director really wanted to capture the natural growing closeness between you and Harry as filming progressed. Truth be told, you were acting your asses off and everyone on the set was buying it even though the bond between you two had broken down. Even your dates were different; you guys weren’t talking as much as before or learning more and more details about each other like before. Now you mostly talked about work to him or your plans after filming but nothing too personal.

You were still nervous for the intimate scenes though, that’s what you would be doing today, the first intimate scene. You would surely do something to give away just how real your yearning was for him. Your actions couldn’t lie. Especially after you hadn’t been able to kiss back when he’d kissed you a few weeks before.

“Nervous?” Veronica asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, a bit.” You confessed.

“Don’t be. Just work with the natural tension and attraction the two of you already have going on and it’ll be perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Girl, you’re really gonna make me say it?” She said with a tsk.

“There’s nothing else going on.” You said and she gave you a disbelieving look.

“What was that a couple weeks ago with the “ten minute talk” he needed to have with you?” She asked you.

“It genuinely was a talk. We had a misunderstanding and I was a little upset at him.” You explained and her gaze softened from teasing and playful to sorry for assuming.

“Oh…I could’ve sworn that you guys-”

“No. No. I mean…I…I like him. Like that.” You said a bit shamefully and she pouted and sat down in the seat beside yours and nodded as she listened, “It’s kind of impossible not to when we spend so much time together and have gotten to know each other the way we have. Like god, it’s so amateur of me…” you shook your head and she sighed.

“Hey, no. Look at me, hon. Attraction is natural, you can’t help how you feel or how your brain responds to something! And quite frankly I think he…likes you too.” She said and you smiled sadly and shook your head.

“He doesn’t, that’s what he said that day. That he didn’t want to blur the lines and like…it’s been so weird since. So dry and robotic…ugh, I hate it so much. I don’t know how I can do this for another eight weeks.” You sighed.

“Well after you have to kiss all day just…act cool. It’s whatever, yeah? I’ve kissed tons of people and not all of it has to mean something, you know?”

“Yeah… I hope I can.”

“You can. You can do it. And i-if you need to talk about it or just be sad about it after you can talk to me. I won’t say a thing. Promise.” She assured you.

“Thank you.” You said to Veronica and she smiled and nodded.

“Of course, hon.” she assured and this made you feel better. You could certainly get through the next weeks of filming if you had someone to talk to about this.

…. 8 WEEKS LATER ….

The lighting was dim as you approached the front door, the heavy and constant knocks on the door made you hasten your step. You finally opened the door to see Harry drenched from head to toe, clothes clinging to his skin as his eyes met yours.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, your features creased in confusion as he stepped froward and you stepped back into the entrance.

“I needed to see you.” He said as he swung the front door back and it closed with a heavy thud.

“You just saw me-”

“I didn’t like seeing you with him.” He said coming closer and you sighed.

“Listen-”

“He’s not nearly good enough for you.” He said to you firmly and you scoffed.

“As much as I valued your opinion before, I don’t really care for it right now and I didn’t ask.” You responded.

“You didn’t need to. I know you.” He said as he reached for you and you increased the distance between the two of you.

“No you don’t. Not anymore.” You shook your head as your eyes started to well up.

“Don’t say that.” He frowned, the hurt evident on his face, “You’re my best friend. I know you.” He insisted again and you let out a sarcastic laugh.

“We haven’t spoken since…” you trailed off and swallowed thickly.

“Since I let you walk away.” He finished your thought for you and you nodded. “I was scared.” He admitted.

“You weren’t scared with April or Sarah.” You said and he sighed.

“They weren’t you. There was more to lose with you.” He explained and you shook your head.

“That’s a miserable excuse. You always do this!” You groaned with frustration, “You see that I’ve moved on, that I’m happy and then you come to me and make me believe you-”

“I know you’re not happy.” He interrupted.

“I’m happier than when I’m playing this stupid game with you!” You raised your voice, your breathing shallow as you expressed your frustration and he frowned. “You say you love me and fuck me and then say we can’t be together!”

“Can’t you see how that proves how much I love you?” He asked sincerely, his eyes meeting yours and you glanced away and shook your head, “I’ve loved you this whole time but I can’t risk losing my best friend.” He said and you sniffled as your tears started to fall.

“You don’t love me.” You rejected his claim, “You love who I’ve been for you. Always available, desperate for you to realize that I’ve been here the whole time, but I’m not that person anymore. I don’t need you any more.” You said and he frowned, “You don’t know what’s it been like…” you said to him with a sad smile, “Being here. Waiting. Watching you choose someone else over and over again and when it fails you come running back to me. But I’ve realized that if I wasn’t good enough to be your first or second choice, surely I’m not enough for you now. And I never will be.” You said to him, your voice cracked a bit.

“You are enough. You’re more than! I just wasn’t good enough for you. I didn’t want to hurt you and lose you.” He explained reaching for your hands and you pulled them out of his grip.

“Well, you hurt me any way. And you lost me anyway. And now that you know you’ve lost me you hate to see it. Well good.” You seethed and he frowned.

“Baby-”

“Don’t. Don’t start with that.” You warned with a frown, “I don’t believe you anymore. I gave my heart over to you every time, like an idiot, thinking that I’d be safe with you and every single time you’ve disappointed me! Well, not anymore.” You said and he reached for you again. “Please leave.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me that you love me too.” He pressed and you scoffed.

“You need to move on!” You laughed incredulously.

“I can’t! Believe me, I’ve tried!” He raised his voice, his breathing hard, “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you and that I’ve disappointed you but I’m not afraid anymore.” He said reaching for your hands once more and this time you let him take them, “I’m not afraid of the love we have for each other. I will do anything I can to prove to you that it’ll be different this time. That I won’t disappoint you ever again.” He said earnestly, “Please.” He begged and you swallowed thickly. “I need you like I need air! Being away from you has been torture. And seeing you with someone else has been worse than torture.” He said grabbing your jaw and angling you up gently. His thumb wiped your tears away carefully and you closed your eyes, “Nuh-uh, look at me.” He insisted and your eyes blinked open and met his again. “Say it. Say that you love me, baby. I need to hear you say it.” He practically begged as he leaned in closer.

“I love you.” You whispered and he quickly closed the gap between you.

His warm, plump lips met your own hungrily. The soft wet sounds of your kisses and shallow breaths were the only noises in the background, everything was perfectly still otherwise and it really felt like you two were the only people in the world in this moment. You were so close his sopping clothes were transferring the wetness to your own top and his strong hands were holding you low on your hips now, you could feel the cold of them through the thin sleep shorts you were in. “I love you, I do.” You mumbled against his lips and then pulled back and he chased after you but you turned your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut as he kissed the corner of your mouth and up your jaw, “But I love me more.” You said as you pushed him back and he loosened his grip on you as he pulled back to look at you, his disappointment evident in his gaze, his eyes searching yours. “I’m more than a last resort.” You said and he frowned, “I always chose you and you never chose me, so I’m choosing myself over you this time.” You said and he looked at you with disappointment.

“Cara-”

“You’re going to be okay.” You assured him and he shook his head.

“What a silly thing to say.” He whispered with doubt, a sad smile on his lips.

“If I am after everything, you will be too.” You assured him with a half smile and he let you go.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized quite pitifully and you nodded.

“I know.” You said once more and he rolled his lips together and nodded before silently turning around and heading out the door. You walked over and turned the lock and then turned around and let out a long exhale and then your lips turned up in a small, but sincere smile as you glanced up to the ceiling and made direct eye contact with the camera peering down at you.

“CUT!” The director shouted and you exhaled and your smile widened, “And that’s a wrap!” She shouted and everyone broke out in a cheer. She rushed over and hugged you tight, praising you for how excellent this final scene was. Harry came over as well and got his own hug from her, thanking him for his delivery and congratulating him on a job well done. You also gave him a brief hug before greeting others from the cast.

All the raw emotions of the project being completed really helped you guys along this final scene. It had been one of those magical moments where the first take went perfectly. You guys ran through the entire dialogue and it worked exactly as everyone had envisioned it. Truly, you hardly even noticed the cameras around you guys. The film would be released on Prime in three short months, which was when your contractual obligation to each other would end. Your appearances together were going to be far more “private” now that filming was about to wrap. Sure, you’d be seen out at places together, but it was supposed to start to slow down. You had prepared what you would say when someone inevitably asked you what was going on between you two during the promo tour and press junkets. That you guys got really close to the characters and also each other during filming and just let these bleed together while filming and that obviously, it had started to cool down since you weren’t seeing each other every single day for 10 to 11 of the 24 hours the day had.

“We did it.” Harry said as he came up to you as you guys got ready to go and you nodded.

“Yeah. It’s crazy that it’s already done.” You chuckled, still a little bit in shock and he nodded.

“Right…well I did have fun filming with you.”

“Same.” You said with a small smile and he nodded.

“Are you going to the cast dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course, I’m in the cast…” You said through a chuckle.

“Duh…” he said nervously as he looked down at his feet in a bit of embarrassment.

“Well I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah.” You confirmed and turned to get into your car and just offered one final wave before you took off.

You glanced back to see him still standing there, watching you go. You were glad your windows were tinted so that he couldn’t see you staring back, but you just weren’t sure what to feel. As much as you were into him, you were dreading the rest of your time “together”. Clearly to him this was just like any other task he had for work, maybe he was used to this but you weren’t. You’d never done anything like this before and you kind of expected him to be a little more understanding and not so harsh and cold about it like he had been with you.

…. TWO MONTHS LATER ….

Harry wasn’t that clueless, he noticed the shift in your interactions with him after filming ended. Almost as if you were relieved that you wouldn’t have to see each other every single day for hours and hours at a time. He knew that you liked him and he wished he had handled that differently because clearly the way he went about it hurt your feelings to the extent that you’d gone completely cold on him.

When you’d go out and he’d grab your hand it was dead weight in his grip. When he’d drape his arm around your shoulder he could feel the tension in them. And when you’d exchange “loving glances” your smile didn’t light up your eyes like before. Maybe it was just what you needed to do to get through the last month of this stunt but it was just going bad now. He wanted to apologize but he had no idea what he even needed to apologize for because he wasn’t sorry about the conversation he’d had with you.

You guys needed to tighten things up at the personal level, clearly he got far too comfortable with you fast and it scared him. He didn’t want to get hurt again and he didn’t want to hurt you either. He’d done this to protect you both from getting far more involved than necessary and now he felt like even the potential friendship he could have with you was crumbling before him which was really unfortunate.

He was feeling bummed out as he drove past your tall, wooden gate and up the long driveway to your house. He saw another car there but didn’t really mind it as he parked somewhere out of its way. He was getting out of his car when the front door opened and out rushed some guy who definitely looked familiar, probably some other industry guy. His hair was wet and he looked a bit surprised to see Harry there, so he rushed to his car.

“Hey!” He called after him and hurried towards him.

“Look man, she said you guys aren’t dating and-”

“Wait, she slept with you?” Harry asked with a small frown.

“So you are dating?” He asked and Harry shook his head ‘no’, “Thank, fuck. Then, yes, we did.” He said and Harry nodded and swallowed thickly.

“Is she- can I go in?”

“Yeah, she’s just finishing up her shower.” He said and Harry nodded.

“Thanks, mate.” He mumbled before heading towards the door.

With every step he took the anger rose and rose further and further. You were being reckless, putting everything in jeopardy all to what? Get back at him for not liking you back? He was waiting in the kitchen, but when he heard you singing along to whatever was playing on your phone as you made your way down he hurried out to meet you. When he rounded the corner and saw you coming down the final step you gasped in surprise.

“Oh my god, Harry!” You scolded with a hand over your chest as you put your music on pause. He didn’t answer so you walked past him, “You’re here a lot early.” You said to him playfully as he followed you wordlessly. He was just so fuming mad after seeing a faint hickey right beneath your jaw, “Hello?” You questioned him until his frustrated gaze met yours.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” He questioned you.

“What’re you talking about?”

“I saw him leaving. That guy.” He came right out and said it.

“Look, it was a spur of the moment thing, we were just having dinner and one thing led to another and-”

“You fucked him.” He said and you sighed. “How could you do that?” He asked you in disbelief.

“What do you mean? It’s not like we’re actually together.” You scoffed and he frowned but then let the anger overcome him once more.

“Exactly! We’re not together and if anyone sees some stupid dweeb leaving your house then all of this is going to be for nothing!” He rationalized.

“Oh my god, no one’s gonna see anything, Harry…”

“They might see that fucking hickey on your neck!” He argued, “How clueless can you be?!” He was berating you now, his voice raised and his expression creased in a scowl and you frowned.

“I didn’t think about that. I mean, I-I can cover it. If not, they’ll just think it was you.” You said more quietly.

“No one would ever believe that was me. I have never left visible marks on anyone I’ve been with. My fans will never buy it.” He said pointedly. “You can’t do shit with other people while we are contractually obligated to each other. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, Y/N!”

“Well, there is no clause about that! And I was careful!”

“Not careful enough! I can’t believe you would do something so stupid and all for what? To get back at me?” He scoffed with an accusatory tone and now it was your turn to scoff incredulously.

“Oh, don’t fucking flatter yourself, Harry!” You laughed mawkishly as you rolled your eyes up in disbelief.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t do this on purpose to piss me off.”

“Why would I want to piss you off if I have to spend a whole fucking day with you?” You asked him and well, he had no idea. “He likes me and he wanted to have dinner with me. I said I couldn’t do that out in public so I offered for him to come over instead.”

“He doesn’t like you, he just wanted to fuck you.” Harry said with a sarcastic smile.

“Well good for him then! He did!”

“You’re being childish.”

“I’m being childish? You’re the one waltzing in here over an hour early, might I add, yelling at me because I hooked up with someone in the privacy of my home when we’re not even a thing!”

“I already told you why I’m angry at you over this.”

“Well I already told you that I was careful! This is my first time doing something like this and I made a bad judgment call. I genuinely didn’t think it would be a problem.” You said and he shook his head.

“You knew it would be. You did it to get back at me for…never mind.” He huffed and rolled his eyes.

“For what? Finish the sentence, Harry.” You demanded.

“You know why.” He said lowly and you arched your eyebrows up.

“I don’t. Enlighten me, please.” You insisted.

“Because of what I said to you before about us. I hurt your feelings and-”

“Yeah, you were kind of a prick about it but I’m not offended. You were right about that and I think I’ve done enough to manage what I used to feel for you-”

“Used to feel? The wave of hostility you’ve unleashed upon me after I rejected you says otherwise. And I think you’re just acting out because you can’t get a handle on your feelings. You’re being impulsive and it’s going to throw a wrench in things!”

“I’m being impulsive? Who kissed who, Harry? I’m forgetting…” You said sarcastically and he glanced to the ground.

“That was a mistake.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear over and over again, thanks.” You said with irritation. “And I’m not being hostile. I’m doing what I need to do until we just get this stupid thing over with!” You said to him, completely exasperated, “I’ve never done this before, OK? I didn’t expect t-to like you like I do-er did.” You corrected yourself with a shake of your head, “I’m sure it was weird for you the first time you did it.” You said and his jaw clenched up because you were right.

His first PR stunt fucked him up for a while…he was still a teenager, frontal lobe smooth as butter. But he let himself fall and he thought she was too and well, to this day he was still a hot topic amongst her projects. It did bother him a little bit at first, he reckoned it’d bother anyone but he didn’t give it the satisfaction of a negative response ever. He changed the narrative, called it a compliment even though he had no idea where the fuck he was going with that at the moment. He never said a bad thing even through his music even though he’d been painted as the “bad guy” who was a player and couldn’t commit over and over again. He’d hoped it would work out but to anyone outside of it, it was kind of obvious that it wouldn’t go anywhere. After all, what could a 23 year old want with a 18 year old in any serious manner? The point being, that these PR stunts and crossing professional lines always left one or both people hurting if they weren’t overly cautious, which is why he had said what he had said to you.

But now he was jealous, gut wrenchingly jealous when he shouldn’t be. You had made a mistake but you had been cautious to not endanger what you guys had signed on for. He was being far too harsh with you and sensitive about this and he needed to reel it back in. You were waiting for him to say something, anything…

“You shouldn’t have done that. It was a stupid mistake.” He said again and you swallowed thickly.

“Yeah, I get it.” You responded lowly.

“Do you?” He asked. He was patronizing you and you glanced up to the ceiling and shook your head.

“Harry, honestly, I don’t need this. Please leave.” You said to him and he frowned.

“But we-”

“I don’t want to be with you for the whole fucking day and pretend that I like you.” You said and he felt his heart shrivel up.

“We have an obligation to do an appearance-”

“Well I’ll see you around dinner time then because I don’t want to be around you right now.” You said to him and he bit on the inside of his cheek to distract from the hurt in his heart.

“Yeah, alright.” He said lowly and turned around to leave.

“Congrats by the way.” You said to him and he sighed and looked back at you quizzically, “You got what you wanted this whole time, I don’t think I like you anymore.” You said to him callously and he suddenly wanted to throw up so he just hurried out of there and sat in his car in utter silence for a few minutes before taking off.

You guys did meet over dinner and he apologized for how he’d handled the whole situation earlier that day. You'd cooled off enough as well and apologized for not considering what he had mentioned and assured him that you wouldn’t do it again while you were contractually obligated to each other. He was hoping to hear you say that you didn’t mean what you’d said about not liking him anymore, but he never got the satisfaction. He was certain you’d spoken purely out of anger with him, especially after he’d been such a dick about it, but maybe you just needed to tell yourself that to really not let your feelings grow anymore than they had or even to just not have some illusion that he was jealous. Which he was, but he’d never admit that to you or anyone else, he hardly admitted it to himself. But by the end of the night you were both very cordial with each other and able to hug before heading your own ways.

…. FOUR MONTHS LATER ….

The film had been a success to say the least. It was getting decent reviews and your press for it had been good. After you and Harry had put aside your problems after your fight things got monumentally better. There were tons of questions about whether you guys were dating or not and you both explained your attraction and dedication to your roles expertly, leaving a hint of mystery behind every time this came up, in very Harry-esque nature. But each night before you went to bed in whatever city you were for the night you thought of Harry, how could you not?

Of course you still liked him, even now, after months of not seeing each other your heart went all soft and gooey at the thought of him. Yeah, you had said that you didn’t like him anymore hoping to get a reaction out of him when you fought. You knew that he was jealous that day and you wanted him to just admit it, you wanted to get a rise out of him and hope he spoke up but in his true obstinate nature, he never did. You wondered what would’ve happened if he had admitted it. Where would you be now? Probably on a vacation somewhere really getting to know the parts of each other that you’d left guarded, which admittedly weren’t many.

“Earth to Y/N…” your friend said, snapping you out of your thoughts and you chuckled in slight embarrassment.

“Sorry, what?” You asked.

“I asked if you and Harry still talk.” She repeated her question.

“Oh right…ummm, n-not really. It’s not like we’re close friends, we just worked together. We just had to be super chummy during the press tours and stuff. Like it was a really superficial friendship I’d say.” You fibbed and she sighed.

“So no free shows for us…” She mumbled and you smiled a bit and shrugged apologetically, “You had one job.” She joked and you giggled before getting back to eat and everyone else started talking again.

In reality, you and Harry had gotten close after spending so much time together. You’d shared a lot of things with him and vise versa. He had been a little more hesitant to take it there but after a good month or so of constantly being around each other and “seeing each other” he started to open up about more real and deep things. Things like how much he worried about his mom, how she deserved to be happy and have a full life full of love. How he was worried that he’d never be able to really stop making music and touring at the level he did now and it would affect his ability to marry and have his own family. How he wished there was a way to know that you were doing the right thing or going down the best path and you guys talked about that a lot. About what “the right thing” was. About what it meant to be happy and fulfilled. What was most important to him now and could he afford to keep pushing the rest of his life back to relish where he was now.

You were an over thinker, much like him, and you guys talked about how nice it was when you didn’t worry so much and just lived day to day, focusing on that day’s challenges and blessings. It was nice, you felt comfortable around him and safe, looked after. He was good at making people feel seen and special and with all of that it was hard not to start to fall for him. You missed him a lot. You wanted to text him or call him sometimes just to see how he was doing, what he was up to, if by any chance he missed you too…When you had that thought you smiled to yourself a bit and talked yourself out of it. Of course he didn’t miss you, he was probably glad you were gone, something less for him to deal with and worry about.

****************

Harry’s POV

Harry had been lying in bed for a good hour already, drifting in and out of sleep. He canceled his work out and his morning swim, he didn’t have the energy to go to that right now. And that’s how he knew that he was in a bad way, when even those simple pleasures weren’t even a little appealing to him. In all honesty, he’d been feeling like this for a few weeks now and it all started when he was at dinner with some friends and one of your songs came over the speakers at the restaurant. At first it felt good to hear your voice, it made him feel happy and warm inside, but when he was at home later that night and all alone in his bed he started to miss you. And he felt so awful.

He felt awful about how he’d handled his attraction towards you. He hated how afraid he was of doing what his heart asked him to. He missed going on “dates” with you. He missed the conversations you guys had, he missed seeing the sincere care in your eyes when he shared things or opened up about topics he felt nervous about. He was never judged by you, in fact he felt accepted with you. He looked forward to the time you’d spend together off the set for a reason, it was because he liked you. A lot. And now he felt foolish for being too scared to admit it when he had the chance. He was sad when he came to the realization that you’d probably moved on and closed off your heart to him after how he behaved.

Regardless, he wanted to see you or at the very least to hear your voice. He at least needed to reach out and let you know that he was thinking of you. He did have a trip to LA in a few weeks and he decided that he’d reach out and see if you wanted to hang out for a bit, he only had two days of work things to take care of but he could add a few more days to his travel plans if it meant making things right with you.

…. A FEW WEEKS LATER ….

You were genuinely shocked when Harry’s name lit up your phone screen one breezy afternoon. It was past midnight his time so you had a mind to just ignore it, he was probably drunk or something…but then you remembered how sweet and giggly he was when he’d had a little much to drink, so you swiped at your screen and brought your phone up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” He sounded relieved. Relieved that you had answered?

“Ummm…are you drunk?” You asked immediately and he huffed out a little chuckle.

“No…why would I be drunk at this hour?” He asked and you furrowed your eyebrows a little bit in confusion.

“Well you’re calling me past midnight your time so I just assumed. Unless something is wrong? Are you okay?” You asked next.

“Yeah, I’m fine. And I’m actually on your time. And while I enjoy day drinking as much as the next person I can assure you I am not drunk. I just ummm…I wanted to see if you had any free time in the next couple days or so? Maybe we could see each other?” He suggested hopefully and you felt your stomach sink.

The less mature part of you wanted to be a smart ass with him, tell him you didn’t need to hang out as your contract was long over. But you did miss him and as much as his invitation raised up some of your past irritations with him it wasn’t worth being a bitch to him over, especially after all of that time. Maybe this was him extending an olive branch? Maybe you guys could be proper friends now that your working relationship was over.

“Ummm, yeah. I actually don’t have any plans at all the next few days.” You explained.

“And work?”

“I’m not doing anything right now just relishing in the big bucks from our hit rom-com.” You said with a dry sarcasm and he chuckled.

“God, already letting all that fame get to your head, are you?” He teased and you giggled.

“Yeah, I’m changed.” You responded and he laughed. “Well, what did you have in mind?” You asked.

“Dinner? I’m renting this really beautiful place up in the hills and it has the most impeccable views, you’d love it. There’s a hot tub and a pool and a piano, we could just hang out here for a while? Or if you prefer to do something in town somewhere we could do that too.”

“Well I do want to see this house you’re staying at but ummm, I don’t want to impose or anything and-”

“I’m inviting you over, you’re not imposing in any way, love.” He assured.

“Alright then. Well when do you prefer I come over?”

“Do you want to do tomorrow? Say around 3 or 4?” He asked and you bit on your lip, “We could talk, swim, share music because I’m certain you’ve been writing.” He said knowingly and you smiled.

“Yeah, that’s good. I’ll show up sometime between 3 and 4, gotta keep you on your toes, you know?”

“Yeah.” He hummed, “So bring your swim suit, or don’t I mean, either way you can expect to get in the water…” he said suggestively and you chuckled.

“Should I bring anything else?”

“No just yourself.” He said and you nodded, “We can plan dinner once you’re here.”

“Alright, sounds good. See ya’.”

“See you soon.” He replied and then you quickly hung up.

You set your phone down on your lap and just let your face contort in confusion. What was that all about? You guys weren’t even friends… sure, things were this easy with him all the time but you couldn’t help but question his motives. Maybe he still felt guilty for how things transpired between the two of you and he just needed to do this to confirm that you weren’t upset at him. You grabbed your phone and called him back, he picked up right away.

“Hello?”

“Why are you doing this?” You asked.

“Wait, what?” He questioned you and you sighed.

“What do you want from me by asking me over to hang out or whatever?” You asked more clearly and Harry frowned upon hearing you asking this.

“Ummm, I didn’t…mean anything by it, it’s just hanging out.” He said and you sighed.

“Right, but we’re not friends.” You said and his heart lurched in his chest, “Now that we aren’t working together we can be or what?” You asked for clarity.

“I mean, yes, i-if you want that?” He said with a questioning tone.

“Okay…” you said and trailed off.

“Is there something wrong with that?” He asked and you weren’t sure how to answer that.

“I just ummm…I don’t know if I can trust that you won’t get all…weird.” You said to him.

“That’s valid.”

“I mean we were friends before. Or at least I considered us t-to have a friendship to some extent and then you just…took that away.” You explained and he nodded with a frown as he heard you out.

“I think we were friends too.” He agreed, “I just have a hard time letting people in.”

“And now you don’t?” You asked.

“No, I certainly do but I…” he sighed and licked over his lips as he plopped down on the couch as he stared at the ceiling as he decided to just admit it, “I miss you.” He confessed and you bit your lip upon hearing his words. You hoped it would stop the butterflies that were starting to flutter about in your tummy but it wasn’t doing much. “Honestly Y/N, I don’t think I handled the relationship between us the right way and-”

“Can I come over right now?” You interrupted him.

“Ummm, y-yes. Sure.” He said nervously.

“I just think we ought to have this conversation in person.” You explained and he smiled a bit. God, you had to make it harder for him, didn’t you?

“You’re right.” He conceded. “I’ll send you the address right now.”

“Should I still bring a swim suit?” You asked, he could heard the smirk on your face and he chuckled. Your smiled widened at your successful attempt to lighten the mood.

“We can talk things out in the hot tub.” He joked.

“I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Yeah, drive safe.” He said and you thanked him and hung up again.

You headed up to your room and grabbed a bathing suit, a simple, paisley print, two-piece and dropped it into your tote and then took off. You were nervous, not so much about what he would say but at the prospect of you leaving with any sense of false hope. Yeah, he missed you, but that didn’t really mean anything but that. You couldn’t or shouldn’t read into that in any way. When you were all in your head like this time just escaped you and soon enough you were pulling up to the gate and putting in the code he had texted you before you started heading up the driveway. You only waited a few moments at the door after ringing the doorbell before he opened it up.

“Hi.” He said softly with a smile on his face and you smiled back.

“Hey.” You responded, you just looked at each other for a few moments before he chuckled and moved out of the way.

“Oh, come in. Please.” He said and allowed you to step inside. You looked around as he locked up. The home was very modern, an open concept type of thing and it had one of those sunken living rooms that were making a come back.

“This is cool.” You complimented.

“Yeah, I like it a lot.” He said as he came up beside you and looked out at the space. “Ummm, can I get you something to drink? Or a snack if you’re hungry? I have…watermelon.” He said and you smiled.

“No thanks, I’m alright.” You assured him and he nodded and just looked over you for a few more moments. It made you feel all tingly so you cleared your throat and he looked down at the ground.

“Ummm so let’s just…we can sit over here and talk.” He said signaling towards the living room and you nodded and followed him down the small set of steps leading down to the couches. “Feel free to get comfy wherever.”

“Thanks.” You said as you headed towards one of the corners of the large sectional and slipped off your shoes before you nestled in, legs criss-crossed over each other as you pulled a pillow into your lap. Harry settled in near you, one of his legs tucked under him and the other hanging off of the couch. He looked a bit pensive, not entirely sure how or where to start and you were getting a little impatient.

“So you…missed me.” You said simply and he glanced into you eyes and nodded.

“Yeah, I have been for…a while.” He confirmed and you sighed.

“I have too…a little bit.” You admitted as you looked down into your lap and he smiled.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, we did spend a lot of time together so…”

“Yeah, true.” You sighed.

“So ummm, what I was saying before…” he started and you nodded, “I didn’t go about things the right way with you. I could’ve been…”

“Less of a dick?” You interjected and he smiled down at his lap, when he looked up at you, you were already smiling.

“I was going to say nicer about it but same thing, I guess.” He chuckled and you did as well. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot and while my reasons for it were really valid, I think, it doesn’t mean that I handled it well and I…regret hurting your feelings. I’m sorry.” He said and you hummed.

“Thank you. I just…was -er still am a bit confused about that because, I mean, I told you that I’d never done something like this before and I don’t know…I guess I was just expecting you to be a little bit more understanding or even just compassionate with me about the whole thing, you know?” You explained and he nodded.

“I wish I had been. I really do.” He said with a small frown. “I can explain actually.” He said and you nodded, “And this is not an excuse at all, it’s just that, an explanation.” He added and you nodded again, “When I kissed you I…I realized how much I was starting to like you and it scared me.” He explained, “And it took me back to what I’d been through before and I didn’t want that again, not for me, but especially not for you.” He explained, “So I decided that I wasn’t going to allow my feelings for you to grow any more or go any further than that.” He said and your gaze on him softened, “And well, i-it worked well enough for a bit. It was easier when we were working to remind myself that it was for the best. And then we fought and you told me you didn’t like me anymore and I felt like shit but I was also glad because you deserved better than that.” He said with a frown. “But when we went our own ways it got worse…not worse, you know what I mean.” He said nervously, “I just thought about you all the time- er I have been thinking about you this whole time. Just wondering i-if you think about me too sometimes…I mean, I know that you don’t feel that way about me any more but-”

“I do.” You cut in and he looked surprised.

“After all of that?” He asked softly and you nodded.

“You more than made up for it on the press tour.” You assured him, “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or upset you so I buried it all but I still like you. I mean, how could I not?” You chuckled and he smiled at you. “And I’m sorry for the way I said I didn’t, I wanted to make you upset.” You explained.

“Well it worked.” He chuckled and you smiled sadly. “I kind of deserved it though.” He said, “You didn’t ummm…see that guy again did you?” He asked and you smiled.

“I didn’t.” You confirmed and he smiled down at his lap.

“Good.” He mumbled lowly and you just smiled to yourself for a moment, “I really like you, Y/N.” He finally said as his gaze met your own. “And i-if you still like me too then maybe we can try and go an actual date.” He said with hope and you nodded.

“I’d like that.” You agreed and he smiled wider.

“Okay, that’s…that’s good to hear.” He chuckled nervously, “So tomorrow d-do you want to go out and do something with me? I’ve got something in mind.”

“Why not tonight?” You asked with a small pout and he chuckled.

“Because I’d like to make it at least a little bit nice.” He added and you smiled.

“Oh okay, then. That’s fine with me!” You giggled and he chuckled. “I brought my bathing suit so maybe we can go for a swim and have dinner instead, like we planned for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” He agreed easily and you both got changed and then got into the pool where you caught up on how the last few months had been treating you both so far.

Then, you had dinner and watched a film and he reached for your hand while you guys watched. You’d held hands before but now you at least knew it was out of a desire to and not obligation it made the butterflies in your stomach swarm at ungodly rates. As the night wrapped up he walked you out to your car, like the sweet man you knew him to be but it was hard to leave. You guys lingered there, finding random little things to talk about to prevent saying goodbye.

“Thank you for hearing me out, by the way.” He said to you after another small moment of silence and you smiled up at him as you leaned on your car and smiled at him. “You didn’t have to after everything.”

“Of course. I’m really glad you reached out to me.” You assured him and he nodded and pulled you in for a hug for maybe the third time now and you nestled into him and sighed, “I really missed you too.” You hummed softly and he pulled back a little bit, enough to be able to look into your eyes again. Neither of you wanted to let go more than that.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You said instantly, “Please.” You chuckled and he did as well as he angled up your face gently by your jaw until he was dipping down enough to smoosh his lips against yours.

He was tentative, he didn’t want to kiss you too hard and hungrily for the first time since the time he’d mucked it up. He wanted you to feel how much he missed you and that despite his previous disrespects, that he in fact did respect you and your time and openness towards him. His fingers skimming along your jaw caused your skin to rise with goosebumps and for a delicious shiver to zing throughout your body. You wanted to lose your cool and just let things get fiery with the tension that simmered between you but he was being so patient himself that it staved off your desperation. You wanted to enjoy how soft and tender he was being right now. You liked how his feelings were emanating from him in intense waves and warming you from the inside out. Finally, he pulled away, it was painful and almost impossible to let him end the kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He whispered between the two of you and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll pick you up around 7.” He informed and you nodded.

“Okay.” You whispered and he pulled you off to the side before opening your car door, “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He smiled and you bit your lip for a moment.

“One for the road?” You asked timidly and he grinned grabbed your face before pecking your lips once more.

“There you are. Now leave while I have the self-control to let you go.” He mumbled between you two and you laughed before settling into your seat and he closed the door behind you. You buckled up and got the engine on and he backed up, giving you room to get going and with a final wave you headed home. You weren’t driving fast at all but it felt like you were flying. You couldn’t stop smiling, even as you settled into bed and stared at the dark ceiling you were wearing a huge smile until you fell asleep.

***************

You’d been on edge all day wondering what it was that he would plan for you two. When you texted to ask what you should wear he said he was going for a semi-casual look, button down with a vest and trousers sort of thing so you decided on going for a similar vibe. You spent hours trying on a variety of combinations and in the end you settled on a black mini skirt with a creme colored, sleeveless knit top. You searched around for your chunky loafers and decided those paired best with the outfit as well. You had blown out your hair that morning so you got it into rollers and threw on a shower cap before you got in and exfoliated your body religiously. You knew your wax girl would kill you, but you ran a razor over your legs to get rid of the slightly prickly layer of hair growing in. You moisturized efficiently and then spritz yourself with your current preferred fragrance, Brit for Her by Burberry.

You had taken a fondness to the scent recently because it reminded you of him. Not that he even smelled like that but just vibe of it made you think of who he was. The prominent or top notes were sweet and fruity. They were bright and intriguing but not overpowering like some fruity perfumes could be. These blended so well with the warmer, darker base notes of vanilla, amber, and mahogany. It created an alluring and irresistible blend of fragrances that seemed to perfectly encompass the feeling he gave you of comfort and warmth and excitement. You wanted it to linger and be memorable, the way he lingered and was memorable to you. Truly, you had no idea where this with him would go or if it would even work out, but you knew he was the kind of person who would leave a mark on you forever.

When you got his call that he was outside you grabbed you gave yourself one more spritz, grabbed your purse, and got into your shoes before hurrying out. He was waiting outside of the car for you, his smiled widened when you saw you going down the steps.

“You look lovely.” He complimented as you approached and you smiled timidly until you got up to him.

“Thank you.” You hummed softly and he pulled you in for a hug and he froze for a second when you hugged him back.

“Fuck…you smell so good.” He hummed against you and you smirked victoriously as he squeezed around you a bit more. “Damn.” He mumbled as he dipped down to kiss right under your jaw and inhale the sweet scent. You giggled as his little bit of stubble lightly tickled your skin as he nuzzled closer.

“Stop that…” You laughed as he nipped at your skin.

“I can’t.” He huffed before kissing up to your lips and pecking over them a few times and pulling away with his lip bitten beneath his teeth.

“Please take me on a date.” You said softly and he smiled.

“Yeah alright.” He agreed with a grin and you giggled as he opened up the door for you. You greeted your driver and settled in as he hurried over to his side and soon enough you were on the road.

“So where are we going?” You asked as your fingers fiddled together and he smiled.

“You’ll see…” he said smugly and you chuckled. You both hummed along to the radio as you tried to figure out where it was you were heading but you seemed to be going in almost a circle as you started heading back towards where your house was. Then you guys turned down a street and you immediate recognized the area and saw the wine bar you guys had been to before just down the way.

“Are we going back to the wine bar?” You asked him and he immediately smiled as you started to slow down before it.

“I desperately need a do over.” He said to you and you smiled, “Things should’ve gone a lot differently than they did that night. So we’re doing it again, correctly this time.” He said with a smile as the car stopped at the valet station up front.

“You’re too sweet.” You said softly and he smiled.

You were soon helped out of the car by the attendant as Harry met you on the sidewalk and you thanked the driver and valet before looping your arms together and heading inside. He gave his name to the young lady at the entrance and she kept her cool as she guided you on back to where you sat the last time you were there. Of course, people were looking but he didn’t seem to mind and soon you were tucked into the back of the bar, mostly covered from everyone’s curious gazes and just smiling at each other across the small table. You guys ordered your first glass and then got to playing Jenga; this one had questions pasted onto the sides of the blocks so you guys went through the tower, giving your responses and discussing these until you toppled it over. You couldn’t help it, your hands were shaky with nerves but also with excitement. He looked so handsome, it was almost painful not to look at him. Soon enough, two glasses turned to four, and you were both giggly and reminiscing your filming days fondly. He had been telling a story about a little mishap he had with one of the modesty garments for one of his scenes with another actress and you two were laughing so hard.

“Wait, wait, wait, I need to go to the bathroom so bad!” You laughed breathily and he chuckled as he let your hand go over the top of the table.

“Yeah, love you go on. Do you want me to order you another?” He asked and you nodded as you hopped down from the high stool.

“Please.” you confirmed as you came around. You were half expecting it when he pulled you in by the waist and nuzzled against your neck again.

“You were too far away.” He hummed as he nipped under your jaw for a second as his big, warm palm nearly caressed down your bottom and you smiled.

“Behave.” You reprimanded playfully and he pulled back to meet your eyes.

“I am.” He assured you and you smiled. “Now go.”

“That requires letting me go.”

“I know…” he said and released you with some reluctance. He watched as you walked off, hips swaying hypnotically as you headed off.

Yeah, you needed to use the bathroom but you also needed a break from the intensity of Harry’s gaze on you. It was intense before, but now that you knew he was also into you it felt overwhelming. This entire time he found a way to graze his fingertips against yours, to knock his foot into yours, to make you aware of the minimal space between the two of you as much as possible. As if you needed a reminder of how badly you wanted him in the first place. The more you drank the deeper his voice got and the more intense the tingles got when he spoke to you, you swore you felt the vibrations of his low drawn baritone at your core, rippling out to the rest of your body with each word. Lust didn’t begin to cover what you felt for him. Even as you sat there for a moment relieving yourself you could hear some other ladies in the bathroom talking about just how good he looked tonight and how demanding and intense his energy was. How it was practically impossible not to feel him in the space. When you opened up the stall door the girls talking about it froze and watched you for a second.

“You’re not wrong.” You said to them with a small smile and they looked relieved at how relaxed you were towards them. “Please don’t tell anyone that. I just needed to get it off my chest.” You chuckled bashfully as you washed your hands.

“No girl, your secret is safe with us.” One of them assured with a kind smile.

“You guys kissed in that movie a bunch of times, how are you still alive?” One of them asked and you chuckled.

“It was hard for sure…” you confirmed, “What was worse was how sweet he is…It makes it so hard not to take it to heart.” You explained and they hummed.

“You look so cute by the way. Could we get a picture?” One of them asked and you smiled.

“Ummm sure!” You giggled and they hurried over. The first pic was a failure, you all laughed at your half closed eyes, “Sorry, I’m so fucking tipsy!” You giggled and on the third try you managed to keep your eyes open wide enough to appear normal.

“I wish we could get one with Harry too.” One of the girls said.

“Well, if you guys leave at the same time as we do I can try and talk him into it.” You offered and they gushed and thanked you and assured you they’d keep an eye out for this.

They were so sweet to you, assuring you that you looked exquisite and giving you the confidence boost you really needed to flirt up a storm with Harry. He’d been so attentive and you’d been quite cool about it, but you were ready to reciprocate and show him just how much you wanted him too. When you made your way out of the bathroom it was with a new found confidence thanks to your bathroom besties. You were walking a little taller and with a little more sway as you headed back to your table.

As you made it back to your secluded little section you saw that Harry had settled into the stool beside yours. He was initially looking at the drinks menu but then he glanced up and right into your eyes, almost as if he sensed you coming. When your eyes met you just about melted. You finally understood that famous and hunger-inducing line form Bridgerton - “I burn for you.” You were feeling it in real time. The energy between you two, the longing of his gaze and how it followed the curves of your body, taking you in from head to toe. You loved how you could see his restraint as you approached your table once again. You felt scrutinized but in a good way. You felt desirable, you felt like the perfect and delicate thing you’d always wanted to be in someone’s gaze. He made you feel like you were worth all the effort and more and you loved that. You knew you could be a little intense and rough around the edges at times but he clearly liked that. He found it amusing and endearing. He loved having something to fight for. He enjoyed proving to you why he was worth your time and effort.

“What?” you asked as you reached your seat and he shook his head.

“You’re just so fucking beautiful.” He hummed lowly as you settled into your seat. You smiled and then glanced up to him.

“Yeah? You think so?”

“I know so, love. Convincing myself otherwise was absolute torture.” He confessed and you bit your lip to suppress your smile and all of the feelings you had for him boiling inside of you. He shook his head and glanced down at his hands timidly. “Don’t do that…”

“Why not?” You pressed and he looked at you again.

“I don’t think I can handle it all.” He explained with a pained look in his eyes and you hummed softly. “You already smell so divine that I want to be close in enough to breathe you in. But you biting on your lip like that makes me want to bite it for you and suck it between my own. I know you’d taste so sweet because you like chewing that bubble mint gum.” He said to you lowly and you nodded almost dumbly as your gazes remained locked on each others.

“What if we call it a night a little early?” You asked him quietly and he smiled.

“Yeah?” He asked and you nodded and shivered when one of his hands landed on your thigh, right over your knee.

“Text the driver.” You instructed and he nodded and pulled out his phone as you reached for your glass of wine. You chugged it down quickly as he texted the man, it was amusing to him how desperate you were to get out of there.

“D’you wanna stop for dumpli-”

“No.” You cut him off and he grinned before reaching for his own glass.

“I kind of don’t want to be anymore buzzed for you but-”

“It’ll feel nicer.” You said with a smile and he hummed.

“It would…” He agreed, his own smile ghosting along his lips.

“I’m still good though, are you?”

“Yeah, love.”

“Then, who cares?” You asked.

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” You assured him.

“I want you so fucking bad. That’s what were talking about, right?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yeah.” You confirmed and he flashed you that charming, dimpled boyish grin that you’d missed so much.

“Okay. As long as you really don’t mind-”

“I don’t. I promise you. Just want to be alone with you.” You assured him and he hummed and finished his glass. “I ummm ran to some girls in the bathroom, they were so sweet to me, they were fans and I told them if they walked out behind us you could take a picture with them outside. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, love.” He assured and you smiled. Moments later the driver was informing you he was pulling up and you started to head out. The girls from the bathroom followed, as you instructed, and they got their photo before you guys slipped into the SUV smoothly and headed off into the night.

You were tingling with his hand running up and down your leg, his fingers danced along your skin. His nose was buried against your neck, kissing you up and down as he inhaled the sweet scent lingering on your skin and in your hair. He was whispering to you how much he missed you and how he wished he hadn’t wasted so much time in reaching out. His fingers were burning into your skin as he slid them up your thigh to a dangerous degree until you gripped around his wrist and smirked at him knowingly.

“What?” He whispered huskily, his eyes already dark and hazy with need.

“You know what…” you hummed lowly and he grinned.

“Sorry, I am trying to behave.” He assured you and then planted a kiss on your temple and lowered his hand to above your knee again. As much as you were asking him to stop, a part of you enjoyed how he pushed the limits a little bit. He clearly was dying to touch you and you were absolutely touch starved. Even just having him rubbing over your knee was causing your skin to rise with goosebumps. You couldn’t arrive at your place any sooner.

When you were finally heading up your driveway you were about ready to burst at the seems. You could feel how wet you were for him, it was even dripping down between your cheeks and you knew he’d love to discover that on his own so you kept it to yourself. Once you got out of the car and thanked the driver, he took off and you keyed your way into your home. As soon as the door closed behind you he pressed you up against it and locked eyes with you.

“This is where I need the do over.” He mumbled, lips tickling your own.

“Tell me more…” You whispered and he smiled and gabbed your jaw with his right hand while he grabbed your hip with his left and he leaned in and kissed you quickly, like he had that first time and his eyes met yours with a fake apologetic look in them, it was amusing really.

“Shit.” He whispered between you two; just like he had the first time, “That was a mistake.” He hummed as he looked into your eyes and you smiled as you decided to play along and role play it with him.

“Then why did you do it?” You asked and he bit his lip, nose skimming your nose with his again.

“I can’t help it. I like you. I like you so fucking much, Y/N.” He confessed softly.

“Then do it again. Like you mean it this time.” You requested. Before you knew it he grabbed your face and kissed your deeply. The hunger of it was making you weak in the knees. Your tongues tangled as you guided his hands down your waist, hips, and finally to the bottom of your skirt.

“Yeah? Can I?”

“Please.” You insisted and he slid them up under the fabric to feel your underwear-covered butt. He kneaded your cheeks in his big, warm palms, squeezing the fleshy bits fervently and feeling you up, pressing you up against his growing erection.

“I want you. I want you so fucking bad.” He breathed into your mouth.

“Me too.” You panted as you looped your arms around his neck, “Should we go up to my room?”

“Are you sure?” He asked once more through his ragged breaths. You kissed his slowly and nodded into it.

“I’m so fucking sure.” You confirmed breathlessly and he kissed you deeply again before you guided him up the stairs and into your bedroom. You threw the door back and you two immediately started undressing.

You didn’t care to make it all that romantic, especially with how tipsy you both were, you guys just wanted to feel each other. So as soon as you were naked you guys fell into your bed and he kissed from your lips down your body. He didn’t waste an opportunity to inhale your perfume before sinking down to your breasts and sucking at your needy nipples while his fingers rubbed precise little circles into your throbbing little clit with no preamble. You were grateful he got straight to it because you were desperate for any stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet f’me, baby.” He hummed before nipping at your sensitive nipple once more and you whimpered, “Is that how bad you want me?” He asked.

“Yes! Yes, I want you so bad!” You whined as he pulled and sucked at your breasts with more force. You winced and whined as he sucked marks into the tender flesh of them to his satisfaction and your own. Before long you started to feel that familiar warmth swirling in the put of your stomach from his fingers on your clit. “Yeah H, just like that!” You cried into the air as he swirled around the sensitive little button over and over until your vision started to blur with your approaching orgasm.

His lips kissed down your abdomen and finally he ended up between your legs and licked at you expertly and you mewled in satisfaction. His tongue replaced his fingers and flicked at your needy little bud while one of his fingers plunged into the depths of you, searching around for your spot. When your legs startled to tremble around his head, attempting to lock him in place he knew you were close. And just seconds later he pulled an orgasm from you with ease and snuck in another finger in, this caused you to gasp and tense up before you just melted into your bed. He was just hitting the perfect spot with his fingertips, rubbing into a part of you that was making your pussy flutter in a way it never had before and you felt another orgasm unexpectedly building up.

“Yes! Yes, baby! I-I’m coming!” You gasped and he moaned into your pussy as he tarted to suck on your clit and you began to whither around his thick, lock digits. You were covered in goosebumps as the pleasure started to roll through your body in wonderfully timed waves that allowed you to enjoy his persistent stimulation into your greedy little cunt. Even this wasn’t enough. You were trembling but begging for more. “Please, I need you. I need more.” You panted in your impaired state.

“Don’t have a condom, love.” He chuckled against your smooth and sticky folds.

“Just pull out.” You panted as you raked your fingers into his hair and he groaned against you.

“Don’t tempt me, baby.” He chuckled and you bit your lip and tugged him up by the hair until his eyes met yours.

“I’m serious.” You assured him as you swallowed thickly, “Please baby, need you to fuck me. Need you to fuck me so good I forget everything except you.” You panted and he licked over his lips with a near pained expression.

“ Baby-”

“Please, H. Please, give it t’me. Want you so badly, it hurts, that’s how bad I need you.” You begged and he groaned as he caved to your request with a deep and sloppy kiss. You knew he was painfully hard as well. As much as you wanted a taste of him, you’d much rather feel his big, thick cock spreading you open and splitting you apart.

“Y’sure?” He panted as he hovered above you.

“I’m so sure, baby. So sure.” You assured him as he glanced up at you and before you knew it he was kneeling over you as you helped him out of his boxer-briefs, wrapping his thick length in your palm the moment it fell out of its constraint.

“Shit, a little tighter.” He mumbled and you tightened your grip around him and stroked him over and over, up and down, keeping him at full mast. “That’s it. Jus’like that.” He sighed in relief. You could feel the sticky texture of his precome when you’d reach the tip and drag it down his length. After a few moment of this he lowered his hips and settled against your hot and drenched folds, immediately the wet squelching sounds of him sliding through your labia became the most prominent sound between you two. “So fucking wet f’me. Shit, you want my cock so bad, don’t you?” He panted and you nodded and whined, “Say it. Say you want my cock in that pretty little pussy and I’ll fuck you with it. Stretch open that tight little hole, make it all mine.” He breathed into the minimal space between you two.

“Please, H.” You panted, “I need your cock. Need to feel you spreading my tight little hole open.” You pleaded, tearful eyes meeting his and he groaned and leaned down, squeezing his eyes shut as he kissed you for a few seconds before he guided himself down to your entrance and fed the tip into your weepy little hold. “Oh fuck!” You gasped softly as he started to push in and he moaned as he felt you start to stretch around him.

“You can take it. I know you can, baby.” He panted as his eyes met your wide eyes again. You nodded in confirmation for him to keep going and he pushed in further, splitting you open until your eyes just fluttered shut until he was bottoming out and sheathed fully in the warmth of your wet and velvety walls.

You swore his tip was poking into your stomach from how deep he was. You’d never felt so full before, you were paralyzed for a few moments. He was big and thick, you swore it wiped out part of your brain when he started to grind into you. The thick, ruddy tip of his cock was prodding into your g-spot, causing your mind to blank and for your body to shiver with an abundance of pleasure. You were getting more drunk on his dick and even the way he was grinning down at you as you let out the most obscene moans was feeding your pleasure.

“Shit, you take it so well…fuck, love to see that tight little hole stretching wide around my cock, baby. Y’feel so fucking good…so fucking tight and wet f’me.” He groaned as he thrusted in and out, watching your little hole puckering around his thick cock. He moaned every time he pulled back, watching your creamy arousal streaking down his shaft with each deep plunge into your needy little pussy. He moaned and spat against your folds before rubbing his thumb into your clit and you shuddered.

“Yes, baby! That’s it!” You mewled as you grabbed your breasts, pinching at your nipples, helping him draw you up the edge of your orgasm. Harry was panting, feeling his balls thwacking against your ass had his mind going fuzzy with excitement.

“Fuck…fuuuuck, you’re gonna make me come so fucking hard!” He chuckled breathily, head thrown back as he delivered sharp and powerful thrusts into you, over and over, living for the feeling of his tip colliding into the depths of you.

“Oh fuck…fuck! I’m…ohmygodI’mcoming!” You slurred and he smiled as you started to whither beautifully. Your back arched up, nipples pointed straight towards the ceiling as you trembled and soaked his cock with a soft squirt from how deep he was getting. Your ears were ringing and you were seeing white behind your closed eyelids but he wasn’t letting up until you got through the whole thing. You could hear him moaning and struggling to keep it together as he thrust in and out of you. Your walls pulsed around his cock hard and fast with your slick coated all over his thick length, causing him to lose some control over his movements. You were covered in goosebumps, shivering as you continued to come hard around him.

“Shit, baby! Shit!” He gasped as he started thrusting erratically, losing the steady rhythm he had maintained until now.

“Come for me, H. Come for me, baby.” You encouraged him and he pulled out quickly and you wrapped your hand around his length and he thrust into your perfectly tight grip a few times until his breath hitched and he groaned when you felt the first spurt of his hot, milky cum right over your pubic bone. He moaned lowly as he started to unload all over your already sticky pussy. You guided him between your swollen and sensitive folds, letting him thrust against you as he spilled all over your swollen pussy with his cum. His body was trembling as you rubbed at his bicep until he minimized the space between you and caught your lips with his. “Mmm…fuck…” he hummed and you smiled

“Good?”

“So fucking good.” He panted breathily and you pecked his lips quickly. “Was it good for you?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, H. More than.” You assured and he smiled before kissing you again.

“Good, love.” He whispered before resting his weight on one elbow before kissing you deep and slow. He took his time tasting you properly and only pulled away when you both needed to breathe, “Jut as things should’ve been from the start.” He hummed and you kissed his lips quickly.

“We’re here now, yeah?” You asked quietly and he smiled and nodded.

“Yeah.” He hummed, “So, does this mean we can give us a real chance?” He asked as his fingers found yours and you nodded and smiled as he bought your hand up to his mouth and kissed it.

“I’d love that, Harry.” You assured him and he smiled brightly at you.

“Thank you for giving me another chance after the stunt I pulled before.” He said more seriously.

“I like you too much not to.” You said with a small smile and he smiled and kissed you once more.

“Well I assure you, there’s far more making up I plan on doing…” He smirked and you bit your lip excitedly, “Just you wait.”

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cherry-leclerc · 3 months

Text

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series - humor, strangers to friends/roommates

word count: 4.6k

*can you guess what film it's based off of? where the title originates from?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 2

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

“You got lost, didn’t you?”

Sticking your tongue out at Charles, you take a seat next to his broad figure as you start applying coconut sunscreen. “Would it kill you to not gloat?” You narrow your unusually soft eyes like weapons.

He playfully shudders. “Ooooh. My blood ran cold.”

Throwing the bottle over at his lap, he chuckles before lathering his tan body with the white goo. You try to not make it obvious, the way you steal glances at him. Everything makes sense all of a sudden; his odd obsession with anything that could cover his handsome features, the mysterious Ferrari, how he could go from making you laugh to keeping his mouth shut and looking down whenever anyone was around.

He had kept this from you for a reason, that much is clear, but you would still give him a chance to open up. Sliding on a pair of sunglasses, you twist your body to sit cross cross. You fold your hands over your lap. “Truth or dare?”

The brunette tilts his head with hesitance. “Y-you don’t want to take a dip?”

“Let’s lay out for a bit.” You poke him with your toe. “C’mon. Play with me.”

He sighs, pushing his hat downwards. “Dare.”

“Hmm…I dare you to…read me your last text message.”

“Easy.” Pulling out his phone, he scrolls for a bit before showing it to you.

You’re walking the opposite way. I said near the fruit stand.

Burning up, you push it down. “I don’t count.”

“You never specified.”

He wasn’t going to play easy and part of you respected that. Clicking your tongue, you extend your shiny legs. He gulps. Truth or dare? “Dare.”

“Call the last person you spoke to.”

Growing nauseous at his request, you shake your head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

You stutter. “M-my boss called to check up on me. Wanted to make sure I was a-actually on my deathbed and not just faking it, I can’t do that.” The Monegasque squinted his eyes teasingly before leaning back against the gray rocks.

“Fine. You get a pass.” You let out a breath of relief. “But I get one of those as well.”

You felt as if you were making a deal with the devil with the way he was watching you, waiting for an answer. He might use it against your benefit, but you had no choice. “Deal.”

“Good.” Flickering his green eyes towards the crystal blue tides, he chews on the inside of his cheek. “It's your turn.”

Be smart, don’t blow it. Deep down, you wanted to ask about the simpler things. Your favorite color? What was your childhood like? Was it better than mine? But that couldn’t matter more than what information you actually needed. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You groan. How were you supposed to get all the juicy details out of him if he kept playing it safe? Nonchalantly, he waits. “I dare you to stop picking dares.” His face pales. You feel bad for putting him in that position, but he quickly snaps out of it.

“Truth or dare?”

Swallowing a thick layer or saliva, you purse your lips. “Truth.”

“Why did you lie to your boss?”

You gape at his question as you think of a way to avoid it. All he knows is that you have a month off and chose Italy as your destination thanks to your amazing friends. He didn’t know anything about the sleepless nights of zero ideas that had you on the brink of being fired, the reason you needed this article to work. Not only would it set your career, but it would also give you the respect you so desperately looked for in everyone who looked down on you.

“She would never let me come to Italy if I told her I need a break from all the pressure, y’know?”

Waves crash noisily as he frowns. “Mhm.”

“My turn. What’s your occupation?”

“I already told you,” he laughs, brown curls flowing against the summer breeze. “I work with cars.” A gist of hope zaps your heart as you wait for the rest. “I’m a mechanic.”

He wasn’t going to tell you - he didn’t trust you. Melancholy register across your face as you rise up carefully. “I’m in the mood to swim now.”

Life for the Scuderia Ferrari driver moves at a fast pace, always on the go and traveling all around the world. At just 26 years old, the Monegasque has collected 5 wins and an impressive number of podiums, all while maintaining the longest Scuderia contract in history.

But do we really know Charles Leclerc in his everyday life? A man without any responsibilities?

Fortunately for us, I was able to sit down and speak to Il Predestinato as he he walks us through his routine for when he’s not on track-

“What are you working on? Seeing you be so quiet is bone-chilling.”

Poking your tongue out like a slithering snake, you feverishly slam your computer shut as you flip him off. “Catching up with friends. What can I say? The people love me.” The 26 year old rolls his eyes before picking up on his scribbles. Tippy toeing closer to him, you try to inspect the messy writing. “What is that?”

“Fuck, you scared me, you little gnome.” Hiding his small journal, you immediately push out your bottom lip.

“Show me! Show me! Show me!”

Clumsily, he opens it. “Grocery list.” But it's more than that. His letter isn’t easy to read, but it'll get you there. Diary entries. Blinking up at your roommate, you wiggle your brows. What’s it say? “Nothing important.” You don’t press him on it, but that doesn’t stop the curiosity from stirring inside of you. He stiffens. “Let’s go before they close.”

Pebbles crunch underneath your ballet flats as you sing softly. He smiles, content with the serene atmosphere. What song is that? Your jaw drops, stopping dead in your tracks. It takes him a while to realize you're not skipping next to him anymore. “Tell me you’re joking…”

“I’m joking.”

“Charles!” you wail as you fling your arms. “Beyond the Sea? Bobby Darin?” His face doesn’t change as he bats his eyes blankly. You gasp. “We’ll meet, I know we’ll meet beyond the shore. We’ll kiss just as before-.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Playfully, you shiver, clutching your heart. “It isn’t good to be uncultured, Charlie.” The way you spit out his new nickname has him grasping how much he loves it - so long it's coming from you. Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, you wave your finger like some principal. “I’ll play it for you.”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “No, just sing it to me like you were.”

You sincerely don’t have a single clue where all this unknown courage comes from, but you oblige. All the way to the local farmers market, he’s grinning ear to ear. From your voice sounding angelic, to it cracking as you would try to intimidate Darin, he feels fortunate to see this side of you.

Entering the sliding doors, you grab a basket as you drag him, shoes squeaking from the sudden pull. “We’re not here for snacks, we’re here for food. Y’know - vegetables, rice, chicken-”

“I need something sweet!” you complain as your doe eyes glimmer at the sight of the Italian desserts. “If I don’t get it in my system I will die. Do you want me to die?”

“At this moment, it doesn’t sound half bad.” You gawk at his dark humor. Taking the tiny basket from you, he makes his way to the produce section. “Grab whatever you need. I’ll be right back.”

Once his back faces you, you feel your phone vibrating. “Amelia!” Your cheery friend waves excitedly. Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you for days! Wincing, you place your phone on top of a box of cookies. “I’ve been gone for five days, please relax. Plus, I’m fine. Enjoying my time off.”

Your friend snickers. “I still need updates to make sure you aren’t dead in a ditch.” Making an exaggerated face, you nod and the blonde giggles. “Don’t make me fly out there. Unlike you, I will demand a year off if needed.”

“Oh, I believe you,” you murmur, hand reaching for a box of Baci Pergunia. “How are you guys surviving without your third wheel?”

“Stop it, you,” she hisses. “Instead, why don’t you fill me in - any cute tourists?” You freeze midair, already angling your body to grab bonelle jellys.

“I’m not too focused on any of that..”

“Of course not because you’re too busy daydreaming about Grayson,” she teases. “Honey! She’s missing him, I told you!” Bullshit, Roman yells back from the kitchen.

“Will you two stop it?” you grit.

“Yes, darling,” Roman talks gingerly. “Will you please stop planning a wedding?” Your jaw drops while your friend nervously giggles. He’s joking.

“Enough about me, what are you two doing? What’s on the menu?”

The brunette’s eyes crinkle, showing off his blurry screen. “Sicilian meatball soup.”

“Lucky!” you groan. “You’re messed up for cooking your grandma’s recipe while I’m not there.” He shrugs.

“We miss you so we both decided to make an Italian dish.” She emphasizes her words as he smiles bitterly. “It’s like you’re here with us.”

“She cried for an hour or so. It was the only way I could calm her down.” Amelia bites the air at her boyfriend. He leaps back, returning to stirring the sauce. “I cook because I love you, stop that.”

You throw your head back with laughter. “Again, not dead, but I’m touched.” Hearing a bag crinkle, you look down the aisle and spot Charles making his way over. “Gotta go! Call you as soon as I can!”

“Wow, you’ve managed to grab all the snacks in the entire store,” Charles teases as he points to your stack. “Got you chips, too.”

“You’re not helping,” you grunt as you take it from him. He hands you your own basket for your treats. Cramming them all in, he examines you before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So, Grayson’s the boyfriend?”

“Ha! I wish. He’s my boss’ son. Way out of my league.”

His jaw clenches. “Don’t think like that. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Then, he walks away, leaving you to follow after him like a lost puppy. You’re wary around him after that encounter, so you make sure to stand a few steps behind, waiting for him to finish paying. “What are you doing?”

“Che cosa?”

Sauntering over, he reaches down to take your things. Your breath gets caught in your throat from the sudden proximity. “I got it.”

Bewildered, you start retreating all the sweets. “You don’t need to do that, you’re already paying for the other things. This one’s on me.” He scrunches his nose.

“That’s endearing, but I can’t. I’m on a diet.”

“Why?” You’re genuinely confused, and can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

He smirks. “Really?”

“I m-mean I think so,” you stammer. “But how would I know, I’ve never been on a diet.” Charles' watercolor eyes trickle all the way down before dancing back up. Butterflies flutter inside of you.

“You don’t need it, trust me.” A pause. “I’ll pay for your things, it’s really no problem. Though I do ask you not to blame me when your teeth rot.”

“Jerk!” you quip when he walks away, laughing loudly. You smile at the sound.

“You need to stop gobbling up all that crap, if not you’re not going to eat any of what I’m cooking,” his voice warns you. Setting the bag of gummies down, you kick your bare feet against the cabinets.

Has it been an hour? Two? You can’t remember but it sure did smell good. He had asked you to just sit still and fix up a playlist while he prepared dinner, so there really wasn’t much to do. Are you almost done? Focused on cutting up a piece of onion, he shakes his head. A minute passes by before asking again. Not done, wait.

As soon as your stomach grumbles, he wiggles his eyebrows teasingly. You chuck a carrot at him as he cackles. “Ta-da!” Inspecting the nicely done dish, you throw a thumbs up. Grabbing a spoon, you’re about to dive in before he slides the plate away. Your lips form a thin line. “Take your time. Really enjoy it - it’s flavor, it’s scent-”

“Jesus, fine. Give it before I bite your cheek off,” you growl. Glaring at him, you dip your utensil in slowly. He applauds before pulling out his phone and pressing record. “Is that really necessary?”

“You might not realize it, but this is a monumental moment.” Bowing his head, he urges you to try it. You shrug once, wrapping your lips around the spoon and let's just say - you’ve always had a killer poker face.

“Delicious, chef!”

“Putain oui!” He puts his phone away. “What did you like about it? The pepper helped, didn't it?”

You grimace. “I want my two hours back.” His smile dies down. Seriously? Yanking the spoon from your grip, he tries the colorful soup and winces at the saltiness.

“I followed step by step, why does this shit keep happening?”

The Monegaque truly does seem bummed out as his shoulders sag, glasses sliding down his pointy nose. Scooting closer, you pat his shoulder awkwardly. “You need some serious help.” He shoots a deadpan look as you giggle. “I’m kidding! It’s not that bad.” Jumping off the counter, you tug the nearest apron. “Let me try.”

It takes another two hours, but you figure it out eventually. Standing tall, you place your hands behind your back. The Monegasque eyes the food. “Now, I want you to take your time. Really enjoy it, it’s flavor-”

“Stop it,” he grumbles before diving in. His eyes open wide as you wiggle against your heels excitedly. “You can’t be real.”

“Is it good?”

He nods enthusiastically, brown hair jumping up and down. “H-how did you…” Polishing your nails, you fake a bored expression. By praying. It’s looks as if he’s deeply considering your advice for a second but when you howl out, he flushes.

“Don’t be so gullible, Charlie. Roman’s grandma taught me. I spent Christmas with him and Amelia.”

His face softens up. “What about your parents?”

“We’re not close like that.” You confess so unbothered that it has him fluttering his eyes for a while. “Don’t feel bad - I do just fine. They call me on my birthday.” Metal clinks against the porcelain plate as he huffs, firm chest rising up before deflating.

“That’s the fucking standard.” You raise a brow. Why are you upset with me? “I’m not. It’s just that it’s not fair that they treat you like garbage just because you didn’t fulfill their wish. Or that you let others trample over you like a piece of shit.” You flinch. “Y-you know what I mean…”

“Sure,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Enjoy the food, Charles.”

He feels guilty for making you feel bad, but he wasn’t lying. It bugged the crap out of him that you floated through life thinking everything was okay. He’s never met Amelia or Roman, but he felt a strong gratitude towards the couple for treating you with genuine care. But you had filled him in on the rest; they way others would look down on you - all while you wore a miserable smile. I’m used to it by now. Doesn’t even bother me.

Charles was always in the limelight - always probably will be - but he also knows he signed up for it. He knew fake smiles like the back of his hand. Whether it was a pretty girl trying to get money out of him or sponsors trying to get close to him just for fame. If it weren’t for his friends back home, he definitely would have lost faith in humanity.

And then there was you. Someone so kind, who puts others' needs before yourself. You didn’t have to check up on him that day at the beach, you didn’t have to help him or give him shelter but you did. He thought you would be some crazy fan but when you blinked up at him like a curious expression, he could tell you didn’t know who he was.

The Monegasque felt relieved that you treated him without any special treatment, that you saw him for who he really was, not just some F1 driver. He owes it to you to make things right and apologize.

He finds you eating a pint of gelato as you stare blankly at the eggshell wall. “Did you save me some?” You jump at the sound of his deep voice. Halfway done, you respond red-faced. You can have the rest. Leaning against the table, he shakes his head. “Let’s just share.”

You’re sure you can hear Amelia and Roman bickering from how quiet it is, but don’t dare to utter a single word. It’s bad enough that he knows that his words got to you, how can you look him in the eye?

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Peeking over at the brunette, you admire his side profile before humming. He continues. “But at the same time I don’t regret it.”

You laugh dryly. “Wow, this is some apology.”

Clearing his throat, he cages your body against the wooden furniture. “I’m serious - I don’t.” Avoiding eye contact, you stare at the sides of your bare thighs where his large hands lay. Suddenly the room feels suffocating. “You do need to stop letting others decide what to think about yourself. You need to stop pleasing everyone around you. Your parents, Eleanor, shit, even me.”

The green eyed boy begins to get blurry as your eyes foolishly well up. “I don’t do th-”

“Yes, yes you do, do that.” His accent comes out stronger than intended. You let out a shaky breath, then beam up at him. Okay, I’ll stop. He grinds his teeth together. “No. Don’t agree just because I’m telling you - do it for yourself because you want to.”

“I want to,” you whisper meekly.

His heart breaks at the sight of you answering untruthfully but does say anything else. Instead, he hauls you off the table, planting you onto your feet. “Grab a sweater and meet me by the door in five minutes.”

He’s for sure going to murder you, Amelia was right after all. Shit, you mutter underneath your breath as he pulls onto the hills. The view was great - for sure a nice way to go if that’s the last thing you’ll ever see.

Following him out, you pinch down on your denim shorts. Was it too late to run away? He left the key in the engine, maybe you could leave him stranded?

“I’m not going to kill you, you can relax.”

Blood rushes to the tip of your ears. “What are we doing here at…” You check your phone. “Two in the morning?”

“Yell.”

You quirk your head curiously. “I’m sorry, say that one more time.”

He extends his arms out, enjoying the cool breeze. “Just do it. No one’s going to hear you.”

“That sounds like something a killer would say. Can I get a ten minute head start?”

He rolls his green eyes. “Trust me, it helps a lot. My trainer has me do it all the time.” You raise your brows. “I- uh- box during my free time. My boxing trainer has me do it when I’m too stressed.”

Ignoring his slip up, you shake your head. “I can’t scream, that’s weird.” His pink lips turn downwards. “You’re going to judge me!”

“I won’t!” Covering his ears, he signals at you. “Not a thing.”

You bite down on your sweater before shaking your buzzing hands. Once and he’ll drop it. Ahh, you let out weakly before smiling brightly. “You’re right. That was great!” Turning on your heels, you begin to skip away before he tugs on your sweater, flinging you back.

“Not even the crickets heard you. Try again.”

“I did do it, you just didn’t like it.”

“I’m not letting you leave until you do it the right way.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he peacefully shuts his eyes, enjoying nature's lullaby. He seems to let his guard down because before he knows it, he hears the Ferrari engine loud and clear. “Don’t you dare leave,” he warns as he runs up to his car.

“Get home safe, Charlie!” you squeal as you step on the gas. Chasing after you, he ends up standing in front of the car as you shriek. As quickly as you can, you step off the break but the tip still manages to hit the Monegasque. You scream at the brutal sight.

Scurrying out of the car, you drop down next to him as you flip him onto his back. His pretty eyes remain closed as he lays still. Wake up Charles, I’m too young to go to jail! Do you know how hard it is to prove your innocence when you’re a foreigner? You delicately tap his cheek but his head only rolls back. You yell out in panic as you let go of his heavy body.

“Oh God, oh God, holy shit, holy fuck,” you whimper as you pace back into the red car. Squeezing your eyes tightly, you place your hands over the steering wheel as you think about what just happened. Amelia was going to kill you. Eleanor would personally write a whole article about you.

“You were seriously going to leave me for dead?” a voice interrupts your thoughts as you scream. You face Charles and he yells back at the sudden ring.

“What the shi- You’re alive!” Jumping over the console, you hug him, barely giving him room to breathe. Groaning in pain, he pushes you back. You hop off as you grab his left hand and raise up four fingers. “How many am I holding up?”

“Fingers? I have ten.”

Your heartbeat travels to your throat as you squirm. “I broke him.” Images of you behind bars enter your mind as you plead Charles to drop the charges. Amelia and Roman would travel to visit you in jail but only to demand their money back. You’d be in complete debt for the rest of your life and oh God what if the Italinas had a thing for the electric chair-

“I’m teasing,” he laughs as he rubs his head. “It hurts like a motherfucker, though, but hey, at least you let it all out.” Wacking his arm, you glare sternly.

“You did that on purpose?”

Grunting, he inches away. “I did not, are you crazy? But it helped you! How do you feel?”

You narrow your fiery eyes. “Angry…mad.” That's the same thing, he points out as you scowl. Nevermind. “I feel good.”

All smug, he leans against the passenger's seat. “I told you it would help.”

“Huh,” you let out in astonishment.

It started out with a simple argument - pesto or tomato sauce. You were leaning more towards the green paste but he held onto his end stubbornly. Honeymoon phase is over? Spinning to face a little boy with whipped cream all over his cheeks, he quirks his head. My dad always likes to say - happy wife, happy life. Walking away, you’re both left with your mouths hung open as you put the ingredients down.

“Did we just get scolded by a some little fucker?”

Gasping at his words, you smack the side of his head. He yelps. “No Charles, he basically called us old! We’re ancient!”

“Nonsense. He’s just being dumb.”

Glaring, you put your hands on your hips as you pace the aisle. “What if he’s right? What if we are on the verge of death?” He laughs. All because he thought we were married? Closing in to his tall figure, you pinch your face up. “A married couple spend their life together - growing old. He called us old!” You walk fast down the supermarket as you run wild hands through your hectic hair.

Hurrying after you, he pants. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find him.” He comes to a sudden stop. And do what exactly? Tossing your head back, you groan in frustration. “I don’t know! Whoop him or something like that.”

The Monegasque lets out a snicker. Your face twists up. “Let’s just calm down.” I am calm, you grunt. He clicks his tongue.

“We need to do something,” you declare. He sighs. Forgetting all about your errands, you drag him out of the store. Bright eyes flicker across the busy streets as you huff. Then you spot it. “We’re going.”

The brunette squints his eyes as he reads the small print. Amalfi Club. Theme: Halloween costumes. He scoffs. “But it isn’t even October.”

But your mind is set. “It’s perfect.” Bumping against his shoulder, you beam. “Looks like we can turn back time after all.”

Ballerina for me, you cheer. And Stormtrooper for you? You narrow your eyes in confusion. “I’m sorry, how do you even know Star Wars exists? Aren’t you French?”

“Monegasque,” he corrects you before frowning. “Stars Wars is a global success. Being from Monaco doesn’t mean we don’t know anything, thank you very much.”

You shrug. “Be a tiny bit more grateful that I found our costumes on such short notice.” Yeah, yeah, he yawns. “I’m so excited!” you squeal as you finish tying your pink ribbon. You would for sure have a terrible headache by the end of the day. “Won’t you sweat with a helmet all night?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

It’s so crowded - packed - that your roommate has to practically shove you in as you yelp, arm swatting your tutu down. A cheap looking Tinkerbell gives you the death glare when you step on her foot. I can’t fucking breath! The Stroomtopper mask tilts as he brings his gloved hands to your shoulder. Do you want to leave?

“No!” A beat. “Let me just go get us a drink.”

Zipping past him, you can hear him calling after you but you choose to ignore since you knew he would drag you back to the shared Airbnb. Just water, you chime in as the bartender nods, eyeing your perky tits. Frowning, you pout somberly. “Ignore him,” a deep voice rips you away from your thoughts as you face them.

Is everyone just okay with melting their face off? The towering man wears a red jumpsuit with the infamous Dali mask. “I like your costume. I binge watched all of Casa De Papel in a singular night.” Your cheeks flush when you realize you’re rambling. He chuckles richly.

“Thought I’d look cool.

There’s an award silence as you wait. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you scrunch your nose in disgust. “You must be sweaty beneath all that,” you ponder, fingers signals to the white mask. He sighs, wide shoulders rolling back. I’m thinking I might faint. A bright giggle slips past your lips and he grins from underneath, even if can’t see. “You remind me of my friend. He would rather die than take his helmet off. He’s a Strormtrooper,” you add.

Large hands come up as he pushes the hoodie off, messy brown locks coming into view. Stubborn, aren’t we? You nod, thanking the man who comes back with your glass of water. “I should go find him…”

A heavy pant flows from the mysterious man. You’re leaving? He coughs to cover up his neediness. His accent makes your cheek burn up. “I sort of left him,” you respond sheepishly. He chuckles, finally taking his mask off, beads of thin sweat painingting his large nose. You breath hitches, waves of recognition hitting you all at once.

“Valid.” He extends his tan hand towards you. “I’m Carlos, by the way.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm

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azrielsdove · 4 months

Note

I had the idea late at night so idk if you don’t want to write that, i understand haha

Reader and azriel are mates and have been for a while, nesta and elain were made and feyre and rhys asked cassian and azriel to look after them. Reader was okay with it but elain showed her a different side then the others, where she is rude and is telling her az will be hers, reader tried to bring it up in private but no one believed her because elain is so nice in front of everyone. Elain starts to sit in readers place and stands next to az, so reader isn’t even going out anymore. Az has a lot of other missions as well and tells reader that he only loves her and elain means nothing to him, maybe elain overheard that. After a mission az gives rhys his reports and then fell asleep on the couch, elain lays down next to him but he is so out that he doesn’t even feel her, reader wants to see after az and sees that, when she is trying to leave, rhys finds her and she shows him everything that happened even the parts where elain was rude, reader then leaves for awhile to get away from everything and azriel just loses it. You could add more angst if you want but i would love for a happy end with az and reader maybe where is is also pregnant?

The Other Woman: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Spiraling thoughts

***

Elain Archeron was quickly becoming the bane of your existence.

You understood the she had gone through incomprehensible trauma along with her sister, and you understood why Rhys would appoint Azriel and Cassian to help them. You had no issue allowing your mate to help the poor girl come back to life, accepting her new fate. No, that was not the problem.

The problem was that she was a nasty, two-faced, bitch.

The first time it happened you were completely taken aback, shocked by the words that had come from the otherwise soft-spoken female.

“He’s going to be mine, you know.”

You had stilled your movements, turning slowly to see her peeking out from the library doors. “Excuse me?” You asked, certain you had misunderstood.

She gave a sneering smile. “Azriel. I’m going to make him mine.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that had burst from you. “Okay then,” you said, moving to continue walking. You made a note to bring it up to your mate later, warn him that Elain may have gotten too attached.

Unfortunately the following days had been hectic, Azriel was sent on a dangerous mission for Rhys. You hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to him, and with the state he came back in you had no interest in adding anything else to his plate.

It happened again a few days later.

“Why would he stay with you when i’m here?” She asked, looking you up and down.

You raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry? What are you on about?”

She rolled her eyes. “Azriel, obviously. Why would he need you any longer? I’m certain I can satisfy him miles better than you can.”

“Mhm,” you mused, nodding at her wild claims. “Do you understand the mating bond?”

She made a noise of annoyance, crossing her arms in front of her. “I have a mate, and I can’t stand him. That ‘bond’ means nothing to me.”

“It means something to Az,” you said, staring her down. “What has he done that makes you think he’s interested?”

She gave a pretty smile, smoothing the skirts of her dress. “Feyre has Rhys, Nesta has Cassian. It only makes sense, does it not? Three sisters, three brothers. He’s smart enough to have already figured it out. The only thing standing in our way is you.”

You hummed at her delusions, turning to leave the room. “Have a nice night, Elain,” you said, acting as if she had just been talking about the weather. You refused to give her the satisfaction of upsetting you.

Some nights later you were sitting with Azriel as he caught up with his brothers, lost in thought while you sipped your wine. You heard a faint call of your name, turning to meet the concerned eyes of your husband. “Are you alright, my love?” He asked, scanning you over for anything amiss.

You smiled, shaking your head. “I’m fine, just thinking.”

“You’re thinking pretty hard there. Az was calling your name for ages,” Cassian laughed, but his eyes showed the same concern. You sighed, taking a bigger drink of your wine.

“I’ve just been dealing with something, that’s all,” you said, swirling the liquid in your glass nonchalantly. Azriel watched you closely, trying to read what was wrong.

“You can always tell us,” Rhys offered, tipping his glass your way.

You took a deep breath, looking down at your hands. “Have any of you ever had any issues with Elain?”

Three blank stares met yours.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” you muttered into your wine.

“What kind of problems?” Azriel pressed, worry in his expression.

“She’s just been, a little….rude to me.”

Silence.

And then loud laughter.

“Elain?” Cassian gasped out, pounding on the table. “Quiet, docile, Elain? Are you sure you aren’t confusing her with Nesta?” You shot him a nasty look, Rhys’ own chuckle drawing your attention to him.

“How has she been rude?” He asked, not hiding the smile on his face.

You looked down at the ground, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. “Maybe i’m just reading into it. I thought she was jealous…that she was into Az.” You regretted even bringing the topic up as Cassian and Rhys broke out in more laughter.

“No way! Elain has a mate, remember? Why would she go after a married male?” You nodded at Cassian, acknowledging his words.

“Yea, i’m sure i’m just misunderstanding,” you mumbled, draining your glass in an instant. You stood, heading for the door.

“Aw now, we didn’t mean anything bad! It’s just such a shock that Elain would be trying to get Az!” Rhys called out behind you, trying to convince you to stay.

You looked back, eyes connecting with Azriel’s. “I’ll be up shortly,” he said, his unspoken words hanging in the air. He was not going to let his brothers get away with laughing at you. You gave him a small smile and continued out to your room, leaving him to deal with them.

***

Elain only grew worse after that. She started openly flirting with Azriel, laughing at anything he said and placing her hand playfully on his arm. He always pulled away from her, moving to stand by your side as a silent “Stop”.

She didn’t care.

Azriel spent the nights trying to convince you that Elain didn’t matter to him, that you were the only one for him. You wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, but the comments she made when no one else could hear were getting to you.

“You’re too ugly for him.”

“Don’t you think he would want someone younger? Are you even able to give him children at your ancient age?”

“I know he wants me. He looks at me when you aren’t paying attention.”

“You’re pathetic, you know. He deserves better. He deserves someone who can stand proudly at his side.”

Her words swam around your head, eating away at you. You were sinking down into yourself, drowning in self-doubt. What if she was right? What if Azriel really did deserve better?

You began spending more time locked away in your room, an attempt to avoid Elain’s nasty comments. You had no desire to see her throw herself at Azriel, and you didn’t think you could handle much more of her taunting. A rational part of you knew that this was ridiculous, your husband would never give her a second look. Another part of you was embarrassed that this young girl was so good at getting into your head, that she had rendered you a shell of yourself. The largest part of you, unfortunately, bought in to all she said and hid away in shame.

Azriel was getting progressively more worried about you.

“My love,” he murmured, stroking his hand through your hair as he held you close. “I have half a mind to tell Rhys to send her somewhere else. Why does she trouble you so?” He couldn’t understand how Elain had torn down his perfect wife, leaving this ghost in her place.

You buried your face farther into his chest, wishing you could just disappear. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

He sighed and held you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You are the stars in the sky, the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze under my wings. Nothing, and no one, is comparable to you. Especially not Elain Archeron. You are all there is for me, you are my everything. My heart and my soul. She is nothing to me.”

Tears fell from your eyes and his words prompted you to look up, the love shining on his face washing over you. “I know, Az. I know it’s foolish to allow her to make me doubt us.” You ducked your head down, ashamed. “Though sometimes I still wonder if you should’ve been mated to someone more powerful.”

Azriel clicked his tongue at your age-old concern, a conversation the two of you had gone over many times. “You know as well as I do that that’s not true. You were the one cauldron-made for me. We were sworn to each other from the day of our creation. Do not ever forget that.” He slipped a hand under your chin, bringing you back up to look at him. He studied your face like it was a painting, like he needed to memorize everything he saw. His thumb came up and brushed away your tears as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. “Elain will never be what you are.” He kissed you again and again, swallowing your fears with his adoration.

Neither of you noticed the form of the female standing outside the slightly open door.

***

Azriel was tired, shuffling through the house after yet another mission. He hated that he had been gone so often recently, especially with the issues you’ve been having with Elain. He was sick with worry over the whole situation, and was growing aggravated with Rhys’ lack of action. Even when Azriel had spoken to his brother himself, the High Lord still struggled to believe his quiet sister-in-law was being so horrible. Az even went to Feyre, who got upset that he would accuse her sister of such things.

He ran a hand over his face, making his way to the library to find you. He was disheartened when he opened the doors and found you weren’t there. He took a seat on one of the leather couches, deciding to just wait for you there. Azriel knew that you often came around this time to browse the books, and he was too tired to continue searching for you. He gave a gentle tug on the bond to alert you that he was home before tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

***

Elain was positively delighted to find the sleeping form of the Shadowsinger. She looked around quickly to make sure no one saw as she gently closed the doors to the library behind her. She wasted no time in curling up next to him on the couch, resting her head in his lap. She slowly dragged his arm over her waist, a wicked smile coming across her face. She knew you would be coming to find him, and what a sight you would see when you did.

***

The second Cassian dropped you at the House of Wind you were practically running through the halls. When you had felt the tug that meant Azriel was back, you demanded Cass bring you home in the middle of lunch. He grumbled about not being done as you packaged the food up for him, pulling him from the little restaurant. You were in much better spirits today, Elain hadn’t approached you in days. When Cass suggested going down to Velaris to eat you had jumped at the opportunity, excited to be in the happy bustle of people who lived there.

You slid to a stop in front of the library, one of his shadows twisting around your legs. “Hello,” you cooed, a smile on your face. The shadow started moving faster, almost as if it were upset. Worry took over your heart then, concern that Azriel had gotten hurt.

You threw open the library doors and stopped dead in your tracks. There, on the couch, was Azriel. Uninjured, asleep.

And curled up on his lap was Elain.

You stood there in pure horror, not noticing Cassian coming up behind you. “What?” He said, taking in the sight in front of you. You didn’t realize you were shaking in rage until he put his hands on your arms, trying to pull you away.

“Get off of me,” you ground out, ripping your arms out of his grasp. Cassian called your name, trying to stop the explosion that was about to happen. Your vision was red, the anger and pain of seeing the two of them cuddled up like lovers too much to handle. “I’m going to kill them.”

“You will not,” came a powerful voice, Rhys stepping in front of you. “My office. Now.” You wanted to spit at his feet and tell him to shove off, but one look at his eyes told you that wouldn’t end well. You huffed, allowing him to lead you away.

Unnoticed on the couch, Elain smiled.

***

“Why would you stop me?” You practically yelled, pacing back and forth in front of Rhys.

“You can’t murder my brother and sister-in-law in their sleep.” He said, as if this was a regular occurrence.

“That filthy bitch,” you swore, turning to face Rhys head on. “I tried to tell you who she truly was, and no one listened.” You glared at him, crossing your arms in front of you.

“Elain has never showed signs of what you spoke of. As horrible as it is, could it be that Azriel was a part of this?” He regretted the words before he was even done saying them.

“Why do you refuse to believe that she could be playing a dirty game behind your back? Behind everyone’s back? I had no reason to make up lies about her, Rhysand,” you spat out, power crackling at your fingertips.

He stood, coming to stand by your side. He pulled your hands into his, looking down at your glowing fingertips. “Show me,” he said, voice hardly above a whisper. You faltered, power fading away. You were embarrassed to let him see how badly she had affected you, but you knew he would not believe you otherwise.

“Okay,” you whispered, looking up into his eyes. You felt the strange sensation of Rhys entering your mind, pulling through all your memories with Elain. He listened to all the nasty things she said when no one else could hear, and felt the pain she caused you. When he was done he looked ashamed of himself, upset that he had brushed you off.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his hands from yours. “I should have trusted you.”

You nodded. “Yea, you should have.” Rhys looked at the ground, his hands in his pockets. “I want to go away for a while. Anywhere. I can’t stand to be around her any longer, and I certainly have no interest in speaking to him.” You couldn’t even say your mates name, the hurt cutting too deep in your chest.

“As you wish,” Rhys said, “I’ll meet you on the balcony in an hour.”

***

Azriel woke with a start. Something was very, very wrong. Starting with the female asleep next to him.

He didn’t stop himself from jumping up, nearly knocking her to the floor. Not that he cared. “What are you doing?!” He hissed between his teeth, angry that she would pull a stunt like this.

Elain smiled up at him prettily, stretching as if she had been asleep for hours. “I was just sleeping, Azriel.” He hated the way she spoke his name, as if it were a sensual demand. “Your sweet little mate didn’t come to you, did she?” She fake pouted, tucking a hand under her chin.

Azriel’s eyes flared, his shadows whipping through the room. He stepped closer to her, hauling her to her feet with a strong grip on her arm. “This game you’re playing is done. Speak to me or my wife again, and I will make sure it’s the last thing you do.” He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty at the fear in her eyes as he strode from the room, searching for you.

***

Rhys had taken you out to the cabin at your request. You wanted to be somewhere alone, but safe. “What should I tell him?” He asked as he headed to leave.

“Tell him to figure out what he wants before it’s too late.” Rhys nodded, looking you over once more. “If you need anything, i’m just a call away,” he quipped, tapping the side of his head before winnowing out of sight.

You sighed, sinking down into the plush sofa in front of the fireplace. You stared into the burning flames for what felt like hours, lost in your own mind. Azriel wouldn’t have lied to you, would he? Your mate has always been an honest male, had always loved you with everything he had. You found it hard to believe that he was messing around with Elain behind your back, regardless of what you saw. You knew how nasty she could be, and wouldn’t put it past her to pull something like this.

At the same time, the image of his arm draped lovingly around her was burned into your brain. You saw it over and over again, how well they complemented each other. The strong, dark Shadowsinger and the quiet, warm Archeron sister. Had the cauldron made a mistake? You couldn’t help but remember her words, ‘three brothers and three sisters.’ You and Azriel were mated decades before she was born, it could be plausible that the cauldron had made a mistake.

Yet the cauldron had also given Elain her own mate. It wouldn’t mess up twice, would it? Unless the cauldron had meant for you and Lucien to be mated, and Elain with Azriel. Perhaps something got crossed over and the pairings were mixed. Could all your years of joy and love with Azriel be wrong? You never felt anything was awry when you were with him, always feeling like you were truly meant to be.

You sighed and wrapped a blanket tight around you, willing it to keep away the lonely cold. You couldn’t imagine a life without Azriel by your side, and you didn’t know what you would do if that’s what he wanted.

***

“Where is she?!” Azriel bellowed through the halls of the House, shadows infiltrating every room and hallway. Rhys and Cass stood in front of him, trying to calm their brother. “I know you know! What kind of a game are you playing, hiding my own mate from me?!” He was angrier than he had ever been, angry at himself, at Elain, at Rhys. How could he have let Elain play him like that?

“I won’t tell you anything until you’ve calmed down,” Rhys stated, power rising to match Azriel’s.

“Calmed down? You expect me to calm down when that witch has been ruining my mates life, and now she’s disappeared and no one will tell me where she went?!” Azriel was seething, pacing angrily in the hall.

“I’d watch how you speak about my sister, Azriel.” He whirled around to see Feyre, eyes cool as she took in his agitated form.

“Your sister is a disgusting, selfish, spoiled brat! Someone tell me where my mate is before I tear this city apart!” He didn’t care that he was yelling at his High Lady, at his High Lord and brother. All he could see was red, and he was half a second away from leaving the House and looking for her on his own.

“Enough, Azriel,” Rhys commanded, bringing attention back to him. “Feyre, unfortunately it does seem true that Elain has been acting…undesirably.” There was a silence for a moment, her eyes widening as he shared the memories you showed him.

“Oh, Az,” she soothed, taking a step closer and reaching a hand out for him.

“Don’t touch me!” He shouted, pulling back from her. “I need to know where she is. I have to explain that what she saw was a dirty trick.” The anger was fading from his voice, despair taking over. What if you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore? He wouldn’t be able to handle losing you over this.

“Az,” Rhys started, voice calm. “She asked to go away. You’re going to have to give her time to process what has happened.” He took a step towards his brother. “I am sorry I didn’t listen before. She showed me her memories, of everything Elain had said. She will be dealt with, I promise you. I should have never let it get this bad.”

Azriel knew it wasn’t entirely his fault, but that didn’t stop him from lashing out. “Yea, you should’ve listened. When has she ever lied to you, Rhysand?” He shook his head. “Let me know if she contacts you,” was the last thing he said before storming off towards your shared room.

***

Some time had passed since you left Velaris, and the loneliness was threatening to overtake you. You had felt some tugs on the bond once Azriel realized you were gone, and had shut him out. You didn’t need him bothering you as you tried to figure out what to do. After pondering for days, you still had no idea what was true or not. You felt like you were losing your grip on reality, that you were sinking down into a pit of your own creation. You’d hardly moved from the couch since you arrived, staring into the endless flames.

A knock at the door startled you, but you no longer had the energy to truly care. You turned your head slowly to see Rhys walk in, eyes full of worry. “Have you moved at all?�� He asked, taking in that the food he had left was untouched.

You shrugged.

Rhys came and sat next to you on the couch, looking you over. “He’s losing it without you,” he said softly, unsure what kind of mental state you were in.

Your eyes moved from the fire to him, stare blank. “I think you should come home. Being out here alone isn’t doing you any good. You’re withering away to nothing.”

Good. You’d rather disappear than live with the idea of Azriel and Elain. Rhys seemed to read this on your face, gingerly grabbing one of your hands in his own. “She’s been removed from the House. She’s not allowed out without Feyre or myself with her. She won’t hurt you anymore.”

You blinked. “What does Azriel think?” You asked, voice hoarse from no use.

“Az couldn’t care less about her. He’s worried about you.” There was a pleading in his eyes, begging you to come back with him.

“What if she was supposed to be cauldron-made for him?” Your voice was quiet, broken. You could feel the pain of your words as they hit Rhys, the shame of having ignored your attempts at warning him how Elain truly was.

“She isn’t. Even if you and Azriel were not mates, I have never met two people more suited for each other than you. It is clear that the love you hold is a special thing, something most won’t ever experience.” He tugs your hand closer. “Please. Come home.”

You didn’t know Rhys to lie to you, and your heart longed for Azriel. You couldn’t hide from this forever, regardless of how it turned out. “Okay,” you said, allowing him to pull you to your feet and winnow you back to Velaris.

***

Azriel was waiting when Rhys flew you back to the House, eyes wide as he took in the state of you. When Rhys set you down you immediately stumbled, head light from the lack of eating and sleeping. Azriel caught you before you could hit the ground, an alarmed gaze shooting to Rhys. “We will talk later,” he said, “take her to your room. I’ll send for Madja to check her over soon.”

Azriel nodded his thanks and carried you to your room, tucking you into the bed. You sunk into the familiar smell of him, trying to force the spinning in your head to disappear. “My love,” Azriel murmured, brushing hair out of your face. “What have I done?”

You opened your eyes and took him in. Truthfully, he didn’t look much better than you. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his face was unusually gaunt. The stress of this situation had clearly taken its toll on the both of you.

“Are you in love with her?” You asked, tears pricking at the back of your eyes.

Azriel looked at you as if you had grown two heads.

“I’m sorry? In love with Elain? In hate with her is more like it.” You couldn’t deny the acid that dripped from his words, the anger the permeated the room.

“I saw you two. Asleep in the library.”

He scoffed. “I fell asleep waiting for you. She took it upon herself to take advantage of the situation.” He looked down at his hands, silver lining his eyes. “I never should have let it go this far.”

You sat up slowly, reaching out for him. Azriel moved quickly, gently laying you back down as he laid beside you. “Easy, my love. Your body is weak.” You hadn’t realized how bad you had gotten during your time at the cabin, suddenly feeling dizzy and sick.

“I’m so sorry, Az. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t handle it,” you sobbed, not even noticing the tears that had started falling.

“No, no. Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. I should’ve fought harder against her, tried harder to get Rhys to listen.” He cupped your cheek, running his thumb through your tears. You curled into his touch, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest.

You cried until your head was pounding, Azriel whispering sweet nothings into your ears. “I love you. Only you.” Your tears slowly stopped, until you felt confident enough to look up at him.

“I love you. I shouldn’t have doubted you,” you said, leaning up to kiss him.

A knock sounded at the door. Azriel jumped up to get it, letting Madja into the room. She began checking you over, tsking at the state of you. “I’ll give you something for dehydration, and you’ll need to start introducing food again. Start with soup, and work your way up. I have a sleep aid as well, I recommend you take it promptly.” She ran her hands over your arms and legs, ensuring all your bones were still in good shape. She did the same over your head, shoulders, and chest.

“Your heart sounds good, and your lungs are working well. You were lucky the High Lord came when he did, much more of letting yourself wither away and you’d have a significantly harder recovery ahead of you,” she chided, continuing her check of your body. Her hands swept over your abdomen before she paused, bringing them back up. “Ah,” she murmured, Azriel immediately on guard.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” He asked, gripping your hand a tad too tightly.

Madja shook her head. “No, nothing is wrong.” She looked up at you and cocked her head. “You are a lucky girl, you know. Not many pregnant fae could have refused food and drink for that long and still kept a reasonably healthy body and fetus.”

You stared at her.

She stared back.

Azriel stared at the both of you.

“What?” You finally asked, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

She smiled, pressing her hands against your abdomen again. “A baby. Healthy, winged, i’d say 12 or so weeks along?” 12 weeks? You did the math in your head, realizing with a start that around 12 weeks ago Elain started terrorizing you. That shortly after that her words began affecting you worse and worse, that you couldn’t understand why she was able to make you so upset.

Now you knew.

“A baby,” Azriel whispered, looking at you. Madja took that as her cue to leave, placing the medicine on your nightstand and slipping from the room. He pulled you into his arms, inhaling your scent deeply. Sure enough, there it was. A lighter, fresh scent hidden under yours. He must have missed it throughout the recent stress and his back-to-back missions.

“A baby,” you whispered back, more tears threatening to fall. “Our baby.”

You saw tears of his own in Azriel’s eyes as he leaned down to kiss you, whispering “baby” in between each kiss.

The ordeal with Elain behind you, you allowed yourself to slip off into sleep, dreams of your future with Azriel and your child playing in your mind.

***

I’m so sorry this took so long for me to finish! I got into a bit of a writing rut, but I hope this was what you wanted. Thank you so much for your request! <3

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #requests #the other woman

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starrykaulitz · 11 months

Text

$. kissing girls

☆ synopsis ; you can’t help but feel as a certain ‘emo’ boy behind to eye-fuck you from across the room. (based on this bit in the ‘scream mv’)

★ pairing ; bill x fem!reader

☆ word count ; 2388

★ warnings ; sex, p in v, language, smut (18+), dirty talk?, fingering, idk girl on girl??, overstimulation.

a/n ; i made this like a month ago and finished it only now so if its all over the place thats why mb lmao

☆

the lights were dimmed, your eyes squinted as you felt your most recent drink flood your head– vision blurry and mind spinning. the music hummed in your ears as you felt the press of another behind you. someone's hands ran down your waist, causing you to turn and face their owners

you were met with a girl, smirking as she looked you up and down, you returned the same look and wrapped your hands around her neck, allowing for the beat to create a rhythm between you two.

though you had been what your friends called ‘drunk’, your senses only seemed to have heightened as your hairs pricked upward, feeling the stare of another. your eyes searched the room until they fell upon the other pair which had been unashamedly enjoying the view of your hips twisting and turning.

he wore dark make-up, dark clothing, and had dark hair done-up in a way in which you’d never seen before. not only did this man intrigue you, you found him rather attractive- dismissing the fact that you’d also secretly been enjoying the eye-fuck which he’d been giving what seemed to only be you.

he was leaning cooly against the wall– away from the party's congested dance floor which you’d been almost in the middle of– next to him, another tall man who wore clothes of considerable size, his dreaded hair poking out of the flat cap which seemed to cover the majority of his face.

though he wasn’t your point of interest– somehow in the span of a few seconds the emo boy seemed to have become the pursuit for this party– and by how he was soaking in every inch of your figure, you seemed to be his too.

then, pulling away from the ravishing eye-contact, you’d face the girl again– placing her mouth next to her ear.

“you gay?” you shrilled into her ear, attempting to communicate over the blaring noise.

“don’t thinks so.”

“okay, good.” and without a second thought, you took a hold of her hand and began to drag her out of the dance floor and up to the stairs leading to a balcony– another part of the house which overflowed with drunken teenagers.

as you began to climb the stairs, you made one quick look behind you in hopes that the mysterious emo would be following, and to your surprise, he was nowhere to be found. You scowled for only a moment before finally holding your head high, making your way through the crowd and to the couch located against the wall. as you propped yourself onto it, the girl followed in suit. slowly, your hand traveled to the back of her neck as your mouth found itself in a familiar position.

“can I kiss you?” you whispered into her ear.

“ofcourse!” she beamed before seconds later, she planted her lips on yours. they were soft, feminine, a feeling unfamiliar to your mouth–though you embraced it.

the girl slowly pushed you down until she had been straddling you, causing a few cooies before what seemed to be the entirety of the upstairs party began cheering you on.

taking advantage of this moment, you ran your hand through her hair and allowed your tongues to mix. as the noises of others became louder, your eyes fluttered open, lips still planted on hers. instantly, you were met with the familiar eye-shadowed face which you’d been hoping to catch the attention of. he had only been a few feet away– dark eyes fixed on you, filled with what seemed to be a mix of lust and curiosity– he used his forearm to lean against the wall, studying the act taking place in front of him.

you smirked against the girls lips, tongues still moving together as your gaze stayed fixed on the mysterious boys. a smirk gradually painted his face as his stare followed you, head tilting to appreciate your different angles.

with hesitation, you closed your eyes once more before carrying the kiss into an upright position, sloppily separating your lips from one-another. the girl instantly chuckled– a few seconds passed and you’d joined her.

though through the laughter and cheers of your now audience members, your head rotated until it was facing the boy who seemed to be in the same position he was in only moments ago. then, through his longing stare, a sparkle of something– he began to move away from the wall and down the corridor located behind him.

you stood from the couch in a hurry, thanked the girl, then began to follow the tall boy– straightening your mini-skirt in the process. you turned the corner and watched as the boy walked into an open-door– presumed to be a bathroom. as your legs shakily carried your now heavy body, you hesitantly entered.

there he was, hands buried deep in the pockets of his black skinny jeans. though his feminine appearance denied him, he had a certain look of dominance scarring his face.

“hi…” was all you could mutter.

“some act out there.” he mumbled only moments before he crashed his lips into yours. your eyes widened in shock, though as his soft hands met your cheeks, you couldn’t help but allow him to take over.

your mouths naturally found a quick and heavy rhythm. he backed you into the door you’d just entered through, locking it in the process as you began fighting for air. you instantly felt your body burning up with lust as he pushed up against your front, earning a small muffled moan from you.

as his tongue began exploring the crevices of your mouth, the cold metal of his tongue piercing seemed to make your legs go weak at the knee. his hands slowly caressed your neck, wide fingers gripping into it as he tilted your head to the side, revealing a clear canvas of skin to begin painting his hickies on.

the small bites and sucks brought out small moans from you as you gripped onto his hair-sprayed filled locks. slowly, his hands began exploring your body, appreciating every curve and bump which your physique presented. as he found the hem of your shirt, his long fingers slowly made their way underneath the thin fabric, his mouth leaving your neck only to lift the shirt over your head, throwing it behind him as his mouth rushed back to your plump, lipstick smeared lips.

his hands traveled to the back of your lace bra and unclasped it with ease, a small smirk presenting itself as his action impressed you.

slowly, his lips lowered themselves to your collarbone, licking and sucking for a few seconds before you felt cold fingers hovering over the buttons of your mini-skirt. one had been undone, then the next. he slid them into the skirt, slowly rubbing circles over the fabric of your underwear. “fuck…”

and with that, he began to devour your lips again, fingers working even harder at the sensitive nub of your aching core. suddenly, his digits had found the entrance to your underwear. feeling flesh against flesh made your eyes roll to the back of your head before he’d pushed a single finger in.

“you're so wet.” he mumbled against your lips, breath hitching in his throat as he moaned at the sensation of your slick entrance.

your head lolled backward until it was resting against the door–you needed something to hold onto as his pace quickened within you. you bit your lip as you felt his teeth bite into your neck again, holding back a loud moan.

his second digit entered you, beginning to feel your core tighten around it. the familiar high had been approaching after only a matter of minutes had passed. the man was skilled with his fingers, their pace pumping into you insistently before you felt your legs begin to tremble.

“cum on my fingers…” he mumbled into your ear before nibbling on its tip, making you bite harder into your lip.

and following his orders, you’d come undone on this stranger's fingers as you pathetically failed in hiding your whines.

“fuck!” you squealed as his fingers continued pumping into you as he watched your mouth hang open in an ‘o’ whilst your eyes squinted at the overstimulation.

“you look so pretty like this…” you clutched onto his neck eagerly, his smirk only widening at your desperate grip.

“i knew as soon as i saw you that you’d make pretty noises.” he almost whined before finally his fingers slowed their rapid pace, leaving your aching hole and placing them in his mouth.

he hummed at the taste of you, his eyes soaking in how pathetic you’d looked as your legs shook and your head fell against the door.

his fingers left his mouth with a pop, and before you knew it, he’d grabbed your hand and dragged you to the sink, lifting your hips until you were propped on top of the vanity.

as his height had allowed you to now be face-to-face, his lips met with your once again. hunger filled his tongue as it explored your now familiar mouth, his hands ravaging your body before he removed your panties and threw them to the floor.

“what’s your name?” he huffed within the kiss,

you answered with your name, he returned his own. bill.

your breath was hot against one-another as your hands snaked to bill’s belt, beginning to undo it and finding the tent within his boxers with haste.

he winced as you made contact with his erection, forcing him to withhold the kiss as you began palming at his boxers.

“fuck…” he cursed under his breath, eyes squinting as his head fell low in ecstasy–he hadnt even been in you and you’d forced soft whimpers to escape his scarlet lips.

slowly, he removed your hands from his boxers and let them fall to the floor before lining himself up with your slick entrance–bill had been eager to feel you.

he slipped between your folds a few times before steadily, he began to enter you.

bill let out a long shaky breath at the feeling of his member being fully engulfed by your pussy, gripping onto the mirror behind your head as his pace started slow and gentle. he allowed time for you to become comfortable with his length–which had been large.

though with the next few thrusts, his pace had quickened and become rather erratic, causing you to cry out his name.

he watched as your boobs began bouncing with each rough thrust, taking one hand off of the wall and beginning to massage it– teasing your nipple with his fingers tips.

you whined against his soft touch contrasting his rather rough pumps which invaded your already over-sensitized pussy. you finally lifted yourself up and off the comfort of the wall behind you, wrapping your arms around his long neck before your fingers met his spiky-hair. you pulled at it slightly, earning a low moan from bill.

you smirked, realizing you’d found a soft spot.

you tugged at it again, feeling as his dick began to twitch within you.

“d-don’t… do that.” he grunted before his pace began to falter.

“why?” he hesitated for a moment.

“i won’t last…” he mumbled before picking up his pace once more, whining in your ear as you continued to tug at his black locks.

you couldn’t help but feel as your second orgasm began to flutter within your lower stomach, triggered by the boy's soft moans and whines as his hand began slipping down the now foggy glass of the mirror behind you.

“fuck… you feel so good.” he panted between thrusts, struggling to speak as he held back his own high.

he slowed once again as if teasing you, causing you to whine in annoyance as you begged to be handled with no mercy.

“harder!” you cried out, and at this, bill dragged you off of the counter and turned you in one swift movement–his dick leaving you for only mere moments before you felt him penetrated you once again, the slap of skin sending chills down your nape.

“fuck!” you cursed as he began to fuck into you from behind, lifting your skirt to your waist in order to watch as his cock pumped into you.

he bit his lip at the view before turning to the mirror in front of him, watching your face which now hung low over the sink as you processed each intense thrust.

“look at yourself.” he huffed before he clawed at your hair, forcing your neck upward until you were met with your own errotic expressions.

“how’d you like your hair being pulled, huh?” you adored it, showing that by biting your lip and letting out a string of eager moans.

bills hands began to grope at your ass before he felt your pussy tighten around him. he let out another whine, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, nor could you.

“bill, i’m gonna cum!” you whined as you watched his own mouth fall agape in ecstasy, his eyes lolling to the back of his head.

“i can’t wait to fill you up.” he grunted through gritted teeth, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he felt the knot within him loosen.

“please, please finish in me!” you begged, and as you did, you felt bills warm seed shoot into you. he cried out your name and finished with a string of curses, though continuing his pumps until he felt you come undone underneath him.

you whined his name as you felt your second orgasm slam into you, your legs shaking as you felt your knees begin to buckle.

you both panted as you allowed time to return to reality, feeling as his seed dribbled down your thigh. he’d still been inside you, the grip on your hair vanishing as his other still latched onto your waist.

your eyes had been shut as you felt his long fingers connect to your jaw, turning your head until your eyes met his.

“that…that girl…” he panted between labored breath,

“did you do that to turn me on?”

you nodded sluggishly, barely having any ability left to talk, though you finally fought against your sore state to speak.

“maybe…did it work?”

he returned your question with the same drowsy nod.

#bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz x you

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lixie-phoria · 5 months

Text

↳ ♡₊˚. tag, you're it ꒱

— skz helping 9th member reader w/ her paranoid personality disorder

requested - yes // 9th fem!member who has paranoid personality disorder (PPD) and she always thinks that she isn’t alone in the dorms when she’s by herself? The boys don’t know anything about is as she hides it from them but one day the boys get a camera for the living room as weird things have been happening when they aren’t there... skz x 9th member fem!reader / warnings - angst w happy ending, mentions of anxiety, paranoia, stalkers, and paranoid personality disorder / 3.2k words / a/n - this is the longest fic i've ever written 😭

"boo!"

"fuck!"

you gasped in shock, stumbling back as hyunjin popped out from behind the couch, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"did i scare you?" he giggles, standing up properly and making his way towards you, failing to notice how you eyes were still quivering with fright and your tight grip on your phone.

"why would you do that, hyunjin?"

you sound off, your voice an octave higher and trembling with an emotion that confuses him. was he sensing anger?

"it's just a joke ynnie. calm down."

it wasn't just a joke to you, though. it was much more than that. but you couldn't to explain it to him, so you leave him in the living room with an eye roll, staring at your retreating figure in confusion.

hyunjin doesn't bring it up after that. maybe he just happened to catch you on one of your bad days.

but he begins noticing things ever since - things that weren't necessarily normal. things that you have always done, but this time when he really thinks about it, they're a bit strange.

how you're always extra jumpy, flinching at every loud sound, refusing to leave the house without an unnecessary amount of security, being extra cautious when you went to public events, and straight up refusing to socialize with anyone more than necessary.

your members always labelled it on you being an introvert. but to the extent that you barely even spoke about yourself to your own members? as though scared to trust them with information? that wasn't normal, was it?

hyunjin thinks hard. he's a bit worried about you, but he doesn't know what to do.

tell chan? no. chan didn't need more problems on his plate.

confront you? no. you hated confrontation. it would worsen things.

talk to another member about it? maybe. but you might get mad at him. you always hated people meddling with your personal life.

so he stays silent for a while, observing from a distance.

and he begins picking up on signs soon enough.

you were paranoid. extremely paranoid. he caught you looking over your shoulder every few minutes, expertly dodging personal questions, being hypersensitive to criticism, having spells of moodiness that followed no particular pattern, suddenly giving your own members the cold shoulder, over analysing every little interaction you had with people. it was worrisome.

yes maybe hyunjin was looking into it too much and it wasn't that big of a deal. but he couldn't brush off a certain thought nagging him at the back of his mind. something was definitely up, and it was about time he spoke to the others about it.

"I think yn has a stalker." hyunjin mutters, shifting uncomfortably in his seat under the blank gazes of the other 7.

"what?" chan sounds confused, eyebrows furrowed as he shares an unsure glance with lee know. "did she say anything?"

that was the problem. you didn't. so he had no solid proof other than his theories.

"well, not really" he rubs the back of his neck. "but something is wrong. I know it. she's been acting weird."

"weird as in?"

"it's the usual. she hasn't changed. but when you look into her habits, they're not normal hyung."

it's tense. nobody knows what to say until changbin breaks the silence.

"what do you mean by not normal?"

"I don't mean it in a bad way," hyunjin hastily defends. "it's the way she's so paranoid, always on the edge. it can't be anxiety. anxiety doesn't make you act that way. it's almost like she's scared of something or someone."

he leaves it at that, allowing for the others to ponder over it.

your managers hadn't mentioned anything. maybe it was a sasaeng bothering you? maybe you slipped up and you were scared to share it with the company? scared of their berating?

"we can't jump to conclusions, can we?" felix interjects, fingers anxiously drumming against the table.

hyunjin shakes his head. "we can't. that's why i've been observing her for the past few weeks, and this was the most reasonable explanation i could find."

"what exactly made you start looking into it?"

"i tried jump scaring her two weeks ago, when she thought she was alone at the dorms. and she was so livid she didn't even crack a smile. i thought maybe she was just in a bad mood but for a few days after she kept acting strange around me. she would barely speak to me and even when she did she wouldn't meet my eyes."

chan hums, a frown twisting against his features. if hyunjin's guess was correct, you could be in serious trouble. and if he thought about it, there may just be a chance the boy was right. if you really did have a stalker threatening you, the chances you told them about it were close to zero. you were never one to confide in people easily.

"let's not tell the managers about it, yeah? we'll all observe her too. try seeing if there's anything out of the ordinary?"

and so they all agree, leaving the company in a much worse mood than with which they had entered. you were alone back at the dorms. it was your first day off in a very long time. hence hyunjin had chosen that moment to tell the others.

the drive back is tense. nobody says much. a few of them scroll through social media, trying to see if there's any news about a stalker. but they come up with nothing.

everything seems normal.

that is until they reach their apartment.

the change is immediately obvious. when chan unlocks the door, he stumbles back in surprise when he sees their dinner table blocking the corridor of the entrance, preventing them from entering the living room. the couch had also noticeably shifted, turned such that anyone sitting on it would have a clear view of the windows and the front door. every window is shut, the latches bolted.

"what the fuck happened here?" seungmin mutters in shock, carefully lifting the table from one end and moving it to make space for them to enter. the entire layout had changed.

"where's yn?"

all of them are visibly terrified as they make their way deeper into the dorm, noticing the can of pepper spray lying on the center table.

"yn!"

no answer.

"fuck. I hope she's okay."

there's nothing they can do besides hope as they reach your door. it's locked. there's no sound coming from the other side.

"yn?" Chan's voice wavers as he silently knocks at your door.

no answer.

"yn! it's us!" lee know pounds against the door.

there's a moment of tense silence before they hear the unmistakable click of your lock.

"hi?"

your hair is ruffled and your eyes puffy. you had been asleep.

it takes you by surprise when jeongin pushes his hyungs aside to grab you by the shoulders, chest heaving with the fright you had given them.

"what's wrong innie? why do you guys look like you've seen a ghost?"

"what's wrong? you tell us yn. why is all our furniture completely rearranged?"

for the first time your eyes land on the living room, and you gulp.

shit. you forgot to clean up.

"there was a bee. I was trying to kill it."

"what?"

it sounds ridiculous even to your own ears, but it's the best excuse you have.

"yeah. that's why the windows are closed. it got in somehow and I lost it. I was just trying to search for it." you shrug.

"what about the pepper spray?"

"I couldn't find the bug repellent."

the excuses come to you naturally.

"yn please-"

"it's not that big of a deal, oppa" you cut chan off, defensively crossing your arms. "you know I hate bugs. that's all there is to this. now will you please let me go back to sleep?"

you don't wait for their reply, shutting the door and locking it, leaving your members half confused and half exasperated. you were lying to them.

"please tell me none of you believed her." hyunjin whispers into the silence of the afternoon, taking care that you don't overhear them.

"something's definitely wrong," han agrees, his foot bouncing unconsciously against the carpet. "she's hiding something."

"but what?"

the million dollar question. what were you hiding? was it really a stalker?

"should we tell the managers about it now?"

"I think we should," lee know adds, looking at the others for confirmation.

"don't you think she'll be angry? she doesn't like people meddling with her business. you know how defensive she gets."

all of them turn to chan. in the end, it would be his say.

"I think we should try figuring out the reason first ourselves."

"but-"

"a motion detector and CCTV camera might work. hidden from sight, of course. it would alert us."

changbin hums, agreeing with their leader. "We could give it a try. It's better than nothing."

and so the plan is set. felix makes an excuse of buying parts for his PC and brings home the camera and motion detector. when you go to shower the next morning, the device is expertly concealed and motion detectors set in place.

chan insists you stay back that day too, going on for a long time about something related to your health and dark circles and what not. you agree reluctantly, and they don't fail to notice it. you didn't want to be alone. that was something.

"don't worry ynnie," jeongin reassures you as he ties his shoe lace while the others wait for him at the entrance. "the company is only 5 minutes away, we wont be far."

"are we just going to wait around here with nothing to do?" lee know asks, leaning back into the couch in their dance room.

"we don't have another option."

and so they do exactly that - wait. but it's not for long.

fifteen minutes into their boredom the first alarm goes off. the motion detectors had been triggered and the bell rings from chan's phone - where the control system had been set up.

"quick, check the camera!"

all eight of them huddle around chan's screen, watching intently at the familiar sight of their living room, eyes scanning for any sign of someone trying to break in.

but it's only you. you're pacing the living room, hands wringing by your side as you keep looking over your shoulder, flinching every time a paper rustles or the curtains move from the wind.

"what's wrong with her?"

felix furrows his brows, looking at the controls on chan's screen to make sure that the motion detector outside their front hasn't been activated. that meant nobody was trying to break in.

"she seems terrified."

"call her."

seungmin wastes no time in dialing your contact, and they watch in unison as you very nearly jump out of your skin when your phone goes off, a hand going to clutch your chest as you collapse into the couch.

"hello?"

your voice sounds normal. they wouldn't have suspected anything if they couldn't see your leg anxiously bouncing.

"is everything okay there?" seungmin asks carefully. he can't giveaway that they're secretly keeping an eye on you.

"uh yeah- yeah sure. everything is fine. why?"

"no reason. I was just taking a break."

"oh."

"alright stay safe. We'll be back in a while."

Seungmin is just about to hang up when you stop him.

"wait!"

for the first time a hysterical note seeps into your voice.

"yes?"

he's met with silence as they notice you pondering over something through the camera.

"yn?"

"nevermind. it's nothing. don't overwork yourself."

chan sighs deeply as he listens to you over the speaker, his fingers tightly gripping the edges of his phone.

you mutter your bye, and they watch you get up, carefully placing your phone on the table.

and then you do what they had been waiting for.

pushing your weight against the couch, you move it directly towards the wall, leaving no gap in between.

another alarm goes off on chan's phone.

then you angle it a bit, the same way they had found it the day before, such that you have a clear view of all entrances to the dorm.

all this while anxiously looking over your shoulder, once even jumping a bit as your foot got stuck on a fold in the carpet. your movements are tense, screaming with urgency, and it's the breaking point for them.

"that's it. we're going back," changbin huffs as he stands up, the other following behind quickly. chan maintains his concentration on the screen.

"she's turning on the t.v," chan informs, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder and following them out of the building.

the ride back is silent. if their manager picks up on the strange atmosphere he doesn't mention it, and they're grateful to that. lying to their manager would be worse than hiding this from him.

it's only a five minutes drive, but it feels like eternity. when they finally enter the building, running up the stairs, it's eerie how peaceful their apartment looks from the out.

"do we knock or?"

"no. it might scare her."

seungmin pulls out the key from his pocket, trying to be as soft as possible as he unlocks the door, not wanting to startle you with any sudden noise.

"yn?"

chan quickly turns off his phone, stepping through the threshold.

you're sitting exactly where they saw you, some show mindlessly playing on the t.v. your eyes lock in on them as you scramble up.

"you guys are early. it's barely been half an hour."

should they tell you truth? confront you? try to coax it out of you? be subtle about it?

"guys?"

they snap out of their trance, their voices immediately breaking the silence of the dorm.

"yeah! we didn't want to leave you by yourself for long."

"oh."

you take your place on the couch, and raise a brow as they all settle themselves around you too. they don't change or wash up or anything. they just silently occupy any empty space they can find.

it's strange.

"are you guys ok?" you voice, turning off the t.v to look at felix who's sitting beside you.

silence.

they all exchange glances. someone has to bring it up.

"are you okay?" hyunjin finally asks, turning his body to face yours.

"what?"

"yn, please. just answer him."

"no no what do you mean hyune?"

you voice is an octave higher, hands digging into the leather cushion of their couch.

"yn," chan tries to pacify. they hadn't expected this to escalate over a simple question.

"what? why are all of you looking at me like that? i'm fine there's nothing wrong with me."

"yn-"

"stop interfering in things that aren't your business!" you finally snap, cutting felix off as you stand up, turning to face them. "this is none of your business so keep out of it!"

you're breathing heavily and a beat passes in silence.

"yn, what's wrong love?"

chan carefully gets up to put an arm over your shoulder, gently pulling you down to sit. you're trembling and barely half a minute passes before you crumble into chan's shoulder - suddenly - sobs punctuating the silence of the afternoon.

"i'm sorry," you manage between gasps. "i'm so sorry."

even chan look alarmed as he hurriedly tries to calm you down.

"there's nothing to be sorry about, ynnie. please talk to us."

but you can barely talk. you're all but wailing as the other seven huddle around you, their reassurances mixing together.

"i lied. i've been a terrible friend, snapping at you all the time. i'm so sorry it's all my fault."

"yn-"

"nothing is okay. everything is a mess and i don't know what to do."

the leader gently coaxes your face out from where it's nestled in his neck, and rubs a thumb below your waterline, collecting the salt streams streaking down your face.

"ynnie. please calm down, yeah? we want to help. tell us what's wrong."

"i'm- i'm messed up, chan. that's what is wrong."

"don't say that! it's not true."

you break down into another torment of sobs, and they hurry to calm you down.

"it's my head. it's messing with me. something is wrong. i just-," you voice breaks as chan leans to plant a soft kiss against your temple. "-i just don't know what."

"what do you mean?" hyunjin asks softly.

you take your time, elaborating through sobs and broken gasps about your suspected condition. if you had thought they would judge you, you were completely wrong. they listen attentively, comforting you through it.

"i don't want to, but i can't help it," you whisper, leaning into chan's touch. "my brain convinces me that there's always someone hiding just beyond my sight. everytime i speak to someone i'm wired into believing they'll use that information against me somehow, or they'll try to harm me. public events are a nightmare. i don't remember the last time i've been to an award show and felt alright."

"oh yn."

han all but pounces on you and chan, ruffling your hair as hiccups wrack through your figure.

they've never seen you like this. they've never seen anyone like this, in fact.

"it's so loud in my head. it started off small, i didn't even notice when i began thinking or feeling this way. but it just got worse and worse to the point where i've been an absolute pain to all of you - snapping at you, lying to you, fighting with you. i just- i don't know what to do anymore."

"hey hey, listen to me, yeah? this is not your fault. and you haven't been a pain. don't ever think that again," chan reminds you, coaxing you to face him, heart breaking a little at the tears streaking your face.

"but-"

"nope. nuh-uh. no blaming this on yourself."

you chin wobbles as you try to control a fresh onslaught of sobs.

all of them are so understanding you don't even know if you're crying from all the love or the confrontation.

"we'll help you through this, yn. we promise. you don't have to suffer through this alone."

"you don't have to do this. you're all already so busy and-"

"your mental health is a lot more important to us than anything else," felix interjects flatly, rubbing a soothing hand over your back.

"yeah! you've been hiding this for so long and we just want to help you feel better again! no matter what it takes."

you flash a grateful smile to changbin through the tears, earning an encouraging grin from him.

"you're all too nice for your own good. thank you."

"don't worry you can repay us by letting me jump scare you!"

"yah hyunjin do you want to be stuffed into the air fryer?"

it didn't take a genius to figure out who the comment came from as you giggled softly.

it's going to be okay, you think. you know your boys will help you through it, and that itself was the first step of your recovery.

you'll be fine.

401 notes · View notes

seraphimaa · 2 months

Text

Doll for a day

Soft(ish) Raphael x fem!Reader/Tav

Slight Haarlep x Fem!reader/Tav

Raphael comes home unexpectedly while a certain somebody is playing with his toys. Tav thinks that playing dead is preferable to facing his wrath. Maybe, in hindsight, it was not her brightest idea.

PART 2 IS UP

Warnings: kind of of dubcon, confessions under false pretences, feelings (boo!😈)

“Haarlep.”

That stern, musical voice cuts like a knife through the washing pleasure she had been so lost in. Ice jolts down her spine and suddenly it feels like someone has turned on the lights. The body over her freezes much the same, buried to the hilt as she clenches down on him, muscles going taut.

She sees the spark of surprise and fear mould the face hanging over her. She guesses that though she worries for her general well-being and survival in the upcoming moments, Haarlep was no doubt reeling at the thought of being put on the naughty step. Nobody ever let him have any fun in this house. The little mouse had been so easy to catch. So desperate to see the eyes he wore look at her the ways that he had. ‘The master is away. He’ll be gone for so long. Aren’t you lonely, little mouse? He’s lonely too and he’s wanted you for so long. Please give yourself to him.’ He’d promised that it would be their little secret and she’d all but melted before him, climbing across the satin, trembling.

“What little pest has managed to crawl out of my walls and find its way into my boudoir?”

Haarlep had promised that he’d let her go long before Raphael was due to return. “don’t worry” he’d said, “give me your trust. You’re perfectly safe with me.” Gods, she was going to haunt him. What a little shit. She did know, however, that he is clearly as caught off guard as she is.

The sounds of Raphael’s polished shoes clack across the tiles near the entrance.

The timbre changes as he reaches the oak flooring and she feels like she could faint, like her mind is floating above her and watching the scene from some detached place. A sigh.

“My fine cormyrean sheets, Haarlep!” He sounds appalled. “Do you know how much they cost, you animal?”

The little demon spawn stays in place, back facing him but tail flicking in obvious unease.

“Thousands. I won’t bore you with exact figures, harlot, as you’ve never been particularly apt in finances…or general intellectual engagement. So, let me ask you again, what little pest have you caught and defiled now? Gods they’re absolutely saturated. You’ve torn them too!”

She could feel her breathing quicken as his rage seems to rapidly increase.

“Hup, hup, Haarlep. Go sulk in the corner. I’m sure you’ll just drown in remorse while I clean up this mess. I’ve had a busy day, you know, and now I have to throw away your leftovers and order new sheets, too. Can a man not relax in his own forsaken house? Is it too much to ask for?”

The is tap, tap, tapping his foot on the ground is motivated, no doubt, by the unavoidable headache that he’d be forced to soothe with a glass of vintage later.

Haarlep begins to lean backwards, his eyes glued to hers. He was curious, excited to see what she was going to do but she could see that he was also silently pleading with her to act very carefully, for both of their sakes. She feels herself flush in humiliation as she loses the physical and psychological shield of Haarlep between them and as much as she desperately wants to curl into a ball and hide, her limbs remain frozen in place, her body completely detached from her thought and command. This was more than she could handle.

The incubus detaches from her and the air catches in her throat as he pulls out completely from her clenching hole, swollen lips left empty and drooling. Another breath catches in the air, but it’s not her own. She wishes she could sink into the sheets and disappear. Part of her is half tempted to just roll off of the bed then under the frame, never to come out again. Nevertheless, she still does not move. Her eyes glue themselves to a small crack in the ceiling above her and her face is slack in shock. Her hair is wild and splayed around her, her legs spread from accommodating their recent guest, her dumb and vacant face flushed a scandalous shade of crimson.

From her peripheral, Haarlep tries to scamper off, tail between his legs, but he’s stopped by his master raising one hand at him, eyes still glued to the little mouse on his bed.

His other hand snatches towards her, latching to her chin and he glowers down his nose at her in his own shock. She refuses to shift her gaze, focussing hard in every detail of the splintered paint above. He jerks her head left and her vision spins then fills with the detailed threading on the edges of his doublet and the hatched material of his trouser legs. He jerks to the right and her visions swims again, filling with stained glass and hazy walls as her other cheek meets the bed. He stands over her like this for some time and she is thankful to be facing the opposite wall as her eyes well in fear. She’s unsure what he plans to do as he continues to ponder her, simmering.

“Haarlep.” She can hear the effort behind the barely collected tone.

“Please, tell me that I’m mistaken. Please, tell me that you didn’t actually suck the soul right out of my most valuable investment. Please,” his voice cracks slightly, “tell me you didn’t just ruin everything everything I had worked so hard for.”

“Master-“

Before the incubus can interject again, Raphael’s claws seize him and suddenly he’s careening. He’s marched blindly backwards under the cambion’s grip, as the rant continues.

“You had one job, not to get meddle. Not to ruin this one thing. I swear I shall send you back into the rotten abyss you crawled out of.”

Haarlep’s legs meet the balcony ledge and he stumbles and plummets over the edge with a yelp. Raphael does not wait to watch his descent and turns back into the room. Stopping again at the edge of the bed.

He stills and heaves a deep sigh, fingers coming to pinch at his brow. He looks again at the mindless doll, all to familiar I shape, on the bed. Her potential was supposed to be so much greater than this. She was the one who would bring him his crown. She could have been his chosen, but there was nothing left. Nothing but her prone form still draped open in mocking invite. He tries to ignore the ache. Tries not to imagine that the invite was for him, that she would have lay so sweet for his craven self.

She knows she should say, do, anything. She screams inside to just start apologising and take the consequences, because there is no avoiding the inevitable but after watching the fate of the incubus, she feels her voice disappear back down her throat and her limbs cement themselves to the silk below. He thinks her to be but a lifeless husk and that was about the only role she felt capable of playing in this moment. He approaches her again and she feels another wave of adrenaline wash over her as he stares down at her, this time his face seems almost defeated. Glum. His eyes search over her. He looks into her eyes. They’re glassy and fixed. They look scared. He doesn’t know what it is that washes over him at the image of her terrified and trapped under the copy of his form as her soul is leeched from her, but he knows that he doesn’t like it. Her cheeks remain rosy, a lurking evidence of her undoing. Her lips are parted in a little gasp. What noises had left them in this very room? Her face looked shocked and horrified, tinged with shame and the remnants of her recent euphoria. Her death mask. From her lips left quick puffs of air but the life that remained in her shell held no more value. His little mouse wasn’t in there anymore. Not in any way that mattered, or so he believes.

With another dramatic sigh, he sags to sit on the edge of the bed, back facing to her. He leans his arms into his knees and considers how to salvage this wagon crash. He could not afford to wallow in childish fantasies and feelings. They never did him any good. She had disappointed him, immensely. He knows not of why she’d come skittering to his house but she’d found her end here none the less. His house was not built to cater to her meek nature. It was done now. He can not stop thinking, however, about what had led her to sneak behind his back and play with his toys. He couldn’t stop that nagging voice in his head reminding him that regardless of her reason to poke around, she’d been distracted by the fiend wearing his visage. She’d been lured in by the promise of laying under him. She was so willing to give herself, and she’d done so with such reckless abandon that she’d let a lowly fool like Haarlep steal her soul. She’d come into his sanctuary and used him without permission. Was she really so desperate? Did she share his hunger?

A wicked thought crosses his mind. He would dispose of her, as was the right thing to do, for it brought him no honour to keep her this way. It was sacrilege. She was, however, right here. She was gone by all means, but her body was still warm and willing. There was nothing to stop him using the carcass of her form as she had used his. It was harmless. Nobody would ever even have to know. She’d be his little secret and then he’d finally rid himself of her once and for all. Rid himself of the hold she had on him.

The screaming in her head falls silent in horror as she feels the bed dip and weight of him straddle her hips. He kneels over her, eyes flicking around, trying not to meet hers. He feels like she is watching him from inside herself. It is almost like she is still there and it makes him feel an uncomfortable twinge of vulnerability.

He brings one claw up to her mouth, pressing it over the curve of her lips and lets it push past, pressing against the ridges of her teeth. He pulls her mouth open, slackening her jaw down as far as he could until it resists, then eases his clawed finger back inside. The tip of certain scratches along the walls of her mouth, over her tongue, and her eyes bulge as it dips down and slips into her throat. She knows that she should stop it right bloody now before it goes even further but a coward she certainly is and she can’t even perceive facing his wrath right now. Her mind continues to feel locked behind the safeguarding of shock and fear, not able to pilot her body to do anything helpful. Her hands twitch at her sides but it escapes his rapt attention in testing her mouth. His face twitches slightly as her throat contacts slightly around his appendage and she realises he is palming himself, his knuckles occasionally bumping her stomach as he works his freed cock.

He plays around with her like this until his fingers come back soaked and stringing with her saliva as it pools - there’s a lump in her throat and she can’t seem swallow.

He clambers up the bed, hanging over her to grasp the headboard, and the intricate detailing of his doubled fills her vision again. She sees him staring down at her from above her point of focus. She tries think about anything other than his face. She swears she must be dreaming, losing her grip on sanity, as her she feels something heavy and hot press it’s weight onto her tongue. He presses the crimson, tapered tip of his cock into her mouth, feeling the wet cavern widen even further to allow him to slide inside. He hears her breathing change as she sucks air through her nostrils and he hears her heart thrum rapid like a rabbits. He supposed there had to be a little life left in someone with such a fate to make them enjoyable, and enjoy you he will. He releases his breath in audible groan as your sloppy, drooling mouth encases him.

Moving his hands to either side of her face, he cradled her skull and began to pump his hips, the muscles of his thighs jerking and jumping with each jolt of pleasure. He lets her gurgle around him at his lazy pace. He is in no rush. He at least deserved some kind of consolation, did he not? Tears crave tracks down her cheeks as he continuously plugs her throat, his cock pulsing in warning.

All at once he is gone from her and she next feels her awareness creep back to her as his hands take hold of her, behind her knees, and her legs are pushed towards her shoulders to expose her fully to his gaze. She hears his ragged breathing as he takes her in. The bud of pink blooming between the soft fat rolls of her labia. He uses his thumbs to part the puffy lips and his cock jumps in anticipation. He drinks her in. A flush, swollen nub perched between a tiny, fluttering pink hole. She is still leaking from her previous partner. The sloppy puddle below her still blooms a dark hue on his sheets. He knows if he doesn’t take her now, he’ll talk himself out of it.

With one thrust, he asserts control of his racing thoughts and sinks to the hilt inside of her, feeling his cock bump and press up against the resistance of her womb. Any thoughts plaguing him are gone as his mind draws blank from the blinding pleasure. The numbing release of finally laying claim to her. He hears her hiccup a wail that fades into a mindless keen and her hands ball into the sheets. She feels like her soul really did just leave her body.

He almost finds himself thanking the gods in that moment, hearing the sweet noises she made. At least her body could still give him that. At least she, like Haarlep, could tell him oleander lies while he buries himself inside of her.

He chokes a moan, sucking in breath and releases it in a hissed growl as he draws his hips back, feeling every twitch of her cunt as he slides against the grip of slick walls. He drives forward again, forcing them both further up the bed. A hand at her leg yanks her back down before she can catch her bearings and he pulls her into him , connecting them again as deeply as he can get. She feels like she’s falling - dying maybe. The conscience and guilt that told her to do good and smart things were long gone, lost some time after he’d speared into her with reckless abandon. Any sense was gone. A new voice was seeping through the hormonal concoction she was swimming in. It told her that this was all that mattered. In this moment she was his and it felt better than she’d ever dreamed, when alone at night with her imagination. She can’t stop the rhythmic song of pleasure he pulls from her, the room full with her whines and cries joining his.

Haarlep, for as devastatingly good as he’d been, could not match the ferocity and intensity that fuelled the fiend above her now. His face was twisted in a snarl, his own mouth hanging slack and his eyes locked to the sight of himself splitting her apart. His moans and gasps begin to lower as his hips stutter in their pace. He buries his face into her neck, hips continuing to rock. He inhales deeply, drinking in her scent.

“You silly mouse.” His voice is strained. He sounds close. Underneath it though, she recognises that somber tone.

“I was so close to having you. You were supposed to be mine. I could have given you the world. I would have given you everything.”

He groans as his hips jerk again, his cock pressing something deep inside. It’s all to much and the bubble finally popped. She shudders under him with a wail as white heat floods her senses. He loses it at her sound and the clenching of her strangling at his length. He collapses onto his forearms at either side of her, letting her quivering pussy milk his seed from him.

“I can find another champion, but you, you had been special. I wanted it to be your hands that passed me the crown. I wanted it to be you I shared it all with.” He stays buried inside of as he softens. His voice is a whisper, as if telling a great secret to the empty room. His hand is petting through her hair absently.

She doesn’t know how long he remains, body pressed to hers. The adrenaline is wearing off and she feels like her spirit is slipping back into her aching, exhausted form. She wasn’t prepared to face any of it. She didn’t think she ever would be. How could she even begin to process current events. How the hells would she explain any of this to anyone, least of all him? The concoction of shame and humiliation began to take hold of her again and she starts to plan, fast. He would never forgive her for this. He’d hate her. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t she stopped it? She knew the real answer. She hadn’t wanted it to stop, really. She’d take being bounced on his cock over the eternity of suffering he was bound to expose her to as soon as the curtain came up. She just wanted to stay like this forever. Maybe time would stand still, or maybe, she’d simply die from a random heart attack from all of this absurdity and stress. Yes, she decided all at once, she’ll just stay here like this. forever. She finds momentary comfort in her delusions, painting herself a happy future where she never faces the music and gets to stay under him like this, hearing his sweet words and bringing him pleasure for the rest of time. She would be his new toy. He’d treat her so well. It would all be so very nice.

The image is ripped from her as a voice she recognises all to well chimes from near the pool.

“Fear not, master. I have returned unharmed. I wish you’d stop doing that all the time, you know I have wings-“ his voice cuts to an scandalised gasp. “Oh my, and back just in time to play, too!” She can feel Raphael’s tail swish in agitation, but he doesn’t have the energy left to channel his rage. “What an interesting turn of events, I must say! I did so hope that you both would work it out peacefully.” The cambion above her hisses as the bed dips with Haarlep’s weight, he sheepishly prowls the edges of the bed, testing the waters with his grumpy master.

Gods, it’s actually Haarlep! She fills with relief that he’s alive.

“See I knew you’d calm right down once you realised that I didn’t touch your mouse’s precious soul. I played so nicely with her. See, aren’t we all glad it was just a big, innocent misunderstanding?” His tail is wagging happily on the air.

She’s is going to kill him. That little shit. She is going to down him in the pool and throw him back over the balcony rails herself.

“Let me join, master, please! I’ll be so quiet that you won’t even notice me there. Think how good it’ll feel to bury yourself in two of those little holes at the same time!”

She doesn’t dare move, not even brave enough to take a breath as the body above hers stiffens then jerks backwards. Her eyes stay on the ceiling. Stay still. Stay still. Stay still. It’s deafeningly silent.

His voice hisses through the air, threatening and full of disbelief.

“Little mouse?”

Well. Fuck.

I guess you could read this and view the protagonist as morally grey but I raise you, as the ringleader of this circus, that I am also just stupid and the “if I don’t move it can’t see me” tactic is my favourite every uncomfortable social situation, so there’s also that. This was more of a practice. I’m trying to oil ye ol rusty smut skills. I hope I managed to make the characters somewhat recognisable even if it’s kinda goofy.

265 notes · View notes

itsbeeble · 6 months

Note

I saw your post about having Bang Chan brain rot and honestly, same. He has filled every waking thought I've had for the last year and I'm big mad over it.

So my fic rec is a little angsty/suggestive with him being as obsessed with y/n as we all are with him. Like, he's angry that he can't focus on work because he's too busy thinking about them but can't have them for whatever reason. All the features he possesses that we love that he can't see in himself are exactly what draws him to y/n. (I feel like crushing on Chan is an exercise in learning to love yourself, and that's a lesson he needs to learn as well).

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS TO ME I LITERALLY FELL TO THE FLOOR WHEN I FIRST SAW IT (that first statement is so real actually)

OBSESSIVE

Summary: Chan has always been obsessed with you, but he's been too afraid to act on it until now.

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: bestfriend!Bang Chan x (implied)fem!reader

Warnings: a little angsty but mostly fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive, some uhhh sexual themes but there's no actual smut or anything, small make out scene teehee, swearing, insecurities briefly mentioned, I think that's it

WC: 2462

18+ MDNI, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

A/N: guys look it didn't take me 10 years to post! Also i'm gonna add to my masterlist a "Brainrot" section bc i'm not officially gonna write for certain groups but fuck do i get brainrot

Chan is restless in his studio, staring at the walls in front of him unable to focus. He can’t get his brain to work, to think, to do something.

It’s your fault. He knows it’s your fault, but he can’t figure out why. Had you said something to him? Had you done something?

No. The answer is no, you hadn’t done anything to him. At least not technically.

In fact, it’s more him that's the problem.

It’s almost unhealthy the way he’s obsessed with you. Unhealthy and almost annoying considering that you hardly ever give him the light of day.

Chan adores you. Adores the way you don’t care about what anyone else thinks of you, the way you laugh too loudly, the way your nose crinkles when you smile, and the way you can hold conversations so easily. He adores the way you never seem to care about looking put together, dressing in whatever you find comfortable that day, and somehow still looking beautiful.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way about anyone before. He hates the swirling in his stomach, the way his heart beats faster, and the way he can always tell when you’re close to him whether you want him to know or not. Chan can always tell from the smell of your perfume, that sweet, subtle scent you’ve worn since the day you met him in your days as trainees.

These emotions…he shouldn’t be feeling them. Not about you, his best friend. His confidant. The one person he can trust to always be there for him, for everything. He’s tried so hard to will these emotions away, to force himself to like other people. He’s tried hookups, blind dates, dating apps. He’s tried imagining it was his grandmother instead of you whenever his thoughts dive into dangerous territory.

And no, the grandmother thoughts didn’t work. His thoughts kept returning to you, how you would look under him. How you would look with your hair splayed out, your hand cupping his cheeks, and your lips sending him the sweet smile that you seem to reserve for him.

Fuck, he’s doing it again.

Chan takes a deep breath, sipping at the day-old water and grimacing at the stale taste in his mouth. His computer screen is still blank, the screen off from the time he’s spent staring into space and thinking of you.

A knock on the door and then you’re slipping in quietly with a plastic go-cup filled with iced coffee.

“Hey.”

Your greeting is simple, but you flash that smile and Chan’s heart starts doing flips. He hates it. He hates that you make him feel this way, hates that he gets nervous whenever you’re around.

He feels you at his side, your arm on the back of his chair, fingertips brushing against his shoulder and sending jolts of electricity down his spine. He turns his head, angling his neck to look up at you.

You with your calm eyes, with your gentle brushes against his skin, and the way you somehow soothe the storm that you caused inside of him.

The cup in your hand is angled toward him, and he shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t be drinking that, you know,” it’s almost instinctive how he scolds you, a frown on his face when you just roll your eyes and pull the cup away from him. “Especially right now. You should be asleep, Y/N.”

“So should you,” you hum, rolling your shoulders back and wincing when something cracks.

“I’m working.” He nods his head at the computer, and you raise an eyebrow at the black screen.

“I can see that. Working very hard, just like you always are.”

Your hand raises to his head, ruffling the soft strands of hair. Chan clicks his tongue and pulls away from you. Your hand drops down to your side, and your small drops slightly. Barely noticeable, but enough for Chan to feel a pang in his chest. He rolls his chair back slightly, spinning it to face you. You pull a chair up, sitting directly across from him, and delicately place your coffee in an empty space on his crowded desk.

Chan feels your knees brush against his, and heat scorches his body again. Why do you do this to him? Is it on purpose? Do you know he loves you more than a best friend should?

“Are you okay, Channie?” You lean toward him, the open part of your button-down shirt dipping to expose more skin. You would think he’s never been around a woman before.

He clears his throat, tries to look at you, and then clears his throat again. You’re biting at your lip now your eyebrows furrowed together in thought.

He leans away from you when you lean toward him. Your knees are between his thighs now, unbeknownst to you but he is all too aware of it. You rise from your chair, coming closer to him and standing between his legs. One of his hands twitches, fighting to raise just a little bit to touch the side of your leg.

“You seem a little feverish,” your hand is cold against his skin, and he almost chokes on the air he’d been struggling to inhale without the sweet scent of you overpowering his lungs and making him do unthinkable things. Your lips are twisted into a pout, your hand moving to his forehead and then his cheek.

It takes Chan a moment to realize that he’s grabbed your wrist.

It takes another moment for him to realize that his lips are against the back of your hand.

Another moment and you haven’t pushed him away. Is it shock? Are you too disgusted to do anything? Fuck, why did he have to do that?

“Y/N—” he’s stumbling over his words, trying to grasp any thought that runs through his brain. An apology, hopefully. “I’m so— I didn’t mean—”

Your lips are on his before he can say another word. It was a quick, fleeting kiss. Heat of the moment, maybe.

You pull back, just far enough to look him in the eyes.

Chan opens his mouth, ready to speak again.

The door slams shut. The space you stood in is empty. Chan’s heart sinks to his stomach, his skin still warm where you touched him.

“Fuck”

It’s three days before Chan hears from or sees you. Three days of absolute radio silence. No one forcing him to stop working, to look away from the screen and lay on the couch for a while. No wild laughter, random coffee dates. Nothing, and he knows why.

He knows you’ve been avoiding him. It’s not that difficult to figure it out. Whatever happened that night…it scared both of you. What frustrates him isn’t the subtle rejection. No, he could never be mad at you for that. He loves you too much to be angry about that.

No, he’s mad about the fact that you’re running from this. You who regularly gets into heated arguments with the staff when they’re working him and the other members too hard. You who always accepts when you’re in the wrong, actively seeking a solution. You who has never had problems with communicating your emotions. He’s angry that the one time he needs you to communicate with him, you disappear. Now, after three days of you avoiding him, he isn’t quite sure he wants to see you anymore. He wouldn’t have minded if you told him you hated him for what happened.

Radio silence is…quite possibly the last thing he expected.

A knock on his door jolts him out of his thoughts. Three raps, then two, and the door opens. He knows it’s you by the shuffling of your feet against the ground and the sound of ice against plastic. You come to stand near him. Not next to him, no, it’s like you can sense the anger in him.

Or you can hear the angry typing.

“What are you working on?” Your voice is quiet, so quiet that he almost doesn’t catch it.

He doesn’t respond, at least not at first. The typing doesn’t slow, and he hears a small exhale from you.

“Chan?” Your hand comes to rest on his shoulder and the typing stops. You drop your hand to your side, biting your tongue and forcing the tears back. “Channie, can you please talk to me?” He turns to look at you, trying to hold back all of the emotions he’s been feeling these past three days.

“About what?” He plays dumb. Maybe if he acts like nothing happened, you’ll just drop it and you can start avoiding each other and he can move on from you.

“About…about what happened.” Your voice shakes, and he almost feels bad.

Scratch that, he does feel bad.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.” Chan dismisses, “You made it clear how you feel and that’s fine. We can forget about it.” He avoids your gaze now, but he hears a sniffle coming from you. Hears a sob that you made a poor attempt at concealing. He looks at you again, and your hand is over your mouth while you try to calm yourself. He bites the side of his tongue, closing his eyes and exhaling heavily.

“Come here,” he raises his hand and lazily beckons you over to him. You don’t move at first, still focused on calming yourself. “Y/N, come here.”

Your steps are slow, almost nervous about approaching him, and suddenly all the anger is washed away from Chan’s body. All he can think about is the fact that he’s made you cry, made you upset, and he wants to fix it.

“Why are you crying, pretty?” You’re standing in front of him, all too similarly to three days ago. Your cup has been placed to the side again, next to his keyboard, and your hands are in his.

“I feel like…” your voice is thick with emotion, tears rolling down your cheeks that Chan wants nothing more than to kiss away. “I feel like I messed everything up.”

“How could you possibly think that?” Your best friend frowns.

“I— I kissed you.” Your sentences are stuttered. “I fe—feel like I me—messed everyth—everything up. You— You’re my bes—best friend, Channie.”

“Look at me,” he holds his hand to your chin, tilting your head to look down at him. “You did nothing wrong. In case you forgot, I kissed you first.”

“But that was diffe—different!” You cry, yanking your hands out of his grip and turning your back on him. Chan rises from his chair, carefully watching your movements. “I kissed you!”

He’s curious now. “Do you think I hate you because of that?”

You turn around, and a gasp escapes you. He’s only a few inches from you, his breath kissing your cheeks. You can see a dark tinge on his tanned skin. Was he blushing? Was he mad?

“I— I mean—” Chan steps toward you again, practically backing you into the wall.

“Because you’d be wrong,” he continues. “In fact, it’s probably made me even worse.”

What? “Chan— what does that—”

“I’ve been obsessed with you from the day that I met you, Y/N.” Here goes nothing. Chan takes a deep breath before continuing. “Everything you do, everything you say. I’m addicted to you. You know, I couldn’t tell at first if I envied you. It was the way you carried yourself, the confidence you had in every little thing. The way you fought so hard for the things that you loved and the people you cared about. I thought I envied the way you could laugh as loud as you wanted without fearing what other people thought of you.”

You’re against the wall now, but he hasn’t caged you in. No, he leaves you room to escape should you so choose. Your tears have stopped and Chan reaches up to cup your cheeks, wiping away the streaks that were left.

“I was wrong.” His voice is so quiet, so much quieter than he probably intended it to be, but it has a zoo erupting in your stomach. “It wasn’t envy.”

“Then what was it?” Your voice matches his in volume, your eyes flicking from his lips and back up to meet his gaze. He takes a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of your cold hands twisting into the fabric of his shirt, your knuckles brushing against the skin of his stomach. “Channie?”

The way you said his name should’ve been innocent. It should have just grabbed his attention, snapped him out of the spell you’ve cast on him.

The air is knocked out of your chest at the first touch of his lips on yours. It isn’t rough, not by any means.

His lips move smoothly against yours, slow and sure of every move he wants to make as if he’s always going to be two steps ahead of you. One of his hands slides down to cup the back of your head, right at the base to allow him to angle your head and pull your body closer to his. Your hands have tightened into his cotton t-shirt, holding so tightly you’re positive the fabric has stretched.

Your chest is on fire, whether from lack of breath or the emotions running through you like wildfire, you aren’t sure, but you don’t want to stop. You can’t stop. Not when he tastes so good, not when he’s kissing you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing.

A whine escapes you, and you feel his body go rigid. His lips stop moving, and he pulls back from you. You see his chest stuttering as he tries to stop himself from taking deep breaths. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you for a long time.

You don’t have to, though. The drawings he traces into your hip with his finger and the hazy, starstruck look in his eye says enough.

His eyes meet yours when you clear your throat to get his attention.

“So,” your voice is slightly hoarse but you can’t find yourself caring. Not in front of Chan. “You never answered my question.” He bends down, his lips lightly pressing into the skin of your neck. Your breathing hitches, and you feel him smile against you.

“What question was that?” He asks, and his voice is right in your ear, and you can’t help but pull him closer to you.

“What was it that you felt?”

He just laughs against you, finally taking his hand out of your hair.

“You know what it was, pretty. Don’t pretend.”

You smile, your arm coming to wrap around the back of his neck.

Love. It was love, and you knew it the whole time.

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theredflagsjustlooklikeflags · 10 months

Note

Hello! Omg I'm so excited you're writing for death note! Can i get a gender neutral reader who maybe helps light or saves his life by pulling him out of the way of a car or something, and he becomes fixated on the and kind of like dedicates his cause as kira towards them?

Of course, love . Sorry for the delay. Death Note has always been one of my favorite shows to write for so I’m a more then thrilled to fulfill your request. Hope you enjoy the story!

Innocence (Yandere! Light Yagami X Reader)

Trigger warnings: I don’t think there are any for this story, but if I missed one, let me know)

Light Yagami needed to follow his normal routine and arrive home. He only had short amount of time where he could write names in the Death Note. Light was cleansing the world, one criminal at a time. In time, he will become the god of the new world.

Although, one thing always troubled him. When he did in fact elimante L, where would Light go from there?

The simple answer was he’d continue killing those making the world rotten and Kira’s reign would prosper.

Wouldn't it be lonely ruling the world by himself? Light never paid that idea much thought. He would never find someone who’d meet his ideals and intellect.

What Light didn’t account for was someone special making their way into his life.

The teenager was in deep thought as he made their way out of the school grounds in the pouring rain.

Without warning, a force hit Light. His umbrella went flying through the air until it cascades onto the drenched sidewalk. He braced himself and closed his eyes as he waited for the fall, but it never came.

Light cautiously opened his eyes to see what stopped him from landing on the ground. The seventeen year old wasshocked to find a good looking high schooler holding tightly onto his arm.

He noticed they were wearing a uniform extremely similar to his own. This mystery person had to have be attending the same school. They were very attractive so Light figured they were probably pretty popular. If that were the case, how come Light couldn’t recognize them. He knew everyone in his classes and he was certainly popular himself. The teen contemplated over the idea that they could be a transfer but Light came to the conclusion that that couldn’t have been the case. He’d be most likely been asked to show them around. The teen would nevee forget a persons face that was constructed like a god/goddess.

Once Light regained his composure, ( Reader) let go of him and leaned down to pick up Light’s discarded umbrella. They handed it out towards him and released an apologetic smile.

Once Light held the umbrella, the other person gave a low bow. They spoke softy, but Light could still hear them over the pitter patter of the rain.

“Please forgive me, Yagami-san. I apologize for hurting you. A car was swerving and looked like it was heading straight towards you.”

(Reader) was terrified to look up from their position. They’d figure Light would simply glare and start to reprimand them. They didn’t have much experience with popular kids.

“Oh, It’s alright, uh…” The teen trailed off, hoping the other would finish his sentence.

“(Reader’s full name).”

“That was very brave of you.” (Reader) looked up at him, puzzled.

“Thank you, but I’m sure anyone would of helped you. I’m no one special.”

“I’m not so certain of that.” Light smiled a bit.

Reader simply nodded in response. The teen expected that to be the end of their discussion with Light Yagami but he did something that shocked them.

Light held out the umbrella so it was protecting both (Reader) and himself from the downpour. This small act of kindness meant the world to (Reader), as they tended to always be ignored by their peers.

The high schooler motion for them to walk together.

How could they possibly refuse Light’s offer without looking rude? If Light Yagami thought (Reader) was rude then they could kiss the days of being a nobody goodbye. They didn’t know much about the teenage boy besides the fact that he was popular and top of the class in terms of intelligence. (Reader) feared they would become the topic of what those kids whisper in the hallway. They’d become the focus of their cold glares.

So they walked with Light.

The two students made causal conversation as they made their way down the street. At first it was awkward but soon they were joking with each other as if they were old friends. Light found out that (Reader) was in almost all of his classes. They explained how they tended ti keep quiet and lurk in the background.

Each word (reader) spoke, resulted in Light coming to the conclusion that made the type of person that Kira was trying to protect.

They were good,hard working, honest and most of all innocent.

He needed to protect them. No, Kira would protect (Reader) and those like them.

He may of just found his partner. Someone to rule the world with him.

“I can’t wait to make you mine, (Reader).” Light muttered to himself.

(Reader) pretended to be oblivious to what her new acquaintance said but in truth, they heard him and they didn’t know what to think.

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eveningepiphany · 8 months

Text

welcome to the final show | H.S, part 4

my masterlist!

summary: suddenly it’s not just you and harry anymore, and not only do the general media want an explanation, but so do your friends and family. however, the two of you are only just figuring things out yourselves.

warnings: paparazzi, anxiety surrounding leaked images, fluff, comforting, confessions, make out session, sexual content!

a/n: no because i am so thrilled for you all to read this. these two are so much fun to write about. I hope you enjoy <3

(I was on the fence about including smut, but I decided i wanted to! if that’s not something you want to read, a little warning will come up when it’s about to begin. plot wise you won’t miss anything if you choose not to read it!)

———

There’s a certain type of love that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

And it’s an all consuming kind. One that when you think about it you feel it to the bone.

And oh, had you done a lot of thinking. Overthinking was pretty much all you’ve been doing the past two weeks.

You obviously are attracted to Harry. Physically, emotionally… just in every sense of the word. That’s nothing new for you. And even throughout the points of denial since forming a personal relationship with him. It’s the truth.

You’ve probably gaslit yourself out of it more times then you could count. However picture evidence of you holding hands with him in the homely streets of Italy is kind of a slap to the face.

And despite how cute you think the photos may be, you are still inexplicably panicked about them.

It’s the morning after the photos got posted. And you are genuinely still in shock. You struggled to fall asleep last night after the images first came out— your brain in complete overdrive for god knows how long until you fell asleep.

And this morning you’re ignoring the influx of messages and calls you’re getting from family, friends, and people you’ve met through love on tour.

Several texts from your own sister coming through half an hour ago. All of them including the word ‘fuck’. Shes definitely mad you didn’t tell her this had happened.

Either way, you’re left pacing the length of your hotel room. Heart still near racing in your chest as you try to figure out what to do, and how to handle something like this.

You held hands with him, you remind yourself. You didn’t get caught making out with him… the act for you came across as still something bordering platonic— even though you wished it were anything but that. This could eventually blow over.

You sigh out, leaning against the wall of your hotel, this was considerably more simple when the rest of the population had no idea it was happening.

Now they do, and they have a lot of questions. Plus, it makes it significantly harder when it’s about things you don’t even have answers to.

Harry hadn’t messaged you since everything had happened. If he even knows is beyond you.

But it felt wrong talking to anyone about it without talking to him first.

You felt a sense of guilt. Because this easily will stir up drama for him. Stuff like this spreads so fast, and you’ve seen it happen 100 times. But now you’re no longer in the back seat just watching it unfold. There will be articles, posts, even snippets in the newspapers about it. And whether or not it’s something he’s accustomed to, you still feel at fault. Like you could’ve been more careful, more considerate.

You move to sit on the edge of your unmade bed, staring at your phone that you’ve left on the bench top. How do you even approach it? What do you say to him?

You quickly decide you don’t really want to, at the moment. There is too much going through your head, and you’re still a bit freaked out about it all.

So another anxiety shower is. Which for right now, is your best and favourite option.

Standing up, you head to the bathroom, leaving your phone out in the room, allowing it to continue buzzing while you decide it’s time for some hardcore self-care to calm yourself down.

On the other side of things, Harry is also freaking out. He woke up to texts from a couple people, asking about a headline?

And for people he knows personally to be reaching out about trashy posts on the media, it’s almost always a bad sign.

One being from James, who has been off ‘The Late Late Show’ too long for him to withhold himself from making bad jokes when they present themselves.

Are they even allowed to put that many exclamation marks in the title? Overkill if you ask me. 😪😪

But when he reads the link and sees the image of himself with you, his anxiety immediately shifts from being personal.

[ 1 attachment link] : Styles Has Found His Next Musical Muse, But She’s Actually a ‘Hardcore Fangirl!!!’”

He’s almost positive you will have seen the leaked images. There is no way you would have missed this unless you were still sleeping.

Guilt nearly slaps him in the face. You do not deserve this. He already knows that you’re probably being slammed on Twitter and in comments of these pathetic articles.

And that is never nice. He hates it enough when it’s himself, and that’s after a decade of learning how to deal with it.

His concern for you leads to a text, one he doesn’t want to make, but does anyway. Purely for the fact he needs to know you’re alright.

Because the worst thing that could happen is you having some kind of anxiety attack after reading something online, and not having anyone there to be with you to talk you down. Regardless of how confident you can appear to him, he’s not taking the chance.

Hi love, can you please let me know you’re alright?

He sends it through, and then he typed out another one after it’s been about five long minutes without a reply.

I am very possibly overreacting right now, but do you need me to come over?

Another ten minutes go by,

I’ll be over in about 15. x

He is aware this may be over the top. You could be asleep. You could be just processing what’s happened— since he still remembers the first time things like this happened to him. And it’s a really weird experience.

But he is undeniably protective of you. That is one thing he can’t lie about.

And even more-so, he’s terrified this will scare you off. Because if it’s too much for you, he has no clue how he’d deal with it. Since it’s way too far out of his hands now.

Even though he knew well that this was a easily plausible situation. And it’s almost surprising how long they’ve gone without it happening earlier.

In his own time, he’s been overthinking plenty too. Wondering if it’s normal to want to lay your entire life down for someone two weeks after meeting them.

Maybe if he were 16… but pushing 30… it might be a bit harder to justify.

But somehow, despite knowing how stupid he probably seems, he leaves his bedroom after throwing on some shorts and a tshirt. Going out and grabbing the keys for his car from the kitchen.

Gemma is out there cooking toast, and she turns around to see him near running out the door.

“Harry!” She says, and when he stops to give her a quick greeting she interrupts him.

“Don’t worry so much.” She sighs.

Immediately confused, he frowns, frozen in place, “what…?”

“I’m assuming that this Y/N you’ve been on about really likes you too, okay? There’s no way she doesn’t. So just treat it like any other relationship or friendship you have. No matter the circumstances you met under. If you like her, you like her. Don’t let shit from the media get to either of you.”

Her advice comes just when he needs it, as it always does. And even though he acts like she doesn’t, she knows almost everything there is to know.

A small nod, “Thank you Gem…”

She gives him a warm smile, one that’s always encouraged him.

———

You hear the knock on the door while you’re standing in the bathroom, finishing applying a face mask. Stood clad in your shorts and black boob tube.

And after finally calming down a bit, it gives you another wave of panic. Since after waiting a few moments, the rapping on the door continues. You were hoping they would just go away, whoever it was.

You quietly leave your bathroom, going down the short hallway to look through the peephole in the door.

You don’t even get your eye up to it before you hear the all too familiar voice on the other side.

“Y/N, it’s Harry…” He was a bit muffled, but you didn’t even think as you start unlatching the locks on the door.

The look of relief on his face when you finally peek out is almost palpable.

“Hi…” you say quietly, pulling the door open further, letting him come in quickly.

He has two cups in his hands, and once he’s inside your room, he is fast to place them on the nearest free space.

“What are you—“ you don’t get through the sentence before he breaches the distance between you, tugging you into a hug, uncaring of the face mask residue getting on his shirt.

He squeezes you, “‘M so glad y’alright.”

You take a deep breath. So, he knows.

You feel immediately bad for not letting him know earlier, before he felt the need to come over.

“Did you call me? I’m so sorry, i was in the—”

“I texted you couple times— don’t be sorry. I don’t want it to seem weird I came rushing over… i was jus’ worried about you.”

You slowly draw back, “I was going to text you, I just didn’t want to… i didn’t know how to go about it, i guess?”

He pulls away, “I am so fuckin’ sorry this happened.”

“Why are you apologising? I should be…”

“Why should you apologise? You of all people do not deserve to be dissected by people in the media. Ive dragged you into something you didn’t deserve to be dragged into.” He says, sounding exasperated.

“You aren’t at fault for any of this, H. I feel like I’ve stirred up unnecessary drama up for you…” To this he immediately shakes his head.

“You haven’t. I was just worried about how you’d perceive it all… and fuck— i didn’t want it to scare you off.”

You both seem to realise that you were freaking out over each other. Starting to laugh together, realising how stupid you both probably sound.

“Okay… we sound really silly.” You sigh, moving to grab the cup he’d placed down prior to your very quick debrief.

“But seriously, Harry,” you lead him over to sit down on the edge of your bed with you, “I am still sorry. I feel like I’ve caused unnecessary… assumptions.”

He frowns a little, “assumptions?”

“About us. You know…” you shrug, eyes avoiding him, doing a terrible job at acting nonchalant.

“That we’re together? That what you’re so shy about, hm?” He teases, and you physically cannot handle the way he says it.

“I— well— Yes, sure that’s what I was going for.”

You gently scratch at the dried edges of your clay face mask, and he watches quietly, wishing he could see the blush that’s risen on your cheeks underneath it.

“Why were you showering so early— It’s like midday, I thought you said you showered in the evening?” He asks, out of the blue, causing you to frown.

Your answer comes out unsurely, “I have anxiety showers sometimes. It calms me down.”

He cocks his eyebrow, “Is that why you were literally dripping wet when i came over the other day?”

He pins you with his gaze, and you don’t reply for a few seconds. You were hoping he broke the silence himself, but it was clear he was waiting for a response.

You blurt out, “You make me nervous!”

To this he laughs, “I make you nervous?”

“Not… all the time.” You amend, “Just sometimes.”

You remove yourself before he can ask more questions, and you go to wash off the face mask in the bathroom, while he’s still stifling his laughter.

You emerge after washing it off with cold water, and his eyes follow your every step as you go to sit back down.

“Yknow, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better I’d—“

He’s cut off by a bang on the front door.

You were only scared for a second, until you heard a shrill feminine shout from outside it. One you know to be your best friends classic angry voice.

You were relieved for only about another second before you realised, she will probably break that door down if you don’t let her in.

Oh god.

“Y/N Y/L/N. LET. ME. IN!” You can picture her angry little face. And you’re almost a bit terrified of her.

But you have to hide Harry. Like you have to actually hide him.

“Harry— you— fuck, get up—” You whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible, grabbing his wrist.

“What is happening?” He sounds awfully confused as you manhandle him around the hotel room, trying to find an adequate place to hide a 6 foot tall man from your fired up best friend.

“She may kill you— she loves you— but she’s very mad at me right now, because I didn’t tell her about,” you pause as you try to label again whatever the two of you were, “us… this… whatever you want to deem it.”

You realise the cupboard is about the only reasonable place, unless you make him climb down the balcony.

“Are you—“

“Y/N! i already KNOW you’re in there!” She calls from the door again.

You tug the door of it open, “Get in!”

You half push him inside it, “I’m so sorry, but just, just sh okay??”

He nods hastily, and you quite literally shut him in there.

“I’m coming!” You shove the takeaway cups into a kitchen cupboard and rush to the door.

Letting her in, she practically storms past you. And you pray to god you can get rid of her in a short period of time.

“I’m sorry!” You say to her, grabbing her hands.

“How could you not tell me something like that?!” She barks, shaking your arms like an angry child.

You do feel bad, because you would also be pissed if it were the other way around.

You try to explain, clutching her warm palms tighter, “To respect his privacy! I wanted to, so, so badly but I just… I didn’t want it getting out.”

She groans, pulling you in for a tight, yet still frustrated hug.

“But you know I wouldn’t have told anyone!”

“I do, i know. I’m sorry.” You embrace her, “but every time we were together there were other people… and I just hadn’t figured out how, let alone talked to him about it.”

She calms down a tiny bit, and sometimes the best way to describe her is like a miniature tornado. Her anger is very quick to bubble over and turn her into this fired up, yelling ball of energy. Yet it dissipates shortly after she lets it all out.

“Okay, well I get that, of course. But… wait are you two actually— have you slept with him?” You pull back from the hug and give her a shocked stare. Her ask stuns you for a moment.

You’re hyperaware that he is listening to this conversation.

What is he thinking right now— you can’t help but wonder. And you have to physically force yourself to push the thoughts that come with such a question aside.

“I— why would you ask me that!” You hiss at her, sounding guilty, even though you’re just throughly embarrassed.

“Because he's Harry Styles!” She exclaims, “who happens to be a very gorgeous man, and I would not be surprised if you wanted— I don't know— in his pants?”

“We are just friends!” You drag your hand down your face. Internally pleading that she stops saying embarrassing shit.

“Whatever you little liar. Acting like as if you haven't said on multiple occasions just how bad you wan—“

“OKAY!” You interrupt, trying to keep the frantic tone out of your voice, “I get it. I really do, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But look, I have so many people I have to call and— i think my whole family also want me dead— so can we maybe get a coffee tomorrow? Talk it over, and you can ask all the questions you want.”

At your proposal, she seems to realise you mean it. And despite the confused look on her face at the fact you’re kicking her out to call what is basically her own adopted family, it seems she understands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna seem pushy. I was… just also in shock. Tomorrow at 10?” She smiles.

You start both walking over to the door, “that’s perfect.”

Tugging her into another hug, she huffs out an ‘I love you.’

You laugh and give her a chaste peck on the side of her head, “I love you too. I promise I wanted to tell you on my end. I just didn’t want to fuck anything up…”

She nods, pulling back, “I know. And if you need anything, or anyone before I see you tomorrow, don’t forget I’m only a few floors up.”

“I won’t.” You open the door for her, and bid a final goodbye. And once it’s shut, you realise how badly you want the ground beneath your feet to literally swallow you whole.

Despite the embarrassment, you quickly rush over to let Harry out of the cupboard you’d shoved him in.

And as he steps out, adorning a smirk and clearly stifling a laugh, you apologise profusely.

“God— I am so incredibly sorry.”

A proper abashed grin spreads across his face, one that flashes his dimples. Reminding you of the sign you took to the last show, telling him how pretty you thought his smile was. You still think the same.

“Kind of exciting hiding in a cupboard. I never even did it as a teenager.” He chuckles, brushing a few stray curls from his eyes.

“Do I look a little more youthful? As gorgeous as ever?” He teases.

“I am so sorry you had to hear all of that, she has a… she lacks a filter.” You excuse, cheeks flaming as you try to dig yourself out of the hole your best friend has unwittingly buried you in.

“That's okay love, but I am a little curious…”

You frown at his careful words.

He takes a step closer as he continues, “what so badly did you want to do to me that you told all your friends about?”

At this, you completely turn your face away from his green-eyed stare. Because you cannot trust yourself.

He doesn’t realise the dangerous game he’s playing with you right now. Especially while he’s standing in-front of you like this. Tattooed arms out, beautiful face and jawline on display.

“Y/N, darling. I asked a question.” His voice has turned to honey. He’s talking you in a way he never has before. With a tone that is almost demanding an answer, laced with a undertone of seduction.

“Stop it.” You hiss, flicking his solid chest with your hand.

He steps forward, and you step back in response. He backs you up all the way to the edge of your bed.

“Stop being a flirt.” You scoff, finally holding eye contact for more than a second.

His pupils have blown out a little, and the stare he’s giving you is something you want burned into the underside of your eyelids.

“Why? Is it working.” He chuckles, demeanour softening a tiny bit as his hand slides down your arm.

You don’t reply.

“Please tell me, Y/N. I want to know. Y’know I’m nosey.”

“Resorted to begging, I see.” You snort, heart still hammering behind your rib cage.

“If it works, I can do plenty of it.” He playfully remarks.

You try to not reply again, but you’re met with a silence. Somehow he knows you’re going to fill it with a fumbled half-confession.

“I don’t even really remember. I was probably tipsy on some wine. Said some stuff to… the girls. After a show.”

“After a show?” He smirks, “Which one?”

“Barcelona. And maybe back at… another. One or two others.”

“But that’s all I’m saying!” You interject, hoping he takes that as enough of an answer.

He laughs at your attempted defiance.

“Anyways, what even— what are you getting at here?” You ask, because truly, his flirting is heavily confusing you. In every way possible.

“Remember when you told me I had a the prettiest smile?” He lightly grazes your hip with his warm hand.

“I— yes. That was like, 2 weeks ago. What’s your point?” You are biting at your bottom lip.

“Don’t get feisty.” He coos, “Everytime I smile around you, I think of that. And then, I wonder what other things you think about me. What other parts you see of me and consider as pretty.”

“And, can you blame a man for wanting to know what dirty things you’ve said about him to y’friends?”

Jesus Christ. A part of you melts at his words. He is watching you like a hawk, gauging your every little reaction. But you’re clinging to any part of you that’s trying to keep this from heading in that direction. Even though you know it’s not because you don’t want to.

“We really shouldn’t… H.” You state, voice almost shaking with an unspoken need. One that you’re trying to keep from bursting through the seams.

“Why not, Y/N?” He asks, making it sound like a challenge. Causing him to be met with a quick jump in your voice.

You are pulling at every part of your strength right now to justify why this is a terrible idea.

“Because, Harry. I am a fucking fangirl for you. Not in a casual way either, like bordering a little bit insane! It’s horrifying, and very embarrassing! And this is a horrible idea, because I don’t think you understand the kind of—“ You don’t get to finish whatever you were about to say, because he kisses you. With his all.

It feels like he pours every once of his being into it. The way his smooth lips press into your own, fuelled by a heat that is felt in the very pit of your stomach. Your knees almost buckle at the sensation.

You grab his shoulder to stabilise yourself. And your lungs are already drawn of all their air.

In actuality, it mustn’t have lasted very long— maybe a couple seconds— before he pushes the back of your knees against the bed, forcing you to sit down.

He draws in a breath after you seperate, “I don’t care if you have photos of me on your fucking bedroom walls, baby.”

“Could not care less, look at you.” He leans down now, kissing over your lips again in separate, doting pecks, “y’so gorgeous, and genuine. I love that you love what I do.”

You’re in a bit of shock, looking up at him with widened eyes. Because obviously you’ve imagined kissing him before. Probably a thousand times. And that dream has somehow sprung to fruition.

How exactly? you’re still unsure.

“I— Harry.” You say, with no real purpose, clutching onto his broad shoulders.

The way you whine out his name drives him almost insane, and he drops down onto his knees between your spread legs. Giving him easier access to kiss your mouth.

His hands snake around your waist, and he lets his lips slot back over yours.

You loose yourself in the act, your own fingers skating up his back and into the hair at the nape of his neck.

It’s so fucking soft. And you use it to press his face closer to yours. He’s surprised when you’re the one to part your lips and dart your tongue out first.

Skating along his pink bottom lip as an invitation.

He accepts it happily, clutching at your waist while he lets his tongue dip into the heat of your mouth. You can’t help but groan at the sensation, and feel the warmth start to gather between your thighs.

He was kissing you like a starved man. And slowly everything you knew started slipping from the forefront of you mind. All you could feel and focus on was him.

How his muscly frame filled up your senses—and the area between your knees— paired with the glide of his tongue over your teeth.

—((sexual content from here and onwards))

His hands tracing over several parts of your body, even going to pull you closer with his hands cupping your bottom. Squeezing at the swell of your ass playfully.

You bite your teeth down onto his lip and drag it backwards, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat.

Your hips push forward, brushing the front of your shorts on his torso, causing his jaw to go lax.

The two of you seperate for air, panting, and his eyes veer south, looking at where you’re pressed against him.

“Fuckin’ Christ. Look at you, needy little thing.”

You bury your head into his neck, kissing along his sharp jawline. Unable to control your slowly circling hips.

“So, y’willing to share what it is you wanted to do to me yet? Given that you’re practically grinding on m’chest.”

You hum a maybe, and he lets out a deep laugh.

“After Barcelona,” You start, and he works to coax the answer out of you with his hands and lips.

“Mmhm…” he acknowledges, mouthing against your clavicle.

“You had looked so good that night… and I got a little tipsy after the show, back at our BNB.”

“You were in those low rise black pants, and that tiny cropped vest. And my god— i said to all the girls that if you were down, I would happily let you take me. Anyway you wanted.”

“Anyway?” His hoarse voice asks.

“Anyway. Fingers, tongue... cock.”

At the first mention of something genuinely sexual, he almost looses it. Envisioning your spread legs with his head pressed between them.

“But I didn’t just say that because I was tipsy. Or because of the outfit you wore.” You allude quietly.

He can’t wait another second before he’s pressing his already swollen lips back against yours. And hard.

“Want everything off you.” He fists at your boob-tube.

Your body is hotter than a thousand suns, and your need for him is literally tearing through you.

It’s clear this was your tipping point. There was no going back to something casual and platonic. The way your whole body ached to have him was unfathomable.

“Strip me.” You beg, arms lifting so he can tug the thin black material over your head, leaving your breasts in a strapless bra.

He runs his tongue over the exposed skin, hands sliding to the clasp at your back to get it off you.

He moans aloud once he sees you, briefly recalling the times his gaze has dipped to your cleavage in those little sundresses you wore while you were out together, and how he would always be wishing for a moment like this.

He laves his tongue over your nipple, before quickly occupying himself with the button of your shorts.

“These off too?” He confirms, voice gravelly with want.

Hastily, you nod, “Yes, all of it.”

Your sheer eagerness is turning him on even more. You always seemed a tiny bit reserved, so hearing you beg for your clothes to get torn off…

“Ass up,” he asks, watching as you lift it from the bed so he can tug the shorts from your waist and down your legs.

Left in nothing but your underwear, he slides his hand over your front to see how wet you were.

You moan as his fingers brush over your clothed-clit. And you notice now that your arousal has wet through your panties.

“Fucking hell. You realise you’re absolutely drenched, right baby?” He near moans, rubbing a gentle circle over the fabric.

“I—shit— I’m sorry, didn’t think I’d gotten so…” You’re almost a little embarrassed at the amount of arousal between your legs.

He hooks his fingers into the crotch of your underwear, peeling them down your thighs.

Your bare cunt had him almost light headed. You were genuinely glistening, and your slick had already spread to the hood of your clit.

“Darling don’t be sorry. Y’got the prettiest little pussy. Cant believe you’re this wet.”

“What did it for you, huh?” He asks finger running through you, eliciting a groan from both your throats.

In a pleasure-filled haze, you slur out a reply, “You. Just all of you.”

You squirm under his featherlight caress, and take a moment to watch him gaze at you. There is nothing but this look of admiration and desire in his eyes.

“Wanna see you, Harry.” You plea, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He waits not a second to slip it over his head, and your hands immediately run down his torso. Staying quiet as he lets you indulge.

This is something you have thought of in a million different ways. His chest is built like that of a Greek gods, and his tattoos are an added bonus.

You feel the ridges of his abs under your fingertips, and you trace over the butterfly tattoo as well.

His breath flutters in and out of his nose. But using your hands doesn’t satiate you.

You need him on your tongue.

“Stand up.” You ask, and he doesn’t question you, he just obliges.

You keep him stood between your bare legs, but lean your neck inwards, tongue jutting out to run a solid strip up his stomach.

A rumble comes from him, akin to a growl as you move to of his pecs. Gliding your tongue over the hair-dusted flesh, and enveloping his own nipple into your mouth.

You’d never done this before, since sucking on a guys nipple is less of a commodity… but the reaction it works out of him is perfect.

The way he throws his head back, sharp jaw tilted to the celling, and hair falling from his forehead.

“Oh… oh god.”

You draw back, grabbing his shorts and pushing them down. Kissing both the laurels that sit atop his hips before cupping your hand over his bulge, covered by black Calvin Klein briefs.

“Can I take you out, please?”

“Such nice manners, good girl.”

Good girl. The words float around in your head, and something else inside of you comes undone.

Not sure if it was your self respect… or some other part of your morals. But you could go feral simply over those two words.

You bite down on your lip as you tug the briefs down, watching his cock slip up.

Lord.

You almost salivate. It’s perfect in every way you’d want it to be. A flushed red tip, dotted with beads of pre-cum. And of course it’s big.

For an already perfect man, it’s hard to believe you can strip him completely, and still not find a single flaw.

“Staring pretty hard… you a little intimated?”

“It’s big.” You state, hand coming to wrap around its thick base. “Want it in me.”

He leans down, picking you up by your thighs. You laugh in reaction, him manhandling you into the centre of your still unmade bed.

There was a sense of intimacy that was being shared as he pulled you forward, so you were straddling his hips.

Both of you leaned forward to lock lips, kissing feverishly as you touched over every inch of skin you could. Eventually, both of your hands falling between the others legs.

You stroked over him, and he careful slid his middle finger into you.

He worked you until you were near dripping down his hand, and were scraping your nails along his shoulders.

“Harry— need you…” you beg.

“Want me to take you right now?” He asks, cock throbbing in your hand.

“Yes. I can handle it. Promise. I’m clean and on birth control if you wanna go bare.”

“Only if you’re sure. I trust you.”

“I am… just want to feel you.” You plead.

“Need you to tell me how y’want it first, pretty.” He coos, curling his finger inside you.

You moan in response, and he slides it out shortly after so he regains your attention.

“I—“ you stutter, now feeling empty, “anyway you want, I said that earlier.”

“No, baby, how do you like it?” He asks again, smiling against your skin.

“Anything, hard or gentle, I’ll come either way. Look at you— as if I wouldn’t.”

He pulls your core to his, rubbing the tip against your slick hole, “Then tell me as we go how you’re doing, and what you want or need okay. Want you to feel really good, m’kay?”

You nod, and he starts to sink into you, already pulling a moan from your lips at the stretch.

He on the other hand struggles to hold himself together as your warm walls part for him.

“Fuck, fuck… you’re so tight, Y/N.” He groans, pulling you down nearly all the way— stopping before he reaches the base of his cock, taking a moment to adjust so he doesn’t come before he’s all the way in.

“Mm-“ you whine out, nails digging into the warm muscle on his back, “Harry…”

Once he’s composed himself, he lets your hips sink the down to the base of him. You both take a moment to feel it. Panting, because the heat and the connection you’re both sharing is only describable as euphoric.

“Y’okay?” He sighs out, clutching your waist with firm hands.

“Yes… so fuckin’ full.” You moan out, hole fluttering around his length.

He carefully draws his hips back, pulling out a little only to push it back in.

Just that small movement has you reeling. And you’re quick to realise that this is probably going to be the best sex you’ve ever fucking had.

“Look at that, your cunt swallowing me up. So fuckin’ hot.” He whispers, slowly starting to pick up the pace.

His fingers move to play with your clit, and he notices the reaction that courses through your body the second he rolls it between his fingers.

You buck your hips against him, and he brings his lips down to suck on the side of your breast.

“Mark me.” You encourage, wanting him to leave you with bruises from his mouth.

“Dirty thing,” he moans, fucking up into you, “so fucking wet too. All f’me isn’t it?”

The dirty talk causes you to clench around him, and he picks up on it.

“Jesus, you really are? Like when I say dirty stuff too, clearly.” He grunts.

“Yes, fuck! Please touch me.” You ask, needing to feel more of him, to the point it consumes your senses.

He touches you almost everywhere, with his hands, lips, tongue. All over your body until you genuinely can’t think of anything else.

It leaves your body shaking, and he can tell you’re not going to last much longer going by the clenching of your cunt.

“I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing around me like tha’.” He curses, keeping a fast pace with his hips as you feel the beginning of your high approaching.

It starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach, “God— you’re so deep.”

“Yea, love? Feel me all the way up here?” He splayed his hand on your lower abdomen and you nod.

“Gonna come soon… please.” Your thighs are going weak from trying to hold your body up, and he notices, flipping you around so he’s on top of you.

The new angle has you biting down on your palm to try and stop yourself from crying out.

“Taking it so well. M’not far off either, baby.” He groans, his thrusts faltering as he bottoms out.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, allowing your tongue to swirl over them before he is removing them. Taking them down to rub over your swollen clit.

The added stimulation is what’s going to tip you over the edge.

“H—fuck—Harry! I’m gonna come!” You moan out, nails scraping down his bicep.

“Good fucking girl,” he prompts, fingers flicking over your clit, “let it all go for me, gush all over my cock.”

His words send you spiralling. And they’re the final push you need before your cunt clamps down around him with a loud moan tearing out of you.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” You’re writhing around him, and he curses at how tight you’re clenching him.

“That’s it, keep fucking going— ride it out on me.” He hisses, hips finally faltering as he feels his cock come inside of you.

Twitching between your warm walls as his stomach muscles contract and ripple with the intensity of his release.

He near buckles on top of you, his body weight pressing against you. And The two of you are panting, still shivering out slight aftershocks of your orgasms.

His forehead rests against yours, and you lean forward to brush a kiss against his parted lips.

Gently, he pulls himself out. A tiny hiss coming from his lips at the sensitivity.

He rolls over, bringing you to lay down on top of him. And you feel the partial heaving of his damp chest below you.

“Thank you…” You mumble out, sounding almost shy.

He picks up on it, “Don’t sound so nervous, darling. Y’were amazing.”

This brings a smile across your lips. It’s safe to assume that maybe things around you are complicated. But actually between the two of you, it’s anything but.

You like him, so much. So you just say it.

“I like you, Harry.”

And he affirms your statement with a kiss to your temple, and says quietly, “I like you too, Y/N. A lot.”

And this feels like an unspoken agreement that maybe the media is only going to get more riled up about the two of you as time goes on, but what you have is something genuinely worth fighting for.

Plus… they already know so, what’s the worse that could really happen now?

———

that was a long one!! hope you all loved it, and thank you so much for the support on this series. and don’t worry, you will definitely still be seeing more of them in the future. 🤍

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18 @laurxn-robinson @kkr102 @superlegend216 @jerseygirlinca @cherrysulewski

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

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