#and i know that i can change careers and i’m not forced to follow one path or whatever but fuck it’s so scary to think of the possibilities

[fakeoutbf]

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[holylulusworld]

Alone again - Naturally

Summary: Even around your so-called friend you are alone.

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, loner reader, introvert reader, flirty Clark, low self-esteem, almost accident, fluff, Lois bashing

Alone again. Naturally.

You should’ve known better than to go out with your so-called friend.

A few years back Lois Lane was your best friend. Now you are only an excuse for her to go to a bar or attend a party without one of her flings.

She always was the one drawing all the attention toward her person. In high school, during your freshman year and after you landed your first job at a cat magazine.

Lois Lane. The rising star.

You have always been in her shadow, and this will never change. If you are shy, meek, and introverted, people easily overlook you.

Just like tonight. Lois is once again the center of the party. She chuckles loudly and bathes in the attention she gets from the men in the room.

You sigh deeply, wishing you didn’t follow her invitation to the party her employer throws only for her.

Her latest article got all the attention, while your job led to nothing but articles about birthdays, other people’s weddings, and missing cats.

Your career is just like your love life – non-existent.

Her laughter fills the room, and when she looks your way you hope Lois will save you from drowning in self-pity. Sadly, she turns her back on you to talk to someone else than you.

She always does this. Sometimes you believe she’s the cruelest person on the planet. Maybe she only keeps you around to show you how much better her life is.

“I’ve never seen you around here,” crap, someone found you standing in the corner. Now you have to engage in small talk. You wring your hands and force a smile on your face. “Hi, I’m Clark Kent.”

“Hi,” you glance at his offered hand and murmur your name. “I’m not working here.”

“I got that,” he flashes you a stunning smile. “I assume one of the gentlemen brought his charming girlfriend with him. A shame he left you here.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “Lois invited me and she’s…” You bite your tongue. This man is a stranger, and you don’t want him to believe you are the kind of person talking behind your friend’s back. “She’s busy and I’m not much of a partygoer.”

“Honestly, I came here to hide in the shadows. I’m not much of a partygoer myself,” he grins and finally drops his hand. “So, what do you do for a living.”

“I’m a…” You are embarrassed to admit that you are working for an unimportant online magazine that barely anyone reads. “I write articles.”

“Oh, I’d like to read some. Where can I read them?” He gives you a soft smile. “Anything I should read first?”

“I write about missing cats and such,” you drop your eyes to avert his gaze. “Nothing important like you and Lois. I guess no one even reads the things I write.”

“I’d still like to read your articles.”

“It’s fine, really,” you sniff, and wring your hands again. “I know that the things I write about are boring. No one wants to know about Miss Fluffy ending up stuck in the neighbor’s car. You don’t want to read the things I wrote about.”

“Never underestimate your talent,” Clark tries to cheer you up, but you don’t believe a single word leaving his lips. “I’m sure you are a very good author.”

“No. I’m not.” Your fake smile drops. “I know my place, Mr. Kent.” You get defensive and step back. “You should go back to the party and talk to more interesting people.”

“What about?” He asks as you try to find a way to sneak out of the room without drawing any attention toward you. “Why don’t you come with me and talk to some of the people in the room?”

“I told you, I’m not much of a partygoer, or good at making small talk,” you wince at your words. You sound like the pathetic loser you are in your opinion. “Uh-I should go now.”

“What about Lois?” Clark takes a step toward you. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to her at least?”

You glance at Lois and quickly avert her gaze. She’s not in the mood to hold your hand or talk to you. “I think she’s good without me.” Your voice cracks. “I don’t even know why she invited me.”

“Wait—” Clark tries to stop you, but you hurriedly make your way toward the exit. “Y/N, don’t just go.”

You are out of breath when you finally leave the building. Feeling like a fool for coming here to watch Lois celebrate another milestone in her career.

Before you can go back and apologize to her for leaving without saying goodbye, you hurriedly cross the street.

One moment you want to reach the other side, and the next a car speeds toward you. You gasp, and close your eyes, waiting for the impact.

You don’t feel the car hit you, and you don’t end up dead on the street. You’re suddenly high up in the air, clutching Superman’s suit.

“You should be more careful.”

“I-“ you look up at the superhero you heard so much about. Rumors said that he was dating Lois Lane not so long ago too. At least you read an article telling you so. “Clark?” You furrow your brows as the same soft eyes you saw not moments ago look back at you. “How…?”

“What? I—” He seems to be confused. You’re the first person to uncover his secret. “Y/N, you can’t just run over the street. That’s dangerous.”

“Okay,” you hastily say. I mean, you are floating above a building, your life in a stranger’s hands, and you won't argue with him. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“You can worry me any time,” he wraps one arm around you to bring you closer to his chest. “How about I bring you home?”

“Does…uh…Lois know about your secret identity?” You can’t stop yourself from babbling.

“No,” he whispers lowly. “I guess she wouldn’t have left Clark Kent if she knew I got a secret,” Clark smirks when you look at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“You won’t drop me, right? I swear I won’t tell anyone about your secret.” You claw at him. “No one would listen to me anyway.”

“Do you honestly believe I’d drop you?” He quirks a brow.

“No…I mean…you’re a hero…right?” You pout. “I didn’t want to find out. It’s just…your eyes give you away.”

“I should wear sunglasses from now on,” he laughs while floating toward the next building to land on the rooftop. “If you promise to not tell anyone about my secret, I believe you. And I won’t drop you, sweetness.”

“Hmm…” You nod thoughtfully. “Did you date Lois as Superman too?”

He laughs now. “No. She didn’t know we were the same person. Lois broke up with me for Superman and the stories she wanted to write about him.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” you pat his chest, admiring its firmness. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Sometimes she’s just…” You trail off while patting his chest. “You know…”

“Let me bring you home,” Clark stops you from defending your friend. “Please.”

“Can we…uh…walk?”

“I’m already in my suit and got no clothes to change back into Clark,” he lies. Clark could easily change back into his alter ego, but he’d love to fly you home.

“Does this mean you want to fly?” You suck in a breath. “Do you have a seat belt or something?”

“I’ll bring you home safely, Y/N.” You end up back in his arms. This time you sling your arms around him and hold tight onto Clark for dear life. You close your eyes and hide your face in his chest.

You squeak when he pushes off the building. “Now that you know about my secret, do you want to fly with me again someday?”

“Uh-“ you blink your eyes open but still claw at him. “If you bring me home safely, we can do this again.”

“It’s a date then,” he smiles and flies into the night, making a detour to hold you a little longer…

Part 2: Not alone any longer

Tags in reblog.

[maryangelex]

Good for Me

Captain Price x f!Reader

Summary: You work in intel for Task Force 141 and work very closely with Captain Price. You’ve had a crush on the man for ages and he knows it. He’s turned you down many times knowing he’s way too old for you, except this time he give into temptation.

Warnings: nsfw, age gap, praise kink, p in v sex, fluff to smut, mutual pining, soft dom! price, creampie, smut with plot, unprotected sex, super long and not proofread, huge warning for extreme corniness.

A/N: me, personally, I’m a Simon ride or die bitch I literally only read Simon fanfics… but the abundance of price fanfics made me cave and now I finally get it, so I made this. Enjoy!!!!

You had been working as an intel officer for Task Force 141. This position granted you the pleasure of working with Captain Price very closely. The two of you made a good team and would even say you had a sort of friendship going on besides just being coworkers.

This proximity made things more intimate between the two of you, though. And you would be lying if you said you hadn’t sparked a crush pretty early on into your career with him.

Can anyone blame you, though? John was the full package; tall, handsome, occasionally made you laugh with what would be considered ‘dad jokes’, and he had a perfectly masculine and burly appearance that complimented his kind nature. All of which made you enamored, naughtily pining for him like a schoolgirl crushing on her teacher.

He knew this, of course. Not because he could tell but because you personally told him and continued to make passes at him, hoping he would change his mind and give you a chance. The first time you told him, he was taken off guard by it. A mix of surprise and disbelief, he thought you were kidding at first but you insisted you had no reason to lie. From then on, you two stayed on amicable terms and your crush became something he teased you about and that the two of you bantered together about. But you still clung to that crush, your feelings were never fleeting.

“‘Afternoon, Cap” you announced cheerily as you entered Price’s office with two mugs in hand “Brought ya tea!”

Price sat at his desk, head deep in paperwork, and returned the greeting with a sigh, barely looking up at you.

“Come on, lighten up and let’s take a break. Rome wasn’t built in a day and you sure as hell aren’t gonna finish that stack anytime soon.”

He plopped the file down to the side of his table, away from his sight as he let out a sigh and reclined in his chair, finally looking at you he said “Cheers, doll” as he took the mug in his hand. He took a sip of the contents in the cup and let out a satisfied hum along with a chuckle.

“Just how you like it,” you said taking a sip of your own.

“You just know me so well,” he smiled.

You chatted lightheartedly with him, the usual for how your conversations went with him unless there was a professional matter to discuss. Somehow the conversation came to be about how Price had never been married at his age and you playfully teased him about not settling down.

“I was almost married once,” he sighed, “but my work got in the way, she couldn’t handle the time apart and I don’t blame her for it”. He shrugged it off, a subject that was way in the past for him so no use dwelling on it.

“Well, I work with you so not much distance to worry about” you teased leaning forward to put your elbows on his desk sitting across from him on the other side of it.

“Plus I make you the perfect tea! I’m basically the perfect candidate to be your wife”

“You’ve got a point” he said with a light chuckle, followed by a sigh “I’m just too old for ya, kid”

The room fell silent as you looked down at your fingers rimming the now empty cup. You felt his gaze on him, as if he knew what you were thinking and was waiting for your response.

“Just give me a chance, John” you said looking back at him, meeting his gaze with your slightly pleading one. You knew you looked desperate and naive, but it had just been too long a game of cat and mouse and it wasn’t lighting up for you. You had tried getting over this crush for months, sleeping with other soldiers on the base, going out in various one-time dates. But all you could think about was Price, how it should’ve been him all along, how he’s the right one and all the others felt just so wrong.

Truth be told, Price secretly reciprocated the feelings. He had come to terms with it months ago after he realized you really were perfect and that a connection between the two of you very much existed. You had been occupying his thoughts a bit too often on a daily basis, and there had been times when he had given in on his late night temptations but felt guilty right after.

“It’s 10 years apart, love” he gave you a pained look.

“Who cares, John? I certainly don’t. Hell, my parents are years apart as well and no one gives a shit,” definitely not 10 years apart but you withheld that information from him.

“I’m your superior, doll, and I’m much older than you. It’s just not right.”

You stared at him with wide, beseeching eyes, as if you were gonna start tearing up. But you let out a sigh and shook your head at yourself. You smiled at him, feigning happiness and moved on from the conversation. He returned the smile knowing you were showing him a sign that you wanted to pretend that never happened, same as always, same as all the times he had turned you down before for the same concern about being too old for you.

The next morning was like every other morning. You had let the subject hide at the back of your mind, ignored it as best as you could. As always, it lingered and haunted you, but you continuously evaded it in your mind. Waiting for it to pass like a light cold.

You entered your office ready to start your day, to deal with papers upon papers, report to Price, and have the same chats and laughs with him as every other day that had gone by. Except as soon as you entered your office, an arrangement of flowers stood out like a sore thumb in the center of your work desk.

Asters, baby’s breaths, begonias, and dark pink carnations. You rolled your eyes as you approached it, thinking it was probably one of the soldiers you had most recently gone out with trying to get your attention after a mediocre date. You took the note that stuck out from the bouquet and read:

See you tonight at 8? Meet me in the parking lot.

Dress pretty for me, doll.

Check ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

Return to sender.

-John.

You read it over and over again, feeling like your eyes were deceiving you. Well, you only knew of one John that called you ‘doll’, and you only knew one John who would do something this corny. But that same John was the one that had frequently expressed platonic feelings for you. Still, you clung onto hope that it really was from him. You ticked the box labeled ‘yes’ on the silly piece of paper, and couldn’t help the beat your heart skipped or the red staining your cheeks as you did so.

Later that day, you walked down the hallway of the base, heading to Price’s office to drop off the files you needed to report to him, and the note rested snug in your pocket. You debated whether you should bring it up, maybe it wasn’t him after all and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself to him more than you did on a daily occurrence. You entered his office and greeted him like always, placing the files on his desk. He greeted you and acknowledged you with a smirk plastered on his face.

“Thanks, love.” Price cleared his throat, “You got anything else for me?” He looked at you with raised brows expectantly.

So it was him, you thought. Your eyes lit up and your face turned scarlet. An involuntary smile crept up on your face, and you dug into your pocket for the note. You placed it on the table face down and without saying anything to him, you turned on your heels and walked speedily out of his office.

Price chuckled to himself and shook his head as he read the contents of the note.

You followed his written commands that night: dressed up at 8. You wore a satin slip dressed that hadn’t been worn to any of your previous rendezvous, as if it had been tucked away in waiting to be worn just for him. You waited in the parking lot like he instructed you and you were checking every second that ticked on your wrist watch, your breath hitching with each one. Until you saw him approach you, dressed in his civies; tight-fitting black shirt and jeans. The shirt contoured every bulging muscle in his body, solid and toned; his jeans fitting like a glove, a little too well in certain places.

He raked his eyes along your body in the light colored satin dress that clung to your body in all the right ways, eyeing you like you were a finely carved sculpture at a museum.

“You look stunning, love” he cooed, then extended his arm for you. “Shall we?”

You laced your arm around his bicep letting him escort you, your smile never leaving your face.

He took you to a bar you both had visited before with the rest of the team. This time it was just the two of you sitting in an isolated, dimly lit booth; a more romantic atmosphere than you had experienced previously the times you had been there with a group of drunken men.

The liquor you two ingested throughout the night was abundant, and it’s effects definitely reflected on you more than him. Your cheeks were burning red with alcohol and your movements were loose and fluid with him. You were carefree and loud and he loved every second of it, definitely getting a good amount of laughs from him. Although you two already had a fair amount of chemistry, courage was a real thing with you; you didn’t feel the slightest bit of shame or shyness with him tonight.

And he was enjoying himself just as much. The thought of how much he had been missing out on for rejecting you sporadically crossed his mind. He thought about how good you were as company, cherished you two’s daily routine, about how much he had been depriving himself of by not letting himself admit to you how he really felt.

Towards the end of the night your table was adorned with evidence of how much you two had drank and a sign that it was time you got back.

“Alright, that’s enough for ya,” he said sliding out of the booth, reaching his hand out for you to follow him. “Don’t want you getting too pissed, yeah?”

You laughed, taking the hand he held out to you and stepping out of the booth. You were tipsy but had control over yourself.

Once you exited the bar, you and Price idled outside before going back to the base, as he put a cigar to his lip and lit it. You watched him intently, observing how the cigar clung to his lips, how his lips wrapped around it.

“What made you change your mind?” You asked as you leaned against the wall next to you. He looked at you, taking a drag and exhaling it.

“Dunno,” he began “wanted to give you a chance, like you said.”

“What’s your verdict?”

He took a moment as he gathered his thoughts, taking another drag and looking into your eyes. He reached his arm to you, his knuckle brushed against your cheek. You leaned into his touch.

“Been missing out on how good you can make me feel. Denied myself the joy of having you around like this…closer than when we’re in the office” He spoke earnestly, taking the cigar from his lips and maintaining it in his hand as he gazed into your eyes.

You took a step closer to him, your eyes never diverting away from his. He stepped closer to you as well.

In his mind, a voice told him this was a mistake. He was your superior, he was much older than you, this would never work out, and you were going to end up hurt. But a louder, more indulgent voice told him to get closer and closer to you, to place his hand on your waist and pull you closer.

Your eyes were dilated in the dimly lit back of the bar and his were dark blue pools that drowned you. You were pulled closer to him, snaking your hand up the arm that pulled you.

“So what happens next?” You asked in a soft and anticipatory voice.

“Do you want this?” He asked, almost a whisper.

You nodded, still not breaking eye contact. Your bodies were flush against each other by this point and your palms laid on his burly chest.

With that confirmation, Price leaned forward and his lips graced against yours. They were plump and soft, his beard and mustache caressing your soft skin as he pressed his lips with yours.

The kiss was longing yet tender and shy simultaneously. He pulled back slightly and leaned back in, this time his lips were slightly parted, hugging yours when they joined again. Your hands slid up his chest to around the back of his neck, entwining into the hair on his nape. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his body melding with yours, one of his hand snaked up your back as the other shifted slightly lower towards your hips, towards the small of your back.

He pulled back, face still centimeters from yours and his eyes meeting yours. The tip of his nose nuzzled yours. One of his hands came up to cup your face, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone, before his lips clashed against your own once more. This time, it was more filled with passion, more desire and less reservation. You held your breath as he kissed you, gripping his hair between your fingers and kissing him back just as fervently.

He took another step towards you, guiding your body against the wall behind you. His lips massaged against yours, opening your lips slightly as his tongue pried into your mouth. You welcomed it with the tip of your own, a pleased hum escaping your throat at the feeling.

His body was pressed against yours and your body was against the wall as he held you close and gripped your body, as if you would disappear if he didn’t hold you any tighter. The two of you broke away momentarily to catch your breaths before you leaned back in with force and desperation, this time he was the one letting out a pleasured groan. Both of his hands ran down the side of your body as if you were a piece of clay being sculpted on a pottery wheel, then reached for your ass, tightly gripping it, and making you moaned within the kiss.

The sound increased his desire for you, and you could tell not just by the force of his movements and his kisses, but because of the stiffness in his jeans. A hand now slid up your thigh and under the hem of your dress, slightly lifting it against him with a firm grip.

“John…” you moaned between his lips, your hand ran down his front and in between the two of you down to his crotch. You palmed his stiff manhood through his jeans and he let out a groan in response.

“Fuck, baby…” he exhaled, breaking the kiss momentarily “Not here.”

You looked at him puzzled, blown pupils and out of breath.

“You deserve to be fucked properly, sweetheart, not here in this alley. I need to fuck you right…in my bed” he whispered sultrily against your lips before planting a gentle kiss.

He took you into his room, barely able to take his hands off you on the way there. He kissed you deeply and sloppily, too desperate and hard by this point. You couldn’t complain, though, your panties felt soaked and uncomfortable, your pussy desperate for him to touch it.

You stood with him at the foot of his bed. His kisses were messy and wet, his hands groping every bit of your body. He kneaded your ass and slid up your front up to your breasts, cupping each mound of soft flesh in his large calloused hands. His fingers ran under the thin straps of your dress and he slid them down your shoulders and arms, letting the dress fall to the floor with ease, and leaving you in nothing but your white lacy panties. He pulled back to admire your bare body. God, the amount of times he had imagined what it looked like under your clothes, how many times he had fucked into his fist in the late nights that he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head no matter how hard he tried. He devoured you with his eyes, then his hands returned to cup your breasts, gripping them with care and adoration, your nipples being taken between his index and middle finger.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. Your perfect tits…you’re so fucking perfect” he cooed, his words eliciting a moan from you and a palpitation in between your legs.

“Lay down for me, yeah?”

You complied, letting yourself onto the bed behind you. He palmed himself through his jeans as he looked down at you. He had you right where he wanted you, splayed out in his sheets ready, inviting him to fuck you. He crawled on top of you, your hands reaching to touch his torso. Your hands gripped at the hem of his shirt and hiked it up, silently signally for him to take it off, and he complied, kneeling over you as he tugged the shirt off his back.

Fuck, he was something else. He was godly and sculpted, he belonged in an art exhibit. As he sat back on his haunches and in between your legs, you ran your hands down his toned body, from his chest down to his abdomen and lower to his v-line, arriving at the waistband of his jeans.

“I need you, John,” you practically moaned. “Please”

“You need me, huh?” He smirked. “Go on then, love, ‘s all yours.”

You bit your lip and fumbled to unbutton his jeans, your hands shaky with a mix of shyness and excitement. He took your hands in his and helped you slide the zipper down, then helped you tug his jeans down and maneuvered himself out of them, now staying in his boxers. His length was explicitly contoured by the fabric of his underwear. It was obscene how big and girthy he was, your mouth and pussy watered at the sight. You stroked him through his boxers and he rutted against your hand.

“Come on, sweetheart, take it” he encouraged you, placing his hand on yours and rubbing it on himself, a low groan escaping his lips.

You pulled his boxers down, his cock springing free, and your heart skipped a beat. You had no idea how you’d be able to take that length. He smiled as if he could read your thoughts.

“Stroke it, love, go on.”

And you complied, wrapping your dainty fingers around his cock, making him sigh and cuss under his breath at the feeling of your gentle hands.

You tugged at it, stroking your hands up and down from tip to base. Your thumb rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock, smearing the precum emerging from his slit. His eyes were on you the whole time, his breath ragged and his hips moving rhythmically with your slow strokes.

He reached down to you and took each of your thighs into his hands, spreading your legs open for him to accommodate himself between them. He leaned his body down, his face close to yours as he collided his lips with yours once more. He trailled his tongue from your lips, down to your chin, neck and sternum. His hands moved from your thighs to your breasts, kneading one in one hand, and took the other in his mouth.

He alternated between lapping at the sensitive buds and sucking the mounds, making you mewl and throw your head back at the sensation. The hand that was stroking him joined the other one at tugging the hair on his head to ground yourself.

His hands were all over you before they returned to grip your thighs; his mouth followed the same route, running down your abdomen before he settled cozily between your legs. He looked up at you as he left kisses and nips on the sensitive skin in your inner thighs. His eyes were dark and gleaming with pleasure. You looked like a mess wiggling under his touch, you couldn’t wait for him to finally take your panties off and taste you.

“You wore these for me, hm, baby?“ he rubbed your pussy through the lacy fabric as he looked up at you. “Were you thinking of me fucking you the whole night?”

You nodded shamelessly and it elicited a chuckle from him. “You’re a little slut, aren’t you? Wearing these for me, anticipating for me to fuck you.”

He tugged the panties down your legs, gripping them in his fist as he smelled and tasted the saturated crotch. He let out a satisfied hum before settling them on the other side of the bed. His hand now reaching for your bare pussy, running his thick fingers between your slick wet folds.

“So fuckin’ wet f’me and I’ve barely gotten started”

You moaned desperately at his slow and teasing touch, wiggling your hips to get more friction, but he stopped you by gripping your hips with his other hand.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart, you’re gonna be a good girl and stay still for me” he scolded you as he moved his fingers painfully slow, coating himself in your slick. You obeyed him, like the good girl he wanted you to be for him.

Because you were so obedient and docile, he rewarded you by rubbing his index and middle finger over your throbbing clit, making you suck in a breath and let out a moan. He rubbed the bundle of nerves with his wet fingers, slowly yet with the perfect amount of pressure, it made your eyes shut and your pussy flutter, getting impossibly wetter.

Price was watching every movement you made, his eyes alternating between looking up at you and back down at the sight of your glistening pussy and how his fingers looked on it.

He slid both digits inside your hole at a burning slow pace. The sensation of your hole stretching at the entrance and your walls clenching around them once he was in there made his dick twitch.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby, your pussy’s taking my fingers so well. So fuckin’ warm and tight.” He pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy, at first slowly and then increasing his pace little by little. It made you moan in blissful pleasure, your back arching off the mattress, making Price’s grip on your hip increase.

“Remember, doll; be a good girl for me and I’ll reward ya, ‘kay?” He warned, stilling his fingers inside you “Don’t make me have to punish you”

You nodded complacently. “ ‘M sorry, John” you pleaded.

He let out a small chuckle as he kissed your inner thigh again, whispering “that’s my girl” against your skin. He returned to pumping his fingers inside you, his pace increasing. His fingers curled inside you, pressing the spot within you that made you see stars. He played with your pussy so expertly, as if he knew his way around your body like a map he had memorized. He whispered praises as he fucked his fingers into you. You moaned like a madwoman overwhelmed with pleasure, your walls clenching and pulsating against his fingers.

He watched you unravel for a bit, before moving his face close to your pussy, sticking out his tongue to lap at your clit with his fingers slowing down their pace in and out of you. His tongue was flat, lapping at your stimulated clit at the rhythm of his fingers. It made you borderline scream and clamp down on his fingers.

“J-John, please!” You pleaded, not knowing at what, maybe pleading for him to have some mercy on you and grant you release. It drove him crazy to hear you say his name, sending a shock straight to his cock, motivating to lick and suck on your clit and his fingers fucked you harder and faster.

You were right there, right there, right at the verge of cumming. His other hand that once had a firm grip on your hip now loosened and let go, migrating to play with one of your breasts.

Now free, you rutted your hips against his mouth, his beard and mustache were coated in your juices that you smeared the more you moved on him. He moaned against your pussy and at the sensation of one of your hands tugging at his hair. Your other hand found itself gripping the sheets next to you. You were a mess of moans and begs for John to let you cum.

“Cum for me, darling, come on. Be a good fucking girl and cum for me, princess” he said against your pussy before returning to devour it.

You felt the pressure in your stomach well up, overwhelming you until you snapped and broke euphorically. You choked out a final moan as your back arched up against the mattress, your thighs closing around Price’s head; pussy clasping around his fingers and juices spilling out onto his face. You let out a sob as you came undone.

Price looked up at you, leaving kisses on your pussy as he removed his fingers from you.

“Atta girl,” he said softly. “You’re so perfect when you cum for me, love”

You were breathless and your mind was in a haze. You felt Price scale up your body and place his wet mustache against your cheek, planting a gentle kiss on it. You faintly heard him praise you, how good you did for him, how perfect you were.

“Look at me, darling,” he said as his hand grasped your jaw and turned your face to look at him, your eyes fluttered open and gazed at his with blown, dazed pupils.

“Will you give me another one, baby? You gonna let me fuck you once more?”

You nodded drunkenly and exhausted, “Y-yes… fuck me, John”

He smiled at you kindly, stroking your face with his hand and whispering “you’re so good for me, sweet girl”

He reached down to pump his painfully hard cock with the hand that was coated in your slick, letting out a soft moan, and aligned the tip at your entrance. His body weighed on yours, the two of you perfectly snug against each other. Your hands rested on the sides of your head on the bed and your legs were spread open for him, his body nestled between them. Slowly, he pushed his thick length into you, splitting you open. Your mouth fell open with a slow moan emerging from you. He moaned in unison with you at the feeling of your cunt encapsulating his yearning cock.

His forehead rested against yours, and the hand on your jaw moved to your neck, comfortably resting on it as he bottomed out into you, slowly and steadily. Once he was completely inside you, his pelvis flush against your clit, he stayed still for a moment, feeling how your walls fluttered around his cock.

Then, he began to thrust and gyrate his hips into you, at first slowly and then picking up the pace. You were still high off the first orgasm and your cunt was overstimulated by the new intrusion of Price’s cock. You were in overwhelming pleasure, clenching your cunt with every thrust from Price. Your eyes were locked with his, listening to his soft panting breaths that matched your own. You laid there taking his cock, feeling like you had died and gone to Heaven.

As you regained more of your conscience and strength, your arms rose and rested on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and holding him close. His free hand grabbed your thigh and wrapped it around him, granting him a deeper angle within you, making you moan as his cock hit that spot inside you once more.

You already felt the second wave washing over you. The feeling of him thrusting his cock inside of you was euphoric. The way his body moved against yours, how his hands held your body so tightly and bruising, the sound of his pants and choked out moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin. This is all you’ve been wanting all this time. You had been waiting for him to fuck you silly since the moment you met him, since you realized how desperate and infatuated you were with him. And now you had him, chasing his release, fucking you perfectly and hungrily. It made your heart race and your ears ring, your skin covered in goosebumps, your stomach tying into a knot as another orgasm built up inside of you.

“I’m close, baby,” he moaned against your lips, hands firmly gripping your hips as he pound against you.

“Cum inside me, John” you begged breathlessly “make me yours, please”

It drove him crazy to hear you beg like this, making him ram his cock into you relentlessly.

“You’re mine, Y/N” he growled “You’re only fuckin’ mine, my perfect girl”

His words and the speed and depth of his fucking made you see white again. Your second orgasm hit you like a truck as you clenched around his cock firmly, moaning against his mouth, legs shaking in his grasp.

The tightness of your pussy made him snap, shooting hot shots of cum into you. He moaned in unison with you, trembling and hips faltering as he flooded your insides.

The two of you came in tandem, holding each other tightly as you came down from your mutual highs. He kept slowly and messily pounding into you, stuffing his cum into you.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he sighed “so full with my cum. My girl takes my cock so well, so good for me.” He said as he peppered kisses over your sweaty face, stroking your hair with the hand that once held your neck.

You hummed at his words “all yours, John, ‘m all yours”. You were breathless and cockdrunk, your limbs going limp on the mattress. He chuckled softly at your words, his cock falling out of you and his fingers reaching down to stuff his escaping cum back into you, making you wince at the sensation.

He got off the bed, heading to the en suite bathroom to clean himself and coming back to wipe in between your legs with a damp wash cloth. You let him take care of you giving him an appreciative hum. He smiled at you as he did so, whispering praises. When he finished you rolled into a comfortable position in the bed, feeling the bed sink as his body came to join yours. He big spooned you, embracing you tightly against him. His hand pet your hair, fingers tucking the loose strands behind your ear. You fell asleep under his touch and he watched you, feeling smitten with you in his arms.

A/N: this word count is fucking CRAZY!!! I’m sorry for the length yall I got carried away. But if you’re here, hope you enjoyed!!!! Love ya <3

P.S. for funsies, look up the meaning of the flowers in the arrangement for extra corniness.

[f0point5]

I just saw the picture of Max kissing Kelly after the sprint race and I just realised how much content that would have given for the Max smau 😭😭😭 him and Emilia after the sprint race I need it pretty please

Okay so I did a thing. Because that picture/video was so cute but I also could not get out of my head that it was very contrived so…I did a thing. But I think it’s still pretty cute

Also I knowwww I’m going to regret using this title for this and not something more dramatic but it fits too well

He just comes running over to me

It’s Christian who suggests that you wait for Max at the gap in the fence when he wins the sprint. In all the excitement, and frankly, relief, that Max was able to pull some performance out of that possessed jalopy, you don’t realise that he’s setting you up.

You realise now. Because none of the engineers bother to crowd around you, jockeying for the chance to congratulate their boy on his first win in months. Because the moment the track photographers are done taking pictures of the drivers getting out of the car, half of them make their way over to the edge of the track before you’ve even poked your head through the gap. You realise because the only Red Bull employee that does follow you to the gap is Anna, Max’s paddock PR this year.

Someone must have pointed you out to Max, because after wiping his face he makes his way towards you. He’s beaming, even with his cap obscuring some of his face as he walk you can tell. You don’t even care who planned it or why, or how many cameras you have to share it with, you’d give anything to see him so unburdened up close.

He waves to a crowd that actually cheers for him this time and you think you might start tearing up from that alone. He deserves it now, but he always did.

“Finally,” he says when you’re in earshot. It’s an exhalation, and his smile is brighter than you’ve seen it in months, his cheeks red under the lines pressed into his skin from his helmet.

You grin back, reaching your arms through the gap to pull him into a hug. “You were so good, Löwe,” you whisper, feeling his jaw move against your shoulder as his smile widens.

No sooner have you let go of him than one of the photographers asks, “Can we get a kiss?”

You look over to them, all waiting, as if they know they haven’t got their promised money shot yet. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and flip them off all at once. You’re now even more sure that this was all pre-planned.

“Sorry, I have a boyfriend,” you answer sardonically, forcing yourself to smile. Your admonishment doesn’t change the fact that they’re watching you expectantly, and you look over at Max, raising an eyebrow at him.

We don’t have to.

But he’s already leaning up towards you, so you meet him halfway.

He’s more practiced at this - the art of PR. Despite his well known dislike of media, he’s not above fulfilling his obligation, which today means proving that your relationship is as strong as ever, and that Red Bull Racing is indeed getting back to normal.

When Max pulls away from you the noise of camera shutters fades are suddenly audible again.

“Mwah,” you exaggerate the noise to make a point, and with his face turned away from the cameras slightly, Max rolls his eyes.

“They can leave us alone now,” he says, noting how most of the photographers have now melted away. It’s only Vladimir and a couple of b-roll videographers lingering, but you pointedly ignore them as you look down at Max.

His eyes look bluer, face redder, hair fluffier. He seems more himself than you can almost remember him. Because you know he’s happy, and that if his career ended tomorrow he would still be happy, but the track is still where he’s alive. That won’t always be the case, there will come a day when the balance shifts, when winning isn’t what gets him up in the morning, when home doesn’t smell like sweat and fuel. But it’s not today.

“The car looked a lot better,” you say, as Lando’s interview is broadcast over the speakers.

Max nods. “Yeah, the balance really felt like it used to. Couple of things we can do before qualifying maybe, but it was nice to drive a car that actually lets you go forward,” he says with a chuckle, squinting as he looks at you. “You look pleased,”

You shrug. “I have to. These pictures are going to be all over the F1 Instagram,” you say, deliberately angling your head so the sun is hitting your cheekbones like you’re being kissed by the heavens. “People kind of like me, you know,”

“Oh, I know,” Max chuckles.

“No, I’m just,” you shrug, ignoring the prickling of your skin. “I like watching you win,”

Max nods, leaning towards you again. “One more,”

You smile as you press your lips firmly to his, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. You gave the media their kiss, this one is just for him.

When he pulls away, your fingers ghost across his jaw as he drops down from his tiptoes. He smiles at you, something about it so boyish that you can feel a blush rise to your cheeks like you’re thirteen again.

Winning looks so goddamn good on him.

Like he can read your thoughts, he smiles wider.

“Shut up,” you say, reaching to tip his cap forward as you roll your eyes. “Now go get your little plaque thing,”

“Ik heb de prijs al,” Max says, giving you one last tight lipped smirk before he starts back towards Lando to wait for his interview with Guenther.

You watch his retreating back, eyes drifting directly into Mario’s lens. You wonder what he’s seeing, if you look half as in love with him as you are. You doubt it’s possible.

Stepping back off the edge of the wall, you meander down the pitlane towards the Red Bull garage. Max’s voice comes over the speakers and you smile.

“Feels a bit like old times,” he says, and the crowd erupts.

It really does.

[ghettogirly]

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄!

𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓𝐀!

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𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑!𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: it’s your first day at the psychiatric institution within Miami, assigned to the most notorious criminal Armando Aretas, you must navigate your professionalism and your evolving crush for the male. How far with the lines blur?

-> format: one-shot

-> theme: twisted love.

-> warning: themes of toxicity, mature language, themes of violence, Armando is a little rough, themes of manipulation.

-> authors note: sorry for being gone so long, i wanted a little break! i know this is not a request but i wanted to write a story with Armando based on the Joker and Harley Quinn. 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!🌸

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Walking through the rusted, steel gate, the click and clacks of heels were heard echoing off of the concrete floor. Tapping her keycard amongst the galvanised aluminium door, a woman strolled through. Her nervousness filled up the air as the receptionist lazily glanced up at her. “What.”

“Oh! It’s my first day here, i’m supposed to be meeting up with the head of the institution Mr-“

“He’s not here.”

“He told me he would be here though-“

“Well he’s not, so leave.”

“Wait a second-“

A click was heard next to the two women as a buff guy walked through the door, signalling you to follow him, which you do with haste. Quickly collecting your things, you follow him through the door to which he leads you down a hallway, leaving the miserable old woman behind the desk.

“Don’t mind her, she can be a bit grouchy in the morning.” Your superior, Micheal Brown reassured you as he took you towards the staff room.

“It’s fine.. happens to everyone i guess.”

“Did you get here okay?”

“Yeah traffic wasn’t that bad-“

Cutting her off, screams could be heard throughout the institution as you heard metal banging and footsteps retreating. Forcing you to the left, a big group of officers came running down the hall with gas masks and shields as they approach a particular cell where the interference was occurring. A pale caucasian man was being whisked out of the cell, his arm falling limp as his soul seems to have left his body. His lips turned blue, the colour slowly seeping down his body. He was killed.

Another man seemingly walks out of the cell, his hands behind his back as a bunch of guards surround him. To your surprise, Micheal walks towards the guards to figure out the issue. You follow behind.

In the middle of all the bodies, a broad, built man stood coolly between them. His tan skin being lit slightly by the dim ceiling light that hung above him. A slight scar ripped through his eyebrow as he was shirtless. His muscles and toned abs popped out with his tattoos slowly trailing down his arm, forming a sleeve. Slowly putting his head up, he looked straight at you. His eyes low. His lips forming a slight smirk.

You recognise him to be Armando Aretas.

Slightly gasping, you look straight at him. Intimidated by his presence but unable to look away. He lightly chuckled at your reaction to which he got his neck grabbed by one of the guards, unhappy by his recent activities. “Fucking hell Aretas, don’t you ever want to get your shit in order?”

No response.

“Nothing to say? Cap let me sort him out-“

“That’s enough.” Micheal shouts, pushing past the swarm of guards who managed to contain Aretas. “Take him to the solitary unit.”

A myriad of huffs were heard throughout the group who manhandled Aretas, urging him to walk down the corridors.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that Armando Aretas?”

“The one and only. You’re his new therapist.”

Your jaw went slack in shock as you try to fathom all the consequences that could arise from this. Good or bad.

“Don’t worry, if you don’t want to do this then i can assign you with someone else-“

“I’ll do it.” Jumping at the offer as it can progress your career further if you manage to change the psychologically scarred man, a sense of fear yet adrenaline bubbling through your veins.

“Great. It’s a plan.” Standing up, you shake his hand at the man who happily smiles towards you. Was he smiling at you because you’re helping him? Or was it for a different reason?

You sat in your car, munching on some pesto pasta while flicking through his files. Usually, you wouldn’t really psych yourself out by reading the clients files before you met them but your curiosity took over. Wanting to see what was beneath the male’s cold, callous exterior. Scanning through the paper, you looked at his psychological records noted down by his previous psychiatrists. ‘Sociopathic tendencies, manipulative, signs of antisocial behaviour…��

“The list could go on..”

Munching on the rest of your pasta, you glance up at your car system where the clock struck 9:45am. You were late.

“Oh god, i need to go!”

Quickly getting out of your car, you fiddle with your car keys as you try to lock the door. Running to the entrance, you quickly pass the receptionist, not even waiting for her smart comment today. Now speed walking down the corridor, you open the barricaded door with a keycard, just before stepping inside someone stops you.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” It was Micheal.

“Yes, i’m sure, thank you.”

A darkness welcomed you in as you entered the secluded room. Looking up at you , Armando gave you a side smile. His features entrancing you as you notice his messy beard and hair, his rough hands and built shape. His reputation of being a cold blooded killer who ran Miami clearly preceded him.

His arms was cuffed to a bar that separated you and him from the table. A guard was in the corner to which you signalled him to leave, giving you a peculiar look, he obeyed.

“Hello Armando, i’m your new psychiatrist.”

“I know. They were nice enough to give me an attractive one this time.”

You coughed as you felt a heat rise to your cheeks. “Moving forward. I’m [enter name]. I think we can be a first name basis here, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

Getting out your folders, you scan through his section and start asking him questions. He answers some and answers none. Throughout the whole session you stay focused on analysing and observing his behaviour, even though you could feel his glare on you.

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Over the next couple of weeks, you become more comfortable within the facility and with Armando. Showing good progress within the facility and your sessions, to the point where even the staff have noticed and complimented you. However, a feeling of pleasure seems to mix within your profession as through every session there seems to be progress with you too.

Your love for him.

You seem not be able to get enough of him, scanning him up and down in his orange jumpsuit as he always leans forward to answer your questions. Leaving the tiniest bit of space between the two, to the extent of which you can feel his breath on your nose. His tattoos trailed down his body, creating its own story the further down you go.

“¿Te gusta lo que ves?”

“What?”

“I’ve noticed the confidence mamas. You’ve been wearing more revealing shirts, been more assertive. No te hagas el tonto.”

“I..”

Leaning forward, Armando slowly reached for your neck, tracing it slightly. “Te he estado sintiendo, sé que tú también me has estado sintiendo a mí".

Feeling the your emotions of love and lust wash over you, the walls protecting yourself and your future come crashing down. Now fully succumbing to him and his actions as you lean into his touch.

“Of course i been feeling you puddin..”

Planting your lips on Armando’s, you embrace him into a passionate kiss to which he accepts, roughly grabbing your neck in an attempt to pull you closer. Moaning into the kiss, it continues for a couple seconds longer before he pulls away.

“¿Puedes conseguirme algunas armas, nena?”

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[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“¿Te gusta lo que ves?” : You like what you see?

“No te hagas el tonto.” : Don’t play dumb.

“Te he estado sintiendo, sé que tú también me has estado sintiendo a mí". : I been feeling you, i know you have been feeling me too.

“¿Puedes conseguirme algunas armas, nena?” : Can you get me some guns, baby?

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[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @shurisgf @milliumizoomi @deadpool15 @armandosbabymama @tyneshaaa @thedarkworldofhananerea @5tarlan7 @wizewhispers @dyttomori @dyttomori02 @amplifiedmoan @believeinthefireflies95 @bootlegroach @sarcasticbitchsblog @yeahnohoneybye @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” ~ Pt. 3 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Angst

Summary: As tensions rise between Y/N and Lewis, their unresolved conflicts spill into their separate lives. Y/N immerses herself in her new role in LA, while Lewis decides to fly to LA to surprise her and show his support for her career.

WC: 1,200

The shrill sound of my 5 a.m. alarm jolts me out of sleep, blaring through the quiet hotel room and shattering the brief peace I’d found wrapped up next to him. I fumble to turn it off, groaning as I shake off the last remnants of sleep. The room is still dim, only a hint of light peeking through the curtains, and I glance over to see Lewis still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling steadily, blissfully unaware of the rude awakening.

As quietly as I can, I slip out of bed and finish packing my bag. Every movement feels heavy, knowing that this is it—I’m leaving him again, back to LA, back to the whirlwind of work and responsibilities waiting for me. Last night, we’d found solace in each other, but it didn’t change anything. It was just a brief escape, and now, here I am, running out the door before sunrise.

My gaze drifts back to him, his face relaxed, his brow free from the tension that seemed to linger between us these days. I hesitate, biting my lip before walking over to his side of the bed. Gently, I reach out and brush a hand over his shoulder, softly calling his name. “Lewis… hey, I have to go.”

He stirs, blinking a few times before his eyes finally focus on me, and I watch as the sleepiness fades, replaced by something I can’t quite place. He sits up slightly, his expression neutral, and for a moment, I feel a pang of disappointment. I’d hoped for something more—a plea to stay, maybe even a look of understanding. But instead, he looks… indifferent.

“Right,” he murmurs, running a hand over his face. “Have a safe flight.”

I try not to let his tone affect me, but it does. I lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. His arms wrap around me instinctively, pulling me closer, and just as I’m about to pull away, his lips linger, soft and desperate, as if he’s silently begging me to stay. The intensity in his kiss catches me off guard, and I feel my heart tighten, a mix of guilt and frustration swirling within me.

But I can’t stay. I pull back, offering him a small smile. “I’ll call you when I land, okay?”

He just nods, his gaze following me as I pick up my bag and head for the door. As I step out, I can feel his eyes on me, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on my shoulders, leaving me with a gnawing ache that I know won’t go away anytime soon.

Back in LA, the bustling energy of the city greets me as I arrive at my manager Jude’s office, trying to shake off the early-morning flight fatigue. Jude looks up from his desk, his expression stern as always, and gestures for me to sit down. His demeanor has always been more fatherly than anything else, a grounding force in my otherwise chaotic career. But sometimes, his seriousness grates on me, especially when I feel like he’s trying to dictate my every move.

“Welcome back,” he says, his voice clipped. “Hope you’re ready to dive right into this project. We’ve got a packed schedule, and you’re expected on set every day.”

I nod, though there’s a part of me that’s hesitant, the thought of missing Lewis’s upcoming races still weighing on me. I take a deep breath, bracing myself. “Jude, is there… any way I could work my schedule around just one of the races? I could maybe fly out for a day or two?”

His brows knit together, and he looks at me as if I’ve just suggested the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “Y/N, this isn’t a hobby. This is your career. You need to be here, focused, without distractions. You can’t just fly off every time your boyfriend has a race.”

“I know,” I say, feeling a surge of frustration, my voice slipping into a whine. “But it’s important to him, and—”

“Enough,” he interrupts, his tone firm. “You need to be more mature about this. You’ve worked hard to get here, and now it’s time to prioritize. Do you want to be taken seriously in this industry, or do you want to be seen as someone who’s just along for the ride?”

His words sting, and I feel like a chastised teenager, but I bite back any retort, nodding quietly. He’s right, in a way, but the guilt lingers, a constant reminder of the sacrifice I’m making.

By Thursday, the tension between Lewis and me hasn’t improved. We’ve been texting back and forth, but every conversation seems to lead to an argument, leaving me drained and frustrated. He’s in Mexico now, gearing up for the next Grand Prix, while I’m stuck in LA, bouncing from one meeting to the next. His texts are short, clipped, and filled with veiled accusations about me not being there.

Lewis: “You could have rearranged things. You know how much this race means to me.”

Me: “Lewis, you act like it’s so easy. I’m not just sitting around, you know.”

Lewis: “It’s never easy with you, is it?”

I roll my eyes, feeling a surge of annoyance. Me: “Maybe if you weren’t so dramatic, we wouldn’t keep going in circles. I can’t drop everything for you.”

Lewis: “I just want you to show that you care.”

Me: “I do care! You’re the one making this a bigger deal than it is.”

The conversation ends with him leaving me on read, and I feel a mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. Nothing seems to be enough for him, no matter how hard I try.

POV Switch: Lewis

It’s Sunday, and the Mexico Grand Prix is about to start, but my mind keeps drifting back to Y/N, and the words we exchanged over text. I’m angry, frustrated, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being unreasonable. But damn it, it’s hard not to feel like she’s slipping away, especially when she seems so focused on everything but us.

During a break in the paddock, I run into Lando, who’s his usual, cheerful self, chatting with everyone he passes. Part of me wants to brush him off, but instead, I strike up a conversation, hoping to ease my mind… or maybe to confirm the suspicions that have been eating at me.

“So, Y/N not making it out here again?” Lando asks, looking over at me with a knowing grin.

I shrug, keeping my tone casual. “Yeah, she’s busy with this new project in LA. She’s pretty focused on it.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, nodding. “She told me she’s so excited for this role. You must be thrilled for her, right?”

I feel a pang of jealousy mixed with guilt as he says it, my jaw tightening. “Yeah… thrilled,” I murmur, trying to keep my tone light. “She, uh… talks to you about it?”

Lando nods, clearly oblivious to my discomfort. “Yeah, we chat here and there. She mentioned she’s hoping it’s her breakout role. I think she’s really got it in her. You must be proud.”

The weight of his words hits me harder than I expected. Here I am, stewing in jealousy, focused on how much her absence bothers me, while she’s out there doing everything she’s worked so hard for. I should be proud of her, thrilled for her. But instead, I’ve been selfish, putting my own needs above her dreams.

Lando gives me a friendly clap on the shoulder before heading off, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I take a deep breath, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own feelings that I haven’t taken the time to actually support her, to let her know that I’m here for her, no matter what.

Without hesitation, I pull out my phone and send a quick message to my assistant.

Me: “Book me a flight to LA for Monday. I’m going to see Y/N.”

If I’m going to make this work, I need to show her that I care about her career as much as I care about my own.

POV Y/N

The first day of filming had gone perfectly. The nerves I felt in the morning had melted away as soon as I stepped in front of the camera, diving into the role I’d been preparing for over the past few weeks. By the time I’d wrapped up, I was buzzing with energy, flipping through the script in my trailer, trying to absorb the details for tomorrow.

I hadn’t thought about Lewis all day, not the arguments, the jealousy, or the fact that he was in a different country entirely, living his own life without me. And it was a relief—a reminder that I could be more than just “his girlfriend.” I was here, on set, doing what I loved, and for the first time in a while, it felt like it was enough.

A sudden knock at my trailer door pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up, surprised. I’m not expecting anyone.

“Come in!” I call, glancing at the door as it swings open to reveal Lola, one of the sound managers I’d worked with before. Her blue hair, piercings, and tattoos make her stand out on any set, and her unapologetic opinions are part of why I love her so much. She’s a firecracker, always calling things as she sees them.

She gives me a wide-eyed look, an amused grin spreading across her face. “Dude, I think your boyfriend is here? That driver guy, right?”

I blink, thrown off guard. “Wait… what?”

“Yeah, he’s out there, looking all glamorous in some fancy designer outfit,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I think the whole crew is practically drooling over him. Even the director’s talking to him.”

I get up, peering out the small window of my trailer, and sure enough, there he is—Lewis Hamilton, surrounded by a crowd of intrigued crew members, the director himself leaning in to shake his hand, a look of admiration on his face. Everyone is utterly charmed, captivated by him, and I can practically feel my blood boiling.

Seriously? He just shows up here, at my set, and pulls all the attention toward himself? It’s my project, my moment, and here he is, stepping in unannounced, drawing everyone’s focus like he’s the main attraction. Does he have to make everything about him?

As I watch, he finally manages to extract himself from the crowd, striding toward my trailer with that confident, self-assured look he always has. He’s dressed head to toe in Dior, sunglasses on even though the sun is starting to set, and there’s a part of me that feels a stab of irritation. He didn’t just show up. He came here looking like this—like he’s ready to own the entire scene.

I school my expression, putting on a happy face, reminding myself to play along. After all, it’s not like I don’t want him to be here. But the audacity of him showing up out of nowhere without even a heads-up feels… intrusive. Like he’s stepping into my space and taking over.

He steps inside, flashing me that smile, and I force myself to smile back, pretending I’m thrilled he finally decided to show up for me for once.

“Surprise,” he says, his voice warm, like he’s expecting me to melt into his arms. He reaches out, hands settling on my waist, pulling me close.

I smile tightly, crossing my arms, refusing to give in so easily. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

He chuckles, running his hand up my arm, his touch gentle but insistent. “Wanted to surprise you. Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

I manage a small smile, swallowing the annoyance bubbling up inside me. “Oh, I’m thrilled,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light, though it’s laced with a hint of sarcasm. “And I’m sure the whole crew is too. They’ve all been fawning over you since you got here.”

He smirks, clearly not picking up on my irritation, as he leans in closer, his voice dropping. “Well, I’m only here for one person.” He tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, trailing his lips down to my jaw. “I missed you.”

I stiffen, resisting the urge to melt into him, but it’s getting harder with every touch, every soft kiss. He’s pulling out all the stops, the charm, the warmth, and it’s almost enough to make me forget how angry I was. Almost.

But then, the thought creeps back in. He didn’t come to celebrate my success, to support me in my project. No, he’s here because he’s jealous, because he wants to make sure I’m still wrapped around his finger, focused on him. He’s here for him, not for me.

He moves to kiss me, but I turn my head away, crossing my arms even tighter. “I’m not in the mood,” I say, my voice cool.

He pulls back, a look of confusion flickering across his face, quickly replaced by irritation. “What’s wrong?”

I shrug, feigning indifference. “Nothing’s wrong. I just… wasn’t expecting you to show up here like this. I thought you’d be in Mexico, celebrating with your team.”

He frowns, his jaw clenching slightly. “I wanted to see you. I thought you’d be happy I came all this way to surprise you.”

I feel a pang of guilt, but my frustration outweighs it. “Well, maybe I would be if it felt like you were here for the right reasons.”

His expression darkens, and he steps back slightly, crossing his own arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I sigh, biting back the urge to say something harsher. “It means that every time I have something important going on, it somehow becomes about you. You’re here on my set, charming everyone, pulling all the attention to yourself. Can’t I have just one thing that’s about me?”

The hurt flickers across his face, but he quickly masks it, his tone defensive. “I’m not trying to take anything from you, Y/N. I came because I wanted to support you.”

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “Support me? You’ve been fighting me about this role since I took it. You didn’t even want me to take it.”

“That’s not true,” he argues, his voice rising slightly. “I just wanted you to consider my feelings. It’s like you barely even thought about how this would affect us.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve thought about it,” I snap back, the frustration boiling over. “But it’s always about you, isn’t it? You want everything to be on your terms. You get to chase your dreams, but the moment I try to focus on mine, it’s a problem.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, his gaze dropping, and I can see a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, as if he’s realizing the truth in my words. But before he can respond, I feel a swell of something else—guilt, mixed with the nagging reminder of what Jude had said to me in that meeting.

I hear Jude’s voice in my head, his stern, almost fatherly tone telling me to focus, to stay on track, to avoid distractions. He’d warned me that this relationship would only hold me back, that I needed to be stronger, more mature, more independent.

But I love Lewis. No matter how much he frustrates me, no matter how selfish he can be, I still want him. I still want to forgive him, to wrap my arms around him and let everything else fall away. He’s here, standing right in front of me, trying, in his own flawed way, to show me he cares. And despite everything, I feel myself wanting to forgive him, to give in to the comfort of his embrace.

I look up at him, his face softening as he senses my hesitation, his hands reaching out, silently begging for me to let him in. My heart aches, torn between the voice of reason urging me to focus on myself and the overwhelming pull I feel toward him, the need to be close to him, to forget all the tension, if only for a moment.

But as I stand there, caught between my own wants and the reminder of everything I’ve worked for, I find myself frozen, unable to decide which path to take.

————————————————————

Thank you for reading!

Remember, liking and following let’s me know you want more writings! 💜

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Some things I’ve noticed on my second viewing of “Five Nights at Freddy’s” (2023)

(Some of these are obvious, don’t @ me, I’m autistic and I had work the day I first watched the film so my brain was all over the place)

Once again, SPOILERS ARE UNDER THE CUT, PLEASE DONT READ IF YOU ARE AVOIDING SPOILERS!!!!

On my first viewing I thought that showing the security guard at the very start loosening the bolts of the chair straps was a fake out to make us believe he’d escape, but actually he loosened the bolts which is how Mike was able to escape later on

Just want to say that the opening credits are fucking cool and I love them so much

In my previous post about things in the FNAF movie, I incorrectly said there was no Golden Freddy - Golden Freddy is in fact in the film, he’s the one who goes to the house/kills Aunt Jane/is in the taxi

Following on from the above point, I said last time that I thought the cupcake was the fifth ghost child but I actually think it’s Golden Freddy to be honest - the blonde girl was obviously Chica, the boy with the bunny ears was Bonnie, the ginger boy was Foxy, and then there was the blonde boy and another boy with a top hat on. I originally thought that the blonde boy who wore the brown shirt was Freddy because he seemed like the leader, but now I’m wondering if the boy with the top hat was Freddy and the leader boy was in fact Golden Freddy (given his blonde hair)? I’m interested to hear what everyone else thinks

This is obvious but the doctor foreshadowed the ending because she told Mike that drawings are powerful tools for children to express things and understand things, and that’s exactly how Abby communicated to the gang at the end that Afton was responsible for their deaths

^side note but as an early years practitioner at a nursery/for preschool children, it’s actually true that pictures are used to help children learn things even before they can read, write or talk. I don’t know, it just interested me to be like “oh yeah that’s true!!”

There was not that much focus on Mike’s dad, like he was seen so briefly compared to his mom, which makes me wonder if there’s something to it that might be revealed in a future film. Like maybe his “dad” isn’t his dad or something? Because in the game canon, William is his father, so… I don’t know. I also saw someone else point out that in the training video Mike watched, there was a man working on the animatronics who maybe looked like the actor playing Mike’s dad, so maybe his dad worked there with the animatronics?

The film appears to be set in 2000; I’m 90% sure the security cam of Mike in the careers office showed the date as being in 2000, but if someone else can clarify or confirm the exact date then that would be great. It would make sense though because Garret presumably went missing around the same time as the ghost kids (in the 80s), so the film being set in the present day (meaning Mike would be in his 50s) would make zero sense. Also the mobile phones/computers all seem like they come from the early 2000s

Someone on Twitter pointed out that one of Abby’s drawings on her wall appeared to be a red airplane, which could just be an indication/foreshadowing of her knowledge of Garret’s disappearance (his toy airplane) but also someone else said it could have been 9/11 which….?!?! If this film is set in 2000, then that’s FUCKED

(I think it’s either a random drawing or to do with Garret’s toy tbh but the idea of her having foresight of 9/11 is fucking horrifying)

I’m still not totally sure which animatronic the gang were going to force Abby into, like it’s one with spring locks and at first I thought it might be Circus Baby but it doesn’t really look like her. It looks almost like a marionette or something? And I mean, yeah, it could be that they changed the design a bit but they literally stayed faithful to the designs of all the animatronics in the series so… you know.

Desperate to know if Matthew Lillard is aware of the fact that his DILF status has been multiplied by one hundred after this film like can someone check in on him and see if he’s alright? 💀 the FNAF girlies fans are frankly RABID about Afton

On that note, I wonder if Josh Hutcherson or Matthew Lillard have ever played any FNAF games, like were they fans before being cast or…? I really wish we could have content of them talking about the film or promoting it, but Hollywood refuses to pay their actors fairly so 🤷‍♀️

Listen, I ADORE both Josh and Matthew anyway but in this film I feel like Matthew especially stood out??? Maybe it’s just the character he’s playing but he ATE this role up (so did Josh but still)

I feel like the springlock scene was actually more terrifying upon a second viewing like at my first one I was like “that’s not as bad as I imagined” but this time I was like “holy shit he’s in agony” like his screams were PAINFUL to listen to

Speaking of painful to listen to, Freddy gave this really guttural and pained roar/scream at one point during the ending and it really made my heart hurt, it’s like the child inside of him was reliving the memory of their murder or something??? I can’t describe it but it was such an intense moment

I honest to god feel like I enjoyed it more on a second viewing and I don’t know why??? Maybe it’s just because the other people in my cinema weren’t laughing every five minutes but still.

I now have the urge to rewatch ALL of Markiplier’s playthroughs of ALL the FNAF games so… yep!

Once again begging for people to talk about FNAF because I’m not the most knowledgable on the series but I do enjoy it!

[afyrian]

(for your followers event im going to have as much fun as possible requesting)

CAPTAIN AMERICA‼️‼️‼️THERE IS A CAT STUCK IN A TREE ‼️‼️‼️‼️DO YOU HEAR THAT SCREECHING NOISE NEARBY ‼️‼️

of course………:…..:……no surprise here…..::..::::::…..with iwa <3333

(i hope this is fun to write i wanted it to be a FUN request !!)

congratulations on 600 followers!!!!!!!!!!!! you genuinely deserve it and more. you’re so talented and cool and i’m so proud of you <333

irresistible iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 1k | prompts: brother's best friend + band au

    "okay, no, i am not dating hajime," you hold your drumsticks, tapping the palm of your hand with the tips, "i don't get why you keep harping on this."

  "you're the one calling him hajime, even i don't call his ass hajime and i've known him way longer than you have," oikawa stands in front of your drum set, hands stuffed into his pockets, having the same conversation that he's had with you for the past few weeks.

  you take the drumsticks and set them down onto your seat. for weeks you've been telling oikawa that you in no way have had a romantic relationship with your bandmate. in no way have you found yourself at his place for more than a few nights. and in no way shape or form have you held his face in your hands as you feel his lips against your's... no way.

  "because we're close.. that's all. now, if you don't mind, i'm going to go back to my room and prep for tonight. you should probably drink some tea, your voice sounds a little gravelly," you joke, tapping oikawa's shoulder as you walk past him, listening to him ask one of the crew members of his voice is as gravelly as you say. 

  the hallway from the stage to the rooms is long. lights shine down from annoyingly white bulbs, illuminating posters on each sides of the walkway. bands new and old are featured, name plates below each one. at the very end before your room is a nameplate featuring your band name, a frame resting against the carpet flooring. the poster isn't there yet, waiting for this momentous evening. 

  opening the changing room's door, the light is already on, iwaizumi resting on your couch. a backwards baseball cap is resting over his face, arms crossed over his chest. shutting the door quietly, you slowly make your way to the couch, kneeling down beside the couch. reaching your hand up, your hand moves like molasses up to his cap, lifting it and setting it down on the ground.

  leaning up, you kiss his temple, smiling into his skin as his hand reaches up and grabs your forearm. "hello?" his voice is deep, scratchy from the deep sleep he had found himself in. 

  "hi, hajime.. you fell asleep in my room, you know oikawa would freak if he saw you in here," you lean back, running your thumb along his hairline, feeling the textural difference between his skin and hair. 

  iwaizumi's eyes open, meeting yours. his features are soft, a gentle smile forcing its way to his lips. iwaizumi runs his hand up and down your arm, chills running up and your back as he does so. "so let him freak out, i just want to relax with you before the biggest show of our career," he scoots over, creating space between him and the back of the couch, "so let's just relax for a moment..."

  "you're lucky i find you irresistible," you roll your eyes, stepping over him and laying on his arm, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve.

  his chin rests against the top of your head. your hands grab a hold of his free one, finger running along the creases in his palm, feeling the callouses on the tips of his fingers. a part of you can feel yourself drifting into a moment of relief. and you know that you have the concert that night, but you just want to lay there and feel his chest moving up and down slowly. 

  you want to say something more, remind him that oikawa could come in at any second, that he would pester you until the day you died. however, saying something to move iwaizumi away from you was far from anything you wanted leaving your lips. “i know we have to play tonight, but i’d much rather just stay here with you,” he whispers, shifting his head to kiss the top of yours.

  “i wholeheartedly agree,” you whisper back, taking in the scent of his cologne, “maybe after this we can celebrate together, buy some dessert or something, hangout at my place.”

  iwaizumi nods into your touch, staying quiet and only giving you his physical response as an answer. for a moment, the world is at peace. and for that very slim moment, you forget about oikawa, you forget about any of your struggles, of this relationship that you’ve kept secret for far too long. and the only thing ruining it is the sound of oikawa barreling down the hallway, pounding his feet and shouting ‘it’s showtime’!

  in a moment of urgency and confusion, you push iwaizumi away from you. he quickly falls to the ground and lands on his stomach, hands bracing the fall. it wasn’t far, and you could see that nothing happened, but his expression as he looked back at you was pure disbelief. “what the hell?” his eyebrows furrowing, only softening as he hears the door open with oikawa right behind.

  “did you hear me? it’s showtime! wait- iwa what are you doing in here?” your older brother questions, hands on his hips.

  iwaizumi looks between you and your brother, pondering for a moment if it would just be easier to tell him about your relationship. “i thought i dropped my in-ear under the couch when i came to tell y/n about the start time,” he jumps up from his spot, wiping his hands together to get the dust off. 

  “but it’s in your ear…” 

  “yeah, i realized that as soon as i fell to the ground,” iwaizumi shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet, “so, let’s get a move on.”

  “yeah, oikawa, let’s get a move on,” you get up from the couch, raising your eyebrows while giving him a suspiciously innocent smile. 

  oikawa narrows his eyes at the two of you, backing up into the hallway before pounding on matsukawa’s dressing room door. looking back at iwaizumi, you can see a scowl on his face. reminiscent of all the times the two of you found yourselves keeping oikawa from the truth. pursing his lips, “wow, you’re so lucky i find you irresistible.”

a/n: THANK YOU EGGY <33 i couldn’t have gotten this far without your love and support so i’ll always appreciate it!! AND i did have fun gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@nekozaki

[sweetcrazyluvie]

in your eyes

idol bf!jungwoo x afab idol!reader

angst, fluff (kinda not really, idk)

req: idol!jungwoo x idol!reader where 127 and the reader are preparing to release a song together and while they’re taking a break from practice the reader finds out that her new manager has been selling her info to sasaengs (one being a guy that’s been harassing her on multiple different occasions) and jungwoo and the guys comfort her (quick a/n: I did make some tweaks and changes to this, sorry.)

summary: keeping things with your boyfriend under the radar has been harder these days, and it doesn’t help that you have a collab stage / song coming out with his group soon. you’re already under a lot of pressure with this and your own group activities, too. it only becomes more stressful when your phone gets bombarded with calls and texts from unknown numbers and you uncover why that is...

wc: 3.6k

cw: allusions to reader getting harassed through phone calls and messages (stalking?)

now playing: ♫ in your eyes - jessie ware ♫

it is so hard to focus. you feel like your body is going to collapse in on itself. although, it is embarrassing to admit to yourself, this is probably the most intense choreography you have performed in your entire career. 

all the other members look normally exhausted once the song finishes, but you, on the other hand, are about ready to hit the ground full force and never wake up. you are huffing and puffing, cheeks red, and chest heaving.

you try to keep it cute and classy in front of your coworkers—who also happen to be your friends—and try not to make a scene of how utterly winded you are. nonetheless, your legs wobble as you slowly kneel down on the cold practice room floor to catch your breath. 

you breathe in and out to mute out the chatter they have going on and try to get your heart to stop beating out of your ribcage. 

all of a sudden, though, you feel a familiar hand caress your shoulder, so you turn to look at your boyfriend, jungwoo, who is visibly trying his best not to laugh at you.

“take this, looks like you need it,” he says, handing you an opened plastic water bottle.

you snatch it with a quickness and chug it like you had just found an oasis in a desert. 

“damn girl it’s not going anywhere,” haechan teases from behind.

“hey man, leave her alone,” jaehyun chimes in, his words still tinged with laughter.

you are halfway through with the bottle when you decide that is enough. your boyfriend just continues to caress your shoulder as the boys talk amongst themselves in the background. 

“you ok, baby? we can step outside for a moment if you need it,” he soothes.

you shake your head and reply, “it’s ok. I’m fine.”

“you promise?” his other hand then reaches towards your chin so that you’re face-to-face with him. 

“promise,” you say, cheeks turning red again, but because of jungwoo this time.

he leans in for a quick peck on your lips. and you end up leaning into him more for another one. you nearly forget the world surrounding you and the fact that there are other people in the room when loud voices bring you down to reality.

“sorry to interrupt your makeout sesh guys, but we need to run the dance a few more times,” taeyong speaks up. 

“just one more minute–”

“you guys just wasted five eating other’s faces out. sorry, but no.”

“but—”

“we have to follow our leader’s instruction, baby, come on,” jungwoo says.

he stands up and then stretches his hand out for you.

“ugh, you guys suck,” you whine as you accept the help from your boyfriend off of the dance room floor.

“you know you love us,” yuta says jokingly.

you just roll your eyes as you walk into position for the dance. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗��∙⊱⋅•⋅

practice is over way sooner than you would’ve thought. and surprisingly, you’re not as tired as you thought you would be.

but still, when jungwoo asks if you want to hang out with him and the guys after, you turn him down.

“honestly, I just want to shower and go to sleep. I have to wake up early tomorrow anyway for dress rehearsals.”

“I know, baby. I just thought I’d ask anyway,” he says. “you want me to walk you to the dorm?”

“acutally, [group member] is coming to get me and we’ll go home together. you can leave, I’ll wait for her here.” 

“we can just walk now. it’s not far. the guys wouldn’t mind waiting, you know.”

“you don’t have to. and I want you to have fun… so go!”

you smile, shooing him away with your hand, he just looks at you with his adoring, signature puppy eyes—he looks so cute.

“well, I guess so. just call me if anything comes up, ok. love you,” he says before coming up to you and leaving a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“love you too,” you say as he walks off.

as your boyfriend strides away with his groupmates, you stare at him lovingly and even wave when he turns back to look at you one more time.

once they are gone, you stick around a while longer before taking the elevator down to the first floor of the company building. you unlock your phone to see if [group member] has texted you. however, your screen is flooded with missed calls from an unknown number. and then, as always, your heart drops to your stomach.

not again, you think to yourself. there’s no way.

you fear that this is the same person you have tried so hard to ignore. among the call notifications, there are—as always—ominous threats through text messages that go along the lines of “you need to answer me,” “pick up,” or “I just want to talk to you.”

it is the same vicious cycle. you have gone through several phone numbers at this point, and blocked so many of theirs, and yet they always crawl back and find a way to infiltrate your peace and serenity. 

you decide it is best to not think too much about it.

when the elevator doors open, you find somewhere to stand awkwardly as you wait. then you just screenshot the evidence, block, and delete. you then call [group member] to see if she is on the way, but it goes straight to voicemail. 

you just want to go home already. when five minutes turns to ten, then fifteen, and then twenty, you become increasingly more irritated. you pace around the building’s lobby / main floor with anxiety as your mind starts to reel about that person again.

how do they keep getting your number without fail? who are they? and what do they want from you? can’t they just stop?

before you can spiral more though, [group member] drags you back into reality with the familiar sound of her loud ass sandals that she always wears.  

“y/n!!” she says, her hand reaching out to grab yours.

you don’t even say anything to her and just walk out of the building, the annoying clack, clack, clack trailing behind.

“hey, I’m sorry. me and the girls were watching tv and I fucking lost track of time. I even left my phone at the dorm in a rush to get you now.”

there’s no point in directing your feelings onto her, you realize, so you just sigh.

“I understand. it’s been a rough day, I’m not gonna lie. do you mind if we just walk in silence?” you say, trying your best to keep the tone of your voice calm and collected.

“you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“not really.”

she just nods.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

you didn’t even get to shower. you just knocked out as soon as your body hit the comfort and safety of your bed. 

the next morning your alarm wakes you up with its usual uninviting and unwanted noise. 

you groan as you head towards the bathroom to freshen up. the image that looks back in the mirror is a hot mess. you rub your eyes but that just makes you even more tired. 

it’s going to be a long day, you think to yourself. 

your group members are running all over the place as you all get ready in a hurry. only six total yet it feels like complete chaos.

somehow, you all stuff yourselves into the car where the designated company driver takes you girls to wherever it is you need to be (you were too tired to even check). 

once the car stops at the location, your manager opens the door and urges you girls to hurry inside to meet the stylist which catches you off guard. meet? you’ve already met the stylist because it’s been the same one the past few comebacks.

you ask your manager if it is someone new but he seems busy texting someone that he practically ignores you and shoos you off with his hand.

you just internally roll your eyes and catch up with the rest of the girls.

and it was, in fact, a new stylist. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

dress rehearsals go just a little horribly as they do—it comes within the territory, having others measure and prod at your body. but after all is said and done, you and your members are loaded up into the car once again. this time, your manager joined in with you guys. 

he sits right next to you in this already cramped space. he asks how it was with the new stylist and you all agree that it was good (but not great—the other one was better.)

you ask the reason for the sudden change and he just says it was the company’s decision, not his.

not entirely satisfied with this answer, though, you decide not to press further. the girls begin to talk about something else as sleep starts to creep up on you.

you begin to doze off, their chatter fading away like a distant song. however, as your eyes grow heavy from the sleepiness, you faintly see a blurry view of your manager’s phone. and at first, you think your mind is playing games with you. that couldn’t possibly be…

you “sober” up and there is now adrenaline coursing through you as you realize your suspicions are coming to life right before your own eyes.

the blocked number from yesterday is now blowing up your manager’s phone with messages. and worse, he is replying with no care in the world that you are literally right next to him. he must have not noticed you wake up.

you feel sick to your stomach.

this whole time… it was him. it was this man who was violating your safety and privacy by giving out your number… every. single. time. 

you knew this was true just from the messages he was replying back with: “I’ll give you her new number once she changes it as usual… just give me more time… I need more time… she must act first before I do… understand please.” 

you should scream, confront him, do something. but no, your body is paralyzed with fear and shame. no, it is shock—and the overwhelming feeling of betrayal. 

instead, you continue to fake sleeping  in order to not cause a scene. 

in what felt like a few more agonizing moments, the car stops and finally drops you girls off at the dorm. however, you cannot shake the feeling of dread looming over you like a rainy cloud. 

as you get off and walk to the dorm entrance, you look back to your manager. through the tinted car window, you can still see him looking down—at what must be his phone, still texting that person you presume.

you turn away and fight back tears.

the girls seem to notice that something is wrong but just assume you’re tired and leave you to your own devices. unfortunately, for once, you just wanted to talk to someone.

once in your room, you sit on your bed and stare off into a white wall, contemplating what you should do. or rather, replaying all the events of yesterday and today and regretting everything you did not do.

and then your phone rings.

no…

your heart drops. not again… it’s not possible. 

but relief washes over you as you realize it is none other than your cute boyfriend’s name on the screen—adorned with a signature puppy emoji and a pink heart. 

you pick up immediately. 

“hi, baby, are you doing anything right now?’ he asks. 

you can hear his group mates yelling about something in the background.

“no, not right now, no,” you say, trying to mask the shakiness of your voice. “I just got out of dress rehearsals and I should be free for the rest of the day. what’s up?”

“well, taeyong wanted to know if we could squeeze in just one more hour of practice today. he thinks we just need to focus on the last part of the song, if that’s ok.”

“uhhh… oh yeah, of course. that’s no problem…” you say, rubbing your temples.

“you’re awesome, baby! he’s gonna appreciate this so much!”

“ok, I’ll see you soon.”

“love you!”

“love you too.”

you hang up. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

you are too exhausted still for practice but you do need the distraction from this… situation, to put it simply. 

the boys are all excited to see you grace them with your presence as you walk through the practice room doors.

“here comes the princess to our beloved prince!” yuta says with a hearty laugh. 

jungwoo runs up to you and embraces you in his arms. he has no idea just how much you needed that. he pulls away quickly though and then grabs you by the hand, dragging you over to the others.

“we can talk later. right now, we need to get this number down. we only have a couple more days to perfect this guys… and girl…” taeyong says, pausing and then directing his glance to you at that last part.

“girls, you mean…” you peer over to haechan.

“w-what? what am I catching a stray for?”

“from the other day, I didn’t forget,” you laugh.

the others laugh too and jokingly hit haechan.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says.

and like clockwork, you guys get into formation, ready to follow taeyong’s instruction.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“you’re lagging behind.”

“you’re going too early on that part.”

“you’re too stiff.”

“your footwork isn’t right.”

the comments and critiques from the leader are pouring in like a waterfall. and it doesn’t help that the fear and dread from earlier are now glowing with a vengeance in your mind.

and then, the room begins to feel suffocating. the redness burning in your face and ears only fuels the tears in your eyes more. 

don’t fucking cry, don’t fucking cry, don’t fucking cry, you repeat to yourself. you can’t do this—not in front of them.

“what’s going on y/n?”

“your head isn’t in the game.” 

“pull yourself together, you know this.”

he is right and that fact makes you even more frustrated. as he watches you and two other members run the last part of the song, he only critiques you because you just keep on messing up.

the music grew louder in your eyes and everything just became so overwhelming. you reached your breaking point.

this. was. it. 

you trip over your legs and fall onto the ground. you feel the pain jolt from your knees and then reverb to your head.

and you could not help it anymore and start crying pathetically on the practice room floor. your hands rush to conceal your face. you cannot bear to let these men see you like this. 

however, you can hear them all rush towards you. and then you feel some hands on your head and back. 

“are you ok, y/n? I didn’t mean to push you too far…” taeyong says apologetically, and what you assume must be his thumb caressing the top of your head.

you can’t even answer him. you want to tell him that it is not his fault, but your sobs are violent and restrict you from getting a proper sentence out.

from behind, you hear your boyfriend’s sweet voice: “it’s ok, baby, let it all out.” he continues to rub comforting circles on your back which makes you cry more. 

and embarrassingly enough, you cry and you cry in front of them as they offer you words of assurance and encouragement—mainly from your boyfriend who is doing his best to comfort you.

finally, you gather the confidence to remove your hands from your face and look at the concerned faces of the men in front of you. 

you know you look horrendous at the moment but that doesn’t matter when you turn around and your boyfriend looks at you like you are the most beautiful girl in the world.

he kisses you and gives you a tight hug.

“are you ok now?”

“yeah… yeah, I think I am good,” you answer. you keep rubbing the tears away from your red cheeks. “I-I’m really sorry about that…” you say with an embarrassed laugh. 

“hey, there’s no need to apologize. it happens…” doyoung smiles at you as he stands behind jungwoo.

“is there something going on that you’re not telling us?” haechan prods.

you catch doyoung elbowing the boy in an attempt to shut him up and mouthing a faint shut up. obviously, he does it out of respect for you. however, you know that you must open up to someone about what you have been enduring and they might be your best bet.

so the tears fall again, but this time you are able to tell them the dark secret that you have been hiding to yourself. and once you are done, they look at you with mutual pity and understanding—like they all have once been in your shoes before.

“y/n, I’m so sorry about that…” taeyong says.

“why… why didn’t you tell me, love?” jungwoo says, hurt that you did not trust him with something important like that.

“I just didn’t want you to worry,” you confess.

“this is very serious, y/n,” jaehyun chimes in.

“yeah, y/n, we’ve all dealt with weirdos before but this is a different level,” johnny says. 

“you’re fucking manager has been doing dirty work behind your back this whole time??” haechan says, as if he was just catching on to what was happening.

“yes, haechan,” doyoung sighs, rubbing his temples like he was agitated at the boy. “look, y/n, no one deserves to go through this, and especially to go through this alone. I’m angry that it took you this long to tell any of us, but I’m glad you spoke up about it anyway.”

“I agree, it is very brave of you, y/n,” mark says, who is usually quiet when you are around.

“thank you guys,” is all you can muster.

“we’re here for you,” yuta says.

“ok guys, I think that’s enough practice for now and we should call it off for now. we can pick things up tomorrow,” taeyong says.

the group agrees unanimously and they all start to grab their things and head out, leaving you and your boyfriend alone in the practice room. 

when the final member leaves, you both are left sitting alone on the practice room floor. 

your boyfriend looks at you with a weird expression—like anger and love mixed into one.

“are you mad at me?” you ask.

“why would I be mad?” he says. “I’m just… I just want you to be more honest with me. you know I love you and care about you so much.”

“I know. I love you too, woo.”

he reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips, planting soft kisses—ones that always calm you down when you need it. and after, he uses his thumb to trace an outline of them, almost as if to seal it to your skin: seal his love for you in his own way. you feel like you could cry again. you don’t know what you would do without. 

“thank you for being so understanding,” is all you can muster up, but there is so much love dancing in your heart that just remains unspoken because words alone could not describe it.

“I’ll always be there for you, love. don’t you ever forget that,” he whispers before leaning in to kiss you again.

his big, loving hands then reach for your blushing cheeks as he pulls closer into the kiss. you melt right into it. he feels like home—like safety. he is your safety net, always has been and always will be.

“we will figure this out,” he says when he pulls away.

“look at me,” he commands, noticing how your eyes immediately gaze away from him. “we will get through this… together,” he reassures once you stare at his face which somehow gets more beautiful with each passing day. his ability to make you feel so secure is one of the things that made you fall for him.

“come on, let’s get outta here,” he whispers.

he hoists you up from the floor and laughs as you almost fall back down because your legs had fallen asleep from sitting too long. 

you stretch your body out for a little bit and then start walking towards your bag. however, you feel his hand grab your wrist and turn you around as he pulls you in. and now your face is right in front of his chest. 

his other hand snakes around your waist and reels you closer into him. you look up at him to see him give you a mischievous yet endearing smile.

“let’s just do oneee last dance. is that alright with you, darling?”

“actually, I would really love that,” you laugh.

he lets go of your wrist and holds your hand firmly in his. you take your other hand and rest it on his shoulder.

“wait, but we don’t have music, baby.”

“we’re both singers, darling.”

“well yes–”

“you just follow my lead,” he says.

“o-ok.”

from the first two words that escape his lips, you knew exactly what he was doing. he was singing the song he dedicated to you on your first year anniversary—one he had specifically written for you. his sweet, precious voice sings to you and it reminds you that there truly is nothing better in this world than having someone like him in your life. 

in your eyes, he is perfection, and you know, and his eyes, you are the same.

you rest your face in his chest as you both sway back and forth, slowly dancing to the song that echoed the very essence of your love. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘˗ˏˋ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˎˊ˗∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

a/n: posting after a rather spontaneous hiatus. so basically... life is kicking my ass and it has killed any creativity, imagination, or motivation for writing. I have had this request since APRILLLL and I am barely getting this posted. I just don't normally write stuff that is not smut, so this was a challenge. I really tried, I really did. I know this sucks but this was my first ever request and I wanted to see it all the way through. I hope whoever requested this ends up enjoying it. so so so sorry for the delay and any mistakes that you might see :( I will try to do better.

[venusgirltarot]

What Is Blocking You From Personal Growth?

Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

If you would like a personal reading from me, you can get one here! (Today is the last day to order a personal reading before they close!)

Photos used in this reading are not mine :)

Pile One ┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。

Pile one, I think your lack of boundaries with those around you is what’s blocking you from personal growth. For some of you, this could be an ex and others this might be family, possibly an aunt, mother, or sister. For some, it’s all of the above. This may be you helping those around you out financially and it could also be people around you draining your energy. For a lot of you, it’s both. You’re filling other people’s cups until yours is completely empty and it’s leaving you drained and exhausted. You need to take a step back and reevaluate. Some of you may have cut off or blocked out someone in your life who tried to show you this and tell you what I’m telling you now. Only take that if it resonates. Please know that you don’t owe anyone anything and if someone is meant to be in your life, you won’t have to force it or give away any part of yourself in order to make them stay there. Pay attention to the way you feel after talking to or spending time with people. Notice how your energy changes and what makes you feel drained and what makes you feel fulfilled. Go after what makes you feel fulfilled and do it unapologetically. I heard “you deserve more” your guides really want you to release these people and have more for yourself. I heard “stop giving your all to them”.

Some of you could be lawyers or just have some sort of career that you had to get a degree for or you’re working on your degree right now and you might be the first of your family members to go to college/university. I heard “notice that accomplishment” and “be proud of that” for some reason, I’m getting the vibe that these people in your life may use that against you? I’m not sure how they do it but maybe they credit themselves for you being able to go to school? Like if this is a parent they may think them pushing you the way they did is what got you to follow this path so therefore you wouldn’t have achieved this accomplishment if it weren’t for them. I hope that makes sense. My point is, that’s not true and you are where you are because you got yourself there and you owe nothing to people who are not deserving of your time/energy. If no one has told you today, Pile One, please know that I am proud of you and all your accomplishments and know that you do not owe anyone anything. What you have is yours and only yours, don’t let those who are undeserving try and take that away from you. Also, don’t be afraid to reach out to any connections you’ve lost due to your loyalty tho those around you who may have not been very deserving of that loyalty.

Pile Two ┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。

What’s blocking you from personal growth is comparison. When I was shuffling, I heard “Lacy” by Olivia Rodrigo and “Jealousy, Jealousy” also by Olivia Rodrigo. Pile Two, you may have struggled with insecurities and comparison from a very young age. This may be an awful habit that you’ve carried with you into adulthood. It could have started with an older sibling. Some of you may have a much older sibling, possibly one that was a teenager when you were a child. Idolizing and looking up to this older sibling may have quickly become a way of unhealthy comparison for you. You may have found your identity in this comparison and soon went on to look for yourself by comparing yourself to others throughout childhood and now as an adult.

You’ve completely changed yourself in order to “fit” into a certain type or in order to become a certain person but you’re chasing an ideal and beauty standard that simply doesn’t exist. You’re just in a never ending battle with yourself that will only end in exhaustion. You also may have spent a lot of money or clothing, products, cosmetic procedures for some of you. Some of you may have even gone into debt or gone through a lot of credit cards (that specific message may not resonate, only take it if it resonates for you).

Sitting here and telling you to just stop would be useless and not very helpful, especially considering this seems to be something you’ve done your whole life. I think it is best for you moving forward to maybe look into therapy and start taking apart this idea and image that you have of yourself and really getting to the root of the problem. This is a mindset that you’ve really built into yourself and it won’t disappear over night but you can overcome this with the necessary time, dedication, and professional help.

I don’t think you realize how beautiful of a person you are, Pile Two. You are someone worth getting to know. Not only by others but by yourself, as well. Take the time to get to know you, I promise it will be worth while. Inside and out, you’re a beautiful person and there’s no need to compare yourself to those around you. You may even seek out friends that represent what and who you want to be as a person so you can sort of take bits and pieces of their personality and make them apart of yourself if that makes sense. What you don’t realize is how much those around you look up to and admire you, the real you and not the you that you have created and try to portray. They see the value in you that you’re ignoring and love you for who you truly are and you should really try to do the same, Pile Two. Pulling cards and spending a little time in your energy, I can safely and surely say that you are an outstanding human being, Pile Two, and I hope you see that in yourself some day.

Pile Three ┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。

Fear is what is holding you back from your own personal growth, Pile Three. You seem to break your own heart before anyone else gets the chance to and hide behind walls that you’ve built for yourself. You may look for the flaws in people very early on in knowing them as almost an excuse to turn in the other direction and run and it’s really just a way to get out before you end up being the one to get hurt but in reality, you end up hurting others with good intentions by doing this.

You may currently have some sort of loge connection/relationship that you’re really fighting. You want this but because of your past and mistrust for people, you’re looking for warning signs and any reason to run away as far and as fast as possible but this person isn’t giving you anyway so you may be sort of giving them yourself by overthinking every situation, just to try to create red flags and get out. You’re denying yourself something you really want because you’re afraid of what it could be and considering all you’ve been through, that’s understandable. But what if this could work out? What if it could be greater than you ever imagined? What if it could be the best decision you’ve made in a long time? You’ll never find the answer to these questions if you run away from something that you have no reason to run from.

You’re a bit of your own worst enemy, Pile Three. I won’t give you some bs love reading and tell you something about how this person is your soulmate and you’ve found the one, partly because I don’t believe in going about readings that way and it’s just not the vibe I’m getting but also partly because I think you’d panic and immediately click off this reading if I said that 😭 but I will say that I think sticking around and seeing where this goes is a good idea. No need for rushing, labels, etc. but it’s okay to stay where awhile and see where it takes you. Let go of fear just this one time and find out that you had nothing to worry about in the first place. You don’t have to lose yourself in this, your identity won’t be stripped away from you and you don’t have to morph yourself into this person for them to love you, just give it a chance and see where it goes.

Some sort of semi-serious (I’m saying semi-serious because I don’t want to scare you. I don’t think it’s anything crazy) conversion might he in the horizon with this person. Again, nothing crazy. There may just be some romantic tension between the two of you that needs to be addressed. This seems light hearted and like this person wants a better feel/idea of where you stand. It’s okay to tell them you don’t want labels and you want to see where this goes. Just be honest with your feelings and where you stand. Your person might be under the influence when having this conversation as well. Maybe they reach out when they’re a little tipsy and have some liquid courage in them. Again, don’t be afraid. This is the natural next step in this connection but is in no way meant to rush or push things ahead.

Breathe, Pile Three. You’re okay, you’re doing to be okay. You are safe and so is this connection. Be open to the idea of this connection but don’t give more of yourself than you are ready to in this moment and be honest with this person and where you stand/how you feel. Your intuition has been telling you that everything is okay and I think you’ve been ignoring it. Follow your intuition, trust it. It will never guide you wrong.

[b0r3dtod3ath]

hi can i request andrey rublev x reader?

the two argue heavily after Andrey forgets about a date with Reader, some silent treat from Reader and the two make up after Andrey sees Reader having fun with another guy and thinks it's too late. (they make out at the end)

warnings: alcohol/being tipsy, kinda fem!reader, cigarettes/smoking

You had been looking forward to this evening for weeks. A rare break in Andrey's schedule meant you could finally have a quiet night out together, something that had become increasingly rare with his career. You’d made a reservation at his favorite restaurant and had even bought a new dress for the occasion.

You were supposed to meet at the restaurant. I’m already here. You texted but he didn’t read the message  immediately. 

10 minutes - he’s a bit hectic sometimes, he was gonna be here in a moment. 

20 minutes - you started feeling watched and felt sorry for. 

45 minutes - your eyes were glossy, your calls went straight to the voicemail. 

1 hour - none of the texts were read, none of the calls were answered. The knot in your throat tightened with every passing minute. 

1 hour 17 minutes - you have been defeated. It was painfully clear that Andrey wasn’t coming. You exited the restaurant after quickly apologizing to the waiter for the unnecessary reservation. 

1 hour 40 minutes - you stopped at your local grocery shop, checking for any messages while you sat in the parking lot. 

1 hour 43 minutes - you bought a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of red wine and a Cosmopolitan magazine. 

2 hours - you drove home in the rain with tear-stained cheeks. 

2 hours 15 minutes - you entered your shared flat, your face still moist with tears but you weren’t crying anymore. You turned on some jazz and slowly moved as you found an ashtray and a wine glass. With your heels abandoned somewhere in the middle of the living room, you enjoyed your groceries not letting his mistake ruin your evening. 

By the time Andrey finally walked through the door late that night, you were on your second big glass of wine. You were sat on the couch with a warm feeling, captivated by the article about an ongoing feud between two known stars. The bottle sat on the coffee table, half-empty. The ashtray next to it, half-full. 

Andrey's face fell when he saw you. "I’m so sorry," he began, dropping his bags. "I completely lost track of time after practice and then got caught up with some media commitments. I didn’t realize-"

"Didn’t realize?" you interrupted, your gaze lifting from the magazine. "Andrey, this was supposed to be our night. The one night we had planned for weeks. How could you forget?"

"I know, I know," he said, reaching out to touch your arm, but you pulled away. "I messed up, okay? I’m really sorry."

"Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t there," you shot back, your tone sharper than usual. "Do you even know how long I waited? How embarrassed I felt sitting alone at that restaurant?".

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his eyes but you didn’t look at him. Your gaze was attached to the paper in front of you.  "What do you want me to say, Y/N? I can’t turn back time. I had commitments, and I lost track. It wasn’t intentional”.

"But it still happened," you replied quietly, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. "It always happens, Andrey. Your career is important, I get that. But where do I fit in? I think you forgot that I’m also a commitment".

The silence that followed was heavy. Andrey didn’t have an answer, and you didn’t have the energy to push further. Instead, you stood up, walked away, and followed your usual evening skincare routine before getting to bed. The silent treatment had begun, a cold wall built out of hurt and disappointment.

For the next few days, the house was very quiet. Andrey tried to bridge the gap, leaving sweet and apologetic notes everywhere and making attempts at conversation, but you kept your responses short and distant. He knew he had messed up, but he didn’t know how to make it right.

On the fourth night, you decided to go out with your friends. You rarely went out without Andrey when he was home but you needed a distraction, a break from the cold silence that had settled in your home. You dressed up, put on your favorite lipstick, and headed out, determined to enjoy yourself. “I’m going out with the girls. Don’t worry, I will be home after midnight.” you said just before leaving. Sure, you needed a break from him but you weren’t going to be totally heartless. The evening was filled with laughter, drinks, and the comforting presence of your friends. For a few hours, you felt lighter, free from the weight of your disappointment.

At one point, you found yourself chatting with a charming guy at the bar. He was funny and attentive, and for a moment, you forgot about the tension with Andrey. But you had no bad intentions, the same could be said about him. You two just talked. Your friend snapped a photo with you laughing with him in the background, a harmless moment captured and posted on her Instagram story.

Meanwhile, back at the flat, Andrey saw the story and felt a wave of fear and regret. He stared at the screen, the image of you looking happy and carefree with someone else. He wondered if it was too late to make things right, if he had lost you for good.

You returned home late that night, your head buzzing from the alcohol. You didn’t bother checking your phone or showering. Andrey was still awake, his heart aching with guilt and worry as he watched you stumble into the bedroom.

Seeing you struggle to undress, he got up and gently helped you. "Let me," he whispered, unzipping your dress and carefully sliding it off. He found one of your sleeping t-shirts and slipped it over your head, his touch tender and caring. You kicked off your shoes, too exhausted to say much, but you felt the warmth of his presence.

"You should get some rest," he said softly, guiding you to the bed and helping you lie down. He tucked you in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache. Groaning, you rolled over to find Andrey sitting on his side of the bed. Noticing you woke up, he quickly grabbed a glass of water and painkillers from his nightstand. "Here," he said softly, handing them to you.

You took them without a word, the silence between you heavy but not as tense as before. After a moment, Andrey spoke again, his voice full of regret.

"I messed up," he said, his eyes looking at your face that was halfly buried in a pillow. "I’ve been so focused on my career that I forgot to make you a priority. I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right”.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the past few days lift slightly. "Andrey, I understand that your career is important. But we need to find a balance. I’m not telling you to drop everything and run to me”.

His hand stroked your hair, his heart warming at the sight of you smiling that he hasn’t seen for a few days. "You matter. More than anything”. You moved so your head laid on his chest. The tension melted away as you both held onto each other. The conversation continued, honest and heartfelt. 

"Last night, I realized how much I miss you," you said softly. "I don’t want us to drift apart”. 

"Neither do I. I’ll make more time for us, I promise."

The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The world outside was just beginning to stir, but inside, everything was still and quiet. "I love you," Andrey whispered against your hand just before he kissed it. The gesture was simple, but it sent a thrill through you. "I love you too," you replied, feeling the sincerity in his words. Andrey shifted closer, his lips hovering just above yours. The anticipation was electric, making your heart beat faster. You could feel his breath, warm and inviting.

Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, he kissed you. It was soft at first, a gentle prize collected after a few days of suffering. His lips were warm and firm, moving against yours with a sweetness that made you melt. You responded eagerly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the sheets rustling as you shifted. His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you even closer - a sign of the ending of your absence. Your bodies were perfectly aligned - holding each other as close as possible. Everything prior to that morning had faded away.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Andrey rested his forehead against yours. His eyes were still closed, a contented smile playing on his lips. "I’m so sorry," he whispered.

You smiled, your fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry, too. I should have talked to you like an adult and not just escape" you replied softly.

The silent treatment was over, replaced by the warmth of reconciliation and the hope for a stronger future together. You knew that while it wouldn’t be easy, you were both willing to put in the effort to make things right. And that was a start.

June 14, 2024

[misted-dream]

🦢 A WALTZ IN THE DARK ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆

ACT II THE PAS DE DEUX. | to the programme

chapter info . . . content just yn & dy being kinda cute at the end, mentions of injury, enemies AND lovers this time warnings smoking, alcohol consumption w. count 7.7k

series synopsis . . . the first and last time you and doyoung danced together was 5 years ago. 5 years since the mishap that founded your mistrust of him, at least as a duet partner. with the annual swan lake showing rolling around, you think you finally stand a chance to audition for the leads: odette and odile. it's every ballerina's dream to play this role at least once in their career. little do you know, rumour has it that kim doyoung just so happens to be auditioning for the role of prince siegfried this year.

tags @00127am

You thought that ever since you made that deal with Doyoung that things might be different. That he might start acting like a normal human being with normal human emotions. How silly of you to think that. Truth is, he hasn’t changed one bit since that night you bumped into him. Practices are still wordless. You still barely see him outside of your schedules. And even when you do, he pretends like he doesn’t see you, in the corridors, in the canteen, everywhere. That’s not to say that everything stayed the same.

It’s the week following your run-in with him. A Thursday, so your schedule dictates that you have duet practice with Doyoung.

“Good,” Colette calls out from her folding chair, “You two don’t look like you want to murder each other for once.” She doesn’t know what happened between you but she doesn’t care for it as long as you and Doyoung can look like you can at least tolerate each other.

It’s intimidating when you think about it. How he can go from looking so deeply infatuated one second, then the moment the music is over, his face drops. Eyebrows straightened. Just absolutely no emotion shown through his expression. You can’t help but wonder which version of him is genuine: The one who seemed truly apologetic in the dimmed practice room, or this one. The version of him that he parades around everywhere he goes. How do you even begin to tell what’s an act and what isn’t?

Every time his fingers touch you, you still feel a chill running down you. Though, you’ve come to learn how to hide it better.

Practice is finished for the night. The teal of the horizon begins to blend together with the darker blue of the night sky. Doyoung wastes no time in gathering his stuff the second Colette said that you were done for tonight. You try to do the same but Colette stops you. Her slender fingers wrapped tightly around your arm.

“Before you go, Y/N.”

She takes her hand off of your arm. The red frames of her glasses sit low on her nose bridge and she angles her head downwards to look at you, as if you’re a particularly difficult to read section of a newspaper. 

“I still need to see you land those fouettés. I’m giving you one— …two weeks, before I have to intervene.”

One of her eyebrows are cocked, the brightness of her eyes do nothing but emphasise the severity in her tone. Her harshness isn’t something you’re not used to, but every time she exerts this power over you, you can’t help but feel slightly humiliated. Who wouldn’t? To have someone repeatedly on your tail felt like having them pry open a wound, and before it even has time to scab, they’re back pricking and pouring salt into it. Except that wound is found on your ego.

You take a deep breath in, and try to force your lips into an understanding smile. “Yeah,” you say in a cheery enough tone.

You suppose that’s the way it is in ballet. That’s how it is in many things in life. Everyone’s after perfection, and no one is able to execute it.

This weekend, you decide to do something you haven’t done in three weeks: Stay in.

The last three weekends you’ve spent draining yourself away at the studio, but due to Karina’s request, you decide otherwise this time.

She sends you a message telling you that she’s 5 minutes away from your place. It’s no secret that the pressure of these last few weeks have been steadily building on you, especially to Karina. 

You open the wooden cupboard and pull a bottle of red wine from it, setting it onto the kitchen island in the middle of your open-plan kitchen. A soft orange paints the skyline, clouds pulling from each other like cotton candy. On one end of the kitchen island, there stood the doors leading to the balcony, enclosed by wrought iron fences. Technically speaking, it was a balcony, but in actuality, it was just a ledge—a glorified floor-to-ceiling window that you can open, really. 

You push open the balcony doors and the sound of the city fills your living space. The traffic a few stories down, people’s voices from the street or coming from the open balconies to either side of your complex. You stare off into the horizon, a flock of shadowed birds flies across your field of vision over the city.

Then, a ding sounds out.

You step back inside, walking across your kitchen to the other end of the island where the main door was. You slide open the door chain and push down on the handle. The door swings inwards, and stood outside in the hallway of your apartment complex was Karina, a bright smile on her face. “I got sushi!”

You pour the red wine into a glass that you set down on the island, then another glass next to that. In one hand, you sit the bowl of one glass on the part of your hand that your fingers connect between, in the other hand, you wrap your fingers around the other rim and take a sip as you make your way over to the living space. Karina’s already sat down on one of the bean bags facing the TV. As you pass her, you lower one of the drinks to her and she takes the stem in between her fingers.

She hums tunefully to your offering.

You plop down on the leather couch next to her, careful enough as to not spill your wine. Throwing your head backwards onto the back of the couch, you sigh.

“What?” Karina asks with a slight smile in her eyes, taking a small sip of the wine.

You look at her through lowered eyelids, your head completely resting on the couch. “Nothing. I’m glad you came over tonight.”

She smiles. Shifting in her bean bag, she props one leg up as she leans forward to set down her glass on the wooden coffee table. “Come on,” reaching over, she puts her palm on your knee and gives you a gentle shake, “I know there’s something on your mind.”

Your lips purse together and pout to the side.

You met Karina a few months into your career as a professional dancer. It was a usual day for you, having recently returned to work from your injury. Every time you spotted Karina either on the barre or in centre, she looked so immersed into her craft. You remember being so impressed by her skill and control. Every movement of her arms looked so fluid, flowing from one position to another seamlessly. The power she held in her leaps were something else, as well. Her precision, even in the most consuming of movements, was something to be admired. Safe to say, it was to your surprise when she lined up behind you in the lunch queue and started making casual conversation. “Y/N, right?” She’d asked with a smile.

You found out that day that Karina went to the same conservatory as you. Though a grade below you, she was signed to the company as an apprentice the year you graduated, so she never fully finished her course. She knew of you when you two were both enrolled at the conservatory, but your paths never crossed into more than just a polite smile and a nod territory. Since day one, she had a sort of optimism to her that you’d grown to love and appreciate especially throughout the years. In such an unforgiving and rigid industry, Karina’s softness continues to be your lantern leading you through the dark.

“So?” Leaning back into her bean bag, Karina prompts once again, glass back up to her lips.

You mirror her actions, taking a sip from the rim and disassembling the flavours in between your cheeks before swallowing. “Colette,” you mouth to her as if you two were sharing secrets you shouldn’t be.

Karina’s inquisitive expression urged you to elaborate.

You sigh, bringing your shoulders up and dropping them. “I can’t get my turns right, for Odile’s coda. And she basically told me that if I don’t get my shit together, she’s gonna have to ‘intervene.’” You arch your brow when you recall Colette’s words to you.

“Meaning…?”

“I don’t know—probably replace me.”

There’s a range of comforting words that Karina can pick from to say to you, but a small portion of them would be true. Her hand goes up to her bottom lip, tugging at them as she thinks—a habit that she’d never grown out of. 

“She won’t replace you.” Karina settles on the ‘not true’ section of the scope of her responses, her hand muffling her words. Both you and her know it. And it’s not due to the fact that Karina—or yourself, for that matter—thinks you’re not good enough for the role, it’s just how things are. It’s how Colette is: simple and straightforward. You can’t play a role? Someone else can—and they will. It’s never personal. Except it always feels like it is.

Still, you break out a weak smile at her attempt at reassuring you.

You lean your head back again, eyes now fixed on the ceiling and the base of the lamp that hung low over the coffee table.

“I think it’s my knee,” you admit for the first time out loud. You never wanted to talk about your accident because you were afraid that people might think you were making up excuses. This time, you felt like you were running out of options for explanations.

“Your knee?” At the mention, Karina leans forward in her seat.

“Yeah,” though unintentional, your words come out as a whisper. You clear your throat before continuing, “Every time after practice, my knee just starts hurting. Not insanely bad, but worse than before.”

“I didn’t know it was hurting before.” Karina has this expression on her face that’s almost like she’s interrogating you about this.

You can’t hide the sheepishness in your face and your tone, “It wasn’t serious.”

“Have you told Colette?”

You shake your head. 

“Y/N. You have to tell her.”

“And for what? To give her another reason to start looking for my replacement?”

Karina takes a deep, shaky breath in, like she’s uncertain about something. “Surely, she’d understand. Maybe it’ll at least throw her off your back for some time.”

Your eyes remain fixed on the ceiling. Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe you should tell Colette. That’s an issue for another day, though.

There’s many different ways to approach the character of Odile, but at the core of it, she’s a seductress. Everything that she does comes back to her motive to seduce—and more specifically, the Prince. It doesn’t come as a surprise to you or your choreographer when your expressions don’t match your intent. 

To pretend to be in love is one thing. You’ve got years upon years of teenage pining experience to fall back on. But the art of seduction? No one has time for that.

‘Look more sultry. Look more alluring.’ Raf had said to you. And to your credit, you try but it’s already hard enough to have to spin and jump and twirl and leap, and now you have to look tantalising doing that? And all that’s considering the fact that you even want to try.

Your hours on the clock has finished for the night, but you find yourself starting to stay behind on most nights more often than not.

Kneeling down in front of the mirror, you rifle through your bag until your fingertips find a small, card box. You flip open the tab of the box and pull out one of the cigarettes, noting to yourself that you only have two others left. Then, you rummage through the pockets of your jacket for your lighter. With your necessities in your hands, you amble out of your room, turning the lights off as you leave. The hallways are fuller than usual, with plenty of soloists finishing at the same time as you. You weave your way through a group of dancers walking down the corridor and slide open one of the glass doors to the garden.

The hallway floors surrounding the garden is taller than the cobblestone ground of the courtyard, making it so that there’s a ledge as you step a foot inside. You sit yourself down on the step, one side of your body leaning against the opened glass door. You slot the cigarette between your lips as you bring up both your hands. One of them sparking on the lighter as the other goes to cover the flame by habit. 

You go to pocket your lighter—again, habit—only to realise that you’re not wearing your jacket, so your second best option was to just put it on the ground next to where you’re sitting. Just as you’re about to pull the dampened filter tip away from your lips, a voice appears out of nowhere behind you.

“You should really quit that. It’s not good for you.”

The surprise of it nearly chokes you, coughing out quietly again and again as the smoke escapes your lips. You look behind you but you didn’t need to see to know who it was.

You manage out one final cough. And towering over you stood Doyoung. Eyes lowered, posture upright, as if he’s literally and figuratively looking down on you.

“Yeah? When did you start caring about what’s good for me?” You put your cigarette back in between your lips right as you finish your sentence, a clear edge of hostility in your voice. Doyoung watches your cigarette between your fingers as you take a deliberately long drag. You’re not even finished when he answers you back.

“When you became my partner.”

What a liar, you thought. That explains why he’s been ignoring you everywhere.

The conclusion that Kim Doyoung is nothing but a liar quickly turns into the fact that he’s a narcissist when you put together the ideas that he’s only talking to you now because you’re doing something—smoking—that he personally frowns upon. And he can’t be having his ‘partner’ tarnishing his reputation.

“Don’t you love when someone expresses how much they care about you with their show of apathy towards you?” You remark, almost with an impatience in your tone, but a playful sarcasm on your face instead. Smoke pours out of your lips with every word that you speak, and you blow the rest of it to the side. The heat spreading from your chest comes as a shock to you. Before this, you hadn’t known truly how much it annoyed you that your existence went by unnoticed by Doyoung, although you knew it had to be an act.

Doyoung squats down so that he’s near enough eye level with you, elbows resting on his knees. He tilts his head to the side, eyes scanning your face quickly, then the stick sat in your fingers, burning itself away slowly. “Don’t tell me you’re stressed because of me,” he mutters lowly.

You lean forward an inch or two. “Believe me when I say you’re the root of most of my problems nowadays.” 

Doyoung holds back a subtle smirk on his lips, but not enough that you can’t completely pick up on it. He eyes your cigarette again, “Then, I guess you better stock up on those.”

He stands up and walks across the hallways into his practice room.

You turn your body, facing the inside of the garden. Glancing to the side, you see that the stick has burned down to nearly the filter. You quickly stub it out against the cobblestone before it gets to burning your fingers.

Days feel more like dreams to you. The repetition of what you do everyday is starting to blur the arbitrary line that separates every 24 hours from each other. And when you step foot into the shared studio between you and Doyoung, this very feeling engulfs you. 

Colette is sat in her folding chair, fingers typing away in a fit on her screen, and Doyoung is rummaging through his bag in the corner.

The conversation that you had with Karina crawls into your mind. Is today the day? You’ve been contemplating telling Colette ever since that night, but you haven’t been confronted with a chance, yet. You take cautious step after another into the room. The soles of your shoes making a light smacking noise as it lifts the linoleum flooring along with it with every step you take. You try to subtly keep an eye on Colette as you walk past her—making an effort to gauge her mood before you decide if you should tell her or not. She looks happy enough today.

You slump your bag down in front of the mirror, mind preoccupied with weighing the pros and cons of the decision that’s kept you up several nights in a row now. You’re so out of it that you didn’t even notice you set your things down right next to Doyoung, when you had to option to do so literally anywhere else.

He doesn’t say anything, simply looking up at you with a slightly inquisitive look. Then, he quirks his eyebrows when you meet his gaze. Though normally, you probably would’ve made some sarcastic remark about this, you didn’t today—or couldn’t.

You leave your things where they are, and step towards where Colette is—her attention still solely fixed on her phone.

“Colette, I have something I need to tell you.”

Your hands are brought up to your stomach, fingers interlocking with each other and then unclasping, and then locking again. She looks lost into her own world, not even a slight hum or a nod of the head to acknowledge you standing right in front of her.

“Colette?”

“Hold that thought,” she finally replies, holding out one finger towards you, head still angled down.

“It’s—”

“I have something exciting planned for you guys today!”

She jumps up out of her seat, catching you off-guard as you stumble one step behind you. Your lips mouth into an ‘Um’ shape, reluctant to ask her about what’s so exciting about today. Lucky for you, Doyoung took the pleasure in asking.

“What is it?”

“Costumes!” Colette exclaims, excitement practically bursting out of her. “They’re coming now!”

And right on cue, a metal clothing rack rolls in through the practice doors. The designer and her assistant both pushing the costumes in behind it. Right away, you spot your two distinct tutus and a couple of blouses for Doyoung.

The rack comes to a halt right in front of you. Colette instantly goes to grab a hanger with the Odette costume hung up on it. It’s both traditional, and beautiful.

The bodice of the costume fashions a plunging neckline, of which is lined with white feathers. There are crystals decorating the bodice, scattered all over the corset but primarily concentrated at the neckline. The tutu itself is showy, for sure. Bigger than any other tutu you’ve ever worn. There are multiple layers to it, and you’re surprised that it can even fan out by itself due to how heavy it looks. The bottom layers are made out of tulle, the surface of it outlined by embroideries in golden thread resembling those of feathers. On top of that, actual feathers are finely sewn into the waistband of the tutu, blending the bodice in. The whole costume, instead of being white, has the slightest hint of blue to it, making it so that it’s more of a bright white. It looks like the pure embodiment of heaven.

“Go on!” Colette urges, “Try it on!” She pushes the hanger into your chest, making you grab ahold of your costume. Then, she grabs multiple blouses off the rack and hands them to Doyoung, urging him the same.

The two of you listen to Colette, pulling your costumes on in front of the mirror. Your bodice is absolutely tailor-made to fit you. Colette can’t stop shaking her head and mumbling out words of awe and wonderment when she looks at you.

You glance over at Doyoung all the way across the room from you. His blouse the manifestation of royalty. His costume, like yours, consists of a white blouse with a deep neckline, with a fancy looking jacket layered atop of it. The jacket has the same matching gold embroidery all along the hems, the sleeves and the closures. The buckle in the front and the puffed-up shoulder pads adds to the regality of it all.

You study him in his costume. Looking him up and down, and back up again. He doesn’t notice this, or at least you don’t think so; he’s too busy ogling at himself in the mirror. His chest is slightly exposed by the depth of the blouse’s neckline, making it so that you can see the contours of his collarbones and his pecs. 

As much as you’d hate to admit it, he looks exactly like the part he’s playing—a Prince. 

The designer walks around you, holding up the waistband of your tutu. She clips the excess elastic together and she looks over to her assistant, mumbling something you can’t hear too well. “Nearly perfect,” she points at the black tutu still on the hanger, “Now try this one.”

After the designer finished marking down any adjustments the either of you needed, practice continued on as usual. During the midst of it, you’d forgotten all about the beginning of the session when you first walked in, that is until Colette of all people reminds you.

“Oh—you wanted to talk to me, Y/N?”

Your arms are held up above your head, hands trying to pull back loose strands of hair that’d flown free from the hours you’ve just spent exerting yourself. “Uh, yeah,” you quietly respond, a bobby pin clenched between your teeth.

You eye Doyoung, only to see that he’s doing the same. As soon as you meet his gaze, he looks away, back down onto his bag that he’s holding open to stuff his water bottle into.

Colette glances down at the watch on her wrist, “Well, come on, then. I have places to be.”

You take the pin out from between your lips and slide it somewhere into the back of your hair. “Um,” you mumble as you walk on closer to Colette. The same nervousness that had burned within you earlier returns, but this time, it’s even more amplified with the presence of Doyoung, for whatever reason.

Suddenly, you don’t feel like telling Colette anymore, and it’s not even because of her.

You try to speak as lowly as possible, almost muttering under your breath. Colette, however, doesn’t pick up on this too well, prompting you to speak a bit clearer.

You breathe in. “My knee. I know I’ve been causing you some trouble lately, but just give me some time. I’ll sort it out.” You don’t know if that was quiet enough so that Doyoung doesn’t hear and you don’t want to look in the reflection to see his reaction in case he did. “I promise,” you whisper.

Colette hears you this time, though, and her expression instantly softens. Her lips open, mouthing an ‘O’ shape, and her brows furrow in understanding. Colette lays a gentle palm on your shoulder, lips pursing together as she takes a deep breath in. Then, she sharply exhales. 

“If you really can’t do it, tell me.” She continues with a subtle shaking of the head, “We still have time now, but when it’s further down the road…”

You give her a firm, eager nod.

On the surface, you want to—need to—seem understanding. It was the reasonable thing to do. But deep down, all of what she’s saying just serves as a reminder of how replaceable everyone and anyone is. If you were to change how you viewed the situation, you can’t say that that’s a bad motivator, but it’s not the greatest one either. 

When you turn back around, Doyoung isn’t at his spot anymore. You’re looking at an empty room with the contents of your bag spilling out onto the floor in one corner.

You swing your bag over your arm. Colette left moments after your conversation hurriedly to some meeting. You slump down onto the floor, knees tucked up to your chest and arms wrapping around them—not caring for your posture. The silence of the room rings in your ears, and that’s when you notice the sprinkling of raindrops against the window of the practice room.

The view outside is monochrome—all varying shades of grey. The sky was a light grey with pockets of white poking through, the buildings looked duller than usual under the gloom, and the streets were a dark grey, the rain further darkening the concrete. You watch one tiny bead of rain slowly run down the glass pane, rolling into other beads as they tumble down together.

“Is that true?”

Jesus Christ. Your shoulders jump up and your head turns to the door.

Someone sure has a habit of sneaking up on you unannounced. 

Doyoung’s hair is unstyled, the front parts of it covering his eyebrows and nearly touching the rims of his glasses. A white long-sleeve hangs loosely on his frame, with the fabric on his shoulder bunching up under the strap of his bag.

This is the first time that he’s shown up to practice looking like he’s actually showing up to practice. Usually, he’d make more of an effort to present himself—not that he even looks that much different. You hadn’t noticed this subtle change in his appearance until now, as he’s sneaking up on you, once again.

He approaches you gradually, a steadiness in his pacing.

“What?” You mumble with your eyelids fluttering as if you’re blinking back your consciousness, not even truly registering what he’d said—you’d been too caught off-guard with his sudden appearance.

“What you told Colette—is it true?”

He’s now a step or two away from you. This scene feels familiar, too.

For a split second, you truly have no idea what he’s referencing, but then it comes to you.

“About me sorting myself out? Yeah, I hope it’s true,” You respond in an attempt to hopefully deflect the conversation. A sarcastic expression draws on your face with your brows raised. You look away from Doyoung and into the mirror where you can see the two of you in the practice room as if you were a third person observer.

You were expecting a snarky remark coming from him but you don’t get one. Instead, you can see him just watching you intently in the reflection, as if he’s at a lost for words.

“About your leg,” he bluntly states. No audible emotion, no wavering in tone, just three plain, simple words.

It’s as if your eyes are drawn to Doyoung like how opposite poles of a magnet are drawn to each other. When you look at his face, there’s a solemnity to his features that’s teetering on the verge of unease.

There’s only one train of thought running through your mind. It’s that version of him again from that first night in the practice rooms. You can’t quite decide whether you like this Doyoung more, or the normal Doyoung more, but in this moment, you know you much prefer the unaffected version of him. 

You’ve never been one prone to sharing your vulnerabilities, especially not with someone like him. You’re not intending on starting now. “What are you asking me?”

“I think it’s pretty clear what I’m asking.” He says this in such a matter-of-fact manner, it’s hard to assess what his motive here is. Does he care? What is the goal here?

You’re trying to analyse the situation, but to Doyoung, he just wants to know. All the mental gymnastics you’re doing in your head—Doyoung does none of that.

“To you—probably.” Still, you continue to try to diffuse this weird tension between the two of you. You get up on your feet, clapping your hands together to get rid of any dust on them. You mutter out a quiet, “Well,” under your breath as you walk towards your things in the corner. Doyoung watches you in silence as you pack your things up; unlacing your pointe shoes, pulling them off and shoving them inside the bag.

You slide the strap onto your shoulders and get up to leave. As you walk by Doyoung, you feel the familiar touch of his fingers wrap around your wrist. The cold of his hands raise goosebumps all along your arm, and simultaneously freezes you in place. 

“Let me fix this.”

His voice is soft, and gentle, unlike his grasp on your wrist. 

Your eyes dart downwards towards his hand on you. You try to squirm free of his hold but he doesn’t let you. “Let me go.”

“Let me fix it,” he repeats.

“Fix what? There’s nothing you can do,” Your voice trails off.

Doyoung looks into your eyes, gaze unfaltering. The window to the side of him reflects in his irises, making his eyes appear glassier than normal. Without taking his eyes off you, he slowly starts to loosen his fingers around you.

“It’s my fault,” Doyoung says this in a way that’s as if he’s exhaling his words. The syllables following each other as he breathes out.

You look at him, and he doesn’t shy away and avoid your gaze. You’re looking at him and he’s there, fully. Just a few months back, you’re thinking of what you would give to have this very moment. To have him acknowledge his mistake, and to fully take responsibility like he’s doing now. Just a few weeks ago, you accepted that you would never get this—that Doyoung isn’t the type of person to bring you this kind of closure. And yet, here you are, with him standing right in front of you in a confrontation that you thought was impossible.

It’s not an apology, like that first night. It’s recognition. And now that you have both from him, you can’t help but wonder: why doesn’t it feel as relieving as you thought it would be?

“It was an accident,” you correct him. You speak those words aloud and they echo inside of your head. Those same words that you had to tell yourself over and over, the same thing that you had to convince yourself of through the years, now you’re here using them again.

“An accident that I caused.”

There’s an eerie feeling inside of you. This conversation isn’t productive, and it’d do more harm than good if you continue letting Doyoung play the blame game.

“It’s not your fault. And I’m fine now, aren’t I?” You lift your foot and stick your leg out slightly, turning it from side to side.

Doyoung watches for a brief moment before he begins again, “Just… Let me make it up to you.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

His eyes are back on yours and you notice the slight dip of his Adam’s apple as he swallows subtly. He sucks his lips in, lightly rehydrating them.

“Whatever you need me to do to make this right.”

Your stomach emits a faint grumble, but clear enough in the otherwise silent practice room that you’re sure both you and Doyoung heard it. You try to hold back a chuckle.

“Pay me back with dinner. That’s what you can do.”

Doyoung and you first agreed on dinner at some restaurant close to the both of you. However, those plans were quickly replaced not long after they were made. Simply due to the reason that Doyoung usually cooks his own meals, and he didn’t want to smear his perfect record.

Originally, he was supposed to treat you to dinner the night he asked, but something came up, so it got moved to tonight. It’s been a week since you agreed to let him cook dinner for you and it hasn’t really crossed your mind until now. 

You’re standing right in front of your mirror, contemplating what to wear. Maybe you could’ve—or should’ve—given more thought to this. And it’s right now that you’re just beginning to question what tonight is.

It's just a casual dinner between friends, you tell yourself. But, you’re not friends. At least you didn’t think you were to him. Or maybe it’s just what you said it was—something he can do to ‘make up’ for his mistake.

All of this is running through your head as you’re holding up outfit after outfit up to your reflection. Your bed is littered with shirts, jeans, skirts, dresses; anything that you’ve ever owned. You’re not sure what kind of message you want to send with what you’re wearing, and you didn’t know if it really mattered, anyway.

Eventually, you narrow down your options to two dresses. One of them being a fitting black dress; sleeveless. The other is also black, slightly more appropriate for a club setting with the way the neckline is cut. You settle on the more modest of the options.

Pulling it on over your head, you can feel a slight tinge of embarrassment colouring your cheeks. You look into the mirror, suddenly becoming increasingly aware of what you look like. Self-awareness isn’t something you’d lacked, especially as a dancer, but tonight… it was different. You felt aware of yourself in a different way for better or worse.

You attempt to shake this feeling off, reminding yourself that tonight is just another regular night—nothing special to it. It’s just dinner.

After making yourself feel a little less on edge, you grab a nearby matching purse and throw on a jacket, then, you head out. You make your way to Doyoung’s apartment not too far from yours. It’s about 15 minutes away by walking, even less if you’re taking the subway. Considering how small the city really is, it’s not a surprise that he lives so close to you.

You take a second glance at your phone to make sure you got the right address before knocking on the apartment door. Your fist raps firmly against the wooden surface. For the first time tonight, your head is blank. Don’t get it twisted, the nervousness is still in you like it’s seeped into your bones, but any thoughts—doubtful or not—are nowhere to be found; only the echo of your knocking ricocheting off the walls of your mind.

The wait in between you making yourself known and Doyoung opening the door to his apartment is painful. Excruciating anticipation waltzing in every muscle of yours. You consider turning back around, walking away before Doyoung sees you, but before you even have a chance to move, the door swings open.

And there he stood. Head a little bit below the door frame, eyes widened, and an open stance. His black button-up is undone at the collar, exposing just enough of his collarbones that you know he left them undone for that very purpose. One side of his shirt is loosely tucked into his jeans, which had a leather belt wrapped around it. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see steam rising from behind him. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

You greet him first, waiting for any indication to be let in. Instead, Doyoung stands in the way of the doorway, eyes fixed on you.

“Um—You’re not burning anything, are you?” You ask lightheartedly, a finger pointing over his shoulder to where the steam is.

It’s like Doyoung snaps awake with a shake of his head. “Oh!” He looks over his shoulder at the pot on the stove. “No,” he reassures you as he turns back to you. Simultaneously, his body moves out of the way to let you into his place, “Sorry—Come in.”

You step through the doorway into his apartment. It’s similar to yours; an open-plan kitchen with two other rooms and a balcony. Except, his balcony can actually be considered one. Through the glass doors leading outside, you see a small square table with a white tablecloth over it, two chairs set up on either side. There’s two empty wine glasses placed on top.

“You have a nice place,” the hesitation that you can hear in your own voice made you want to crawl up and fall through the floor. Small talk has never been your forte. 

Doyoung shuts his door quietly and he turns back around to face you. “Thanks,” he takes a shallow breath in. He drops his arms from behind his back to his sides, straightening his posture subtly. “You look nice.”

And there it was again. His change in demeanour. You’re so focused on the sudden flash of indifference on his face that you don’t even pay attention to his words. It’s not like tonight wasn’t already confusing for you, he had to go and add to that confusion himself.

You mumble out a quiet, “Thanks,” not knowing what to think of his compliment. You’re grateful for the tiny hum of classical music in the background as you and Doyoung both stand somewhat awkwardly away from each other. You divert your eyes away from him and spot where the music is playing from—the vinyl record player tucked away in the corner of the open room.

It doesn’t surprise you that Doyoung is playing classical music as he cooks—he seems the type.

“If you want, you can sit down,” he speaks up. Doyoung extends a palm towards the balcony, “Dinner’s nearly ready. I’ll bring it out.”

You pull your lips into a tiny smile as you walk past him towards the glass doors. Sliding them open, you feel a gentle evening breeze brush against your skin.

Not only is his balcony better than yours, his view is also better. The platform looks over the main street, and you can’t help but wonder how the hell did he manage to rent a place like this. Directly across the wide open road are other apartment complexes, but on the ground, there are countless cafés, bars, restaurants, flower shops—everything. The warm glow from the lights within these establishments light up the street in a mellow manner.

You pull out one of the patio chairs and sit yourself down, a gentle wind blowing past again and getting caught in your hair. The faintest whisper of the symphony from inside travels all the way to you. You take in a lungful of fresh air—as fresh as city air can be—and lean forward on your palms placed on the edge of the seat.

It’s not long before Doyoung comes out with two plates in his hands. He sets one down in front of you first, then the other in his place.

“Do you want a drink?” He offers softly.

“Yeah, sure.” You get the feeling that you might’ve answered him a little too eagerly.

He disappears inside and shortly comes back out with a tall tinted bottle in his hand. Doyoung takes a seat across from you, his attention fixated on the things set out in front of him. He takes your glass into his hands, pouring a red wine into it carefully. Then, he does the same with his own. Once he’s done, he sets the bottle down onto a little trolley to the side of the table which you hadn’t noticed before.

He takes his glass, tipping its rim towards you. You take that as a signal and mirror him.

“Cheers.” You clink your glasses together, a clear ring sounding out as a result. Doyoung notices that when you go to drink your wine, you are most certainly not pacing yourself the way you should. One gulp, and the cup is a quarter-full, having only been half-empty when he poured it out.

One drink then turned into two, which quickly turned into another. The evening had gone better than you’d expected, better than you’d hoped. You thought that it might as well be you and him eating in detention for how conversation-less it usually is between the two of you, but tonight proved you wrong. Frankly, you knew it had to be due to the alcohol.

The pair of you explored many different topics: the weather; if aliens are real; whether or not you believe in astrology; your biggest dreams; cereal or milk first; et cetera, et cetera. But the topic of the reason for this whole night never came up, or the two of you were just extremely skilled in avoiding talking about it.

“After I graduated from the conservatory in Seoul, I wasn’t set on what I wanted to do,” Doyoung’s words had a slight slur to them, barely noticeable if you’re not paying attention. He picks up his glass from the table, this being his third of the night. “I was 18 at the time. I took a year off to travel and by the time I turned 19, I found myself here in Paris,” he continues, an easy flow in his voice. He takes a sip of the wine, “And I fell in love with it.”

You’re leaning back into your chair, swirling around the glass in your hand. Before you can even think of what to say back to him, Doyoung speaks again.

“What about you? How did you end up here?”

He downs the entirety of the contents in his glass, face turned away from you. You lean forward onto the table as Doyoung sets the goblet down lightly. Tilting your head away from him, you watch as the red liquid swirls and ripple over in the bowl with the movement of your hand, creating a vortex.

You return your gaze back onto Doyoung. His cheeks are lightly blushed; the tip of his nose, too. You exhale sharply.

“I’ve always been here. Guess I knew what I wanted to be since I was little and… I stuck with it.”

“That’s impressive,” Doyoung comments. You can tell he’s half there and half not.

“I suppose,” you mutter under your breath. You’re confident that Doyoung couldn’t hear you.

There’s a beat of silence, with the music in the background finishing right at this moment. Then, it starts up again. You hadn’t been paying particular attention to Doyoung’s choice in music for the earlier part of the night, but this particular piece catches your attention. And it looks like it catches his, too.

The familiar introduction passage travels all the way to the balcony fadedly, despite it’s lively nature. You recognise it as the accompaniment to the Black Swan pas de deux that you have practiced with Doyoung numerous times now.

The two of you share a glance before Doyoung gives in.

“Shall we?”

You hesitate at first. This is silly, you thought. Doyoung extends a hand towards you. 

“I don’t have my shoes,” you counter.

“So, what? It’s not serious,” he urges you playfully, hand now closer to you.

Then, you give in. You place your palm into his as he leads you back inside of his apartment. There’s enough space inside for you to move around comfortably, but not to perform a whole duet. The two of you half-heartedly dance along to the music, mainly relying on muscle memory for the piece. For the second time tonight, your mind is blank. You’re only tuning into the music and letting your body move the way it wants, no thoughts dictating your actions at all.

A part of the choreography calls for Doyoung to place his hands on your arms from behind you, and wrap them around yourself, which is then followed by Odile rejecting this show of affection. Doyoung’s touch on your forearms is delicate, like a feather brushing past you. Yet, there seems to be a moment in which he holds on and lingers in his position for a little longer than expected. In that same very moment, you didn’t want to move on with the choreography, sending him away with a firm denial of his fondness. The Prince’s fondness.

The first parts of the music comes close to finishing. The last vibrato of the violin sounds out as you spin into Doyoung’s arms, flesh out an arabesque, shift into fifth position, and lean your torso forward. Doyoung slides onto one of his knees, hands catching your waist as you tilt into him with one leg up in the air and arms behind you.

Your wrists flick downwards right along with the last notes of the melody.

Your faces are close to one another. You feel that if you were to lean forward even just an inch more, the tips of your noses would touch.

The music comes to a halt. That’s when the sound of your breathing alongside Doyoung’s becomes noticeable. You can feel your chest burn with every rise and fall. Doyoung looks deeply into your eyes in a way that he’s never done before in all the times you’ve finished this piece with him. It’s like he’s watching himself in the reflection of your irises.

“And this… is where you’re irrevocably in love with me,” you whisper, not being able to hold back a tug at your lips as you did so.

Doyoung chuckles. His hands are still gripping onto the sides of your waist firmly.

Your arms begin to feel heavier by the second, so you set them down, putting both your hands onto Doyoung’s shoulders. Your leg goes down as well, meeting the other on tip-toes against the floor.

Doyoung doesn’t look away for one moment, and neither do you. You’re still catching your breath when you feel a pull on your hips.

You stop breathing.

Doyoung’s face is now even closer to yours. You can see every minute detail of his features; the way his eyelids folded, the individual hairs of his brows, and his defined cupid’s bow. That was something that you never noticed about him, and now you can’t pull your eyes away from it.

He watches you observe him, and he does the same.

Without even knowing, you inch your face closer and closer to Doyoung’s.

Until finally, your lips meet his. 

END OF ACT II

© misted-dream 2024

[watchmegetobsessed]

JUST HOW FAST THE NIGHT CHANGES (part 2)

A/N: okay okay part 2! here we are!! my progress about the story is not as fast as i would like it but im trying my best!! feedback is always appreciated!

PAIRING: Harry x High-School-Best-Friend!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has thought of seeing you again so many times in the past months, he imagined this moment when he lied in bed, counting the days until he meets you again after all this time, but seeing you in real life is nothing like his daydreams. 

You’ve changed so much, yet he can see the version of you he last saw clearly too. Your facial features have matured, your hair is longer than he was expecting, though he only saw pictures of you from the past years. You have a black wrap-around dress on that’s hugging your curves that look absolutely delicious. 

It’s pretty obvious you’ve put on some weight and judging from the way you nervously keep fixing your dress every other second, it’s something you feel insecure about, but Harry cannot take his eyes off you and he forces himself to tame his already wandering thoughts. 

“Dude, close your mouth!” Beckham walks up to Harry, patting his shoulder to snap him out of his trance. 

“Shut up,” he mumbles under his breath, averting his eyes from you, but it only takes a few seconds before his gaze returns.

“Go say hi,” Beckham encourages him, but he shakes his head no.

“Later. I don’t… I don’t think I’m the person she wants to see the most.”

Beckham laughs as he walks away with his beer while Harry returns to his seat that’s not as close to yours as he would want it to be, but at least you’re on opposite sides, so he can keep an eye on you as the dinner finally starts. He can faintly hear your voice over the chatter every time you speak up or laugh at something and he wishes he was part of the conversation as well, sitting next to you instead of sneakily stealing glances.

Sometime after the main course and before the dessert it’s suggested that everyone say a short little summary of what happened to them in the past decade, and the round starts, everyone curiously listening to what their old pals are saying. 

“Um, hi,” Harry chuckles awkwardly when it’s his turn. “Well, I’ve had a pretty busy couple of years,” he grins, making everyone laugh. “I don’t know what I can say that you can’t read online, but let’s pretend you know nothing. So I just published my third solo album not long ago, I’ve been really enjoying experimenting with music on my own, though I loved my time in the band as well. I’m working on new stuff lately and I still have part of the tour coming up. I’m doing good, it’s all good,” he nods to himself before smiling around and giving the word to the next person. 

While he is interested in what everyone has to say, he is mostly looking forward to your turn finally so he can shamelessly stare at you while you talk.

“Hi everyone,” you smile nervously around, squaring your shoulders as attention turns to you. “Um, I don’t really know where to start. I started marketing at college, but I didn’t really like it and I was learning coding at the time so I thought I would start a career in that field. I went to an intense training so now I mostly make websites, but I do other stuff too. Um… I live here in London as most of us do now,” she chuckles, the class sharing her smile. “Nothing… Nothing else to share, really,” she adds in a mumble and looks to her right, signaling that she is done talking, it’s time for the next person.

It wasn’t enough. Harry wants to know more, everything if that’s possible and if it wasn’t for all the people around him, he would stand up and just sit beside you, asking you dozens of questions.

But he has to sit and wait patiently, pretend like you’re not the only one he is interested in the bunch. 

An entire hour passes by before he sees you slip away from the table and out to the back patio. Part of him tells him he shouldn’t follow you, but he just can’t stop himself. He excuses himself from the conversation and heads after you, hoping no one will notice him missing inside.

In the summer time there are tables outside as well with fairy lights creating a cozy mood, but it’s too cold right now to sit outside, so it’s only used by smokers occasionally. When Harry steps out as he slips into his coat he spots you right away in the corner, scrolling on your phone as you’re probably having a break. Even when you were younger, you often told him your social batteries easily run out and those were the times Harry gladly sat outside with you until you felt comfortable enough to go back inside. Seems like not much has changed. 

“Hey,” he breathes out and watches your eyes widen when you realize he came after you.

“H-Hi!” you clear your throat, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

“Having a social break?” he smiles warmly, standing only a few feet away from you.

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

There’s a bit of a pause where you’re not too sure how to act with Harry right next to you and he is stunned as well. There’s so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t know how you’d react. He doesn’t know about a lot of things when it comes to you but he is determined to change that. 

“So… how have you been?” he asks at last, the ure to speak up taking over the silence.

“Um, I’m fine. Fine, yeah,” you nod. 

“Do you still work at that civil organization, or…?”

“You know I worked there?” you ask, the surprise is pretty apparent on your face. 

“Of course,” he smiles softly, a blush tinting his cheeks. 

“Uh, I’m not there anymore. I work for a bigger company.”

“But still in marketing?”

“Yes,” you nod. “I can do more designing here on the side, that’s why I switched.”

“You like it?”

“It’s good. But work is work, you know, I was never the kind to be obsessed with my job.”

As you say that you realize he can’t know that, because you weren’t talking by the time you started working. It brings the awkwardness right back and he knows he needs to address some things before moving on.

“Y/N, I hope you know I didn’t… I didn’t want us to eventually stop talking. It’s just that so much happened, all at once and I didn’t take all of it the best way either. I should have focused more on my oldest friendships. I’m sorry, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“It’s fine,” you shake your head with a weak smile. “People have fallouts all the time, it’s natural.”

But it wasn’t supposed to happen to us, Harry wants to say, but he bites his tongue. He shouldn’t bring everything up the first time you see each other.

“But we could start again,” he suggests, holding his breath as he watches your reaction to his words.

“Start again?”

“Yeah. I would… love to catch up with you, hear about everything I missed. Only if you want to tell me about it, of course.”

You stare back at him for way longer than he would have loved it and it convinces him it’s the part where you tell him to fuck off. He wouldn’t be surprised, you haven’t talked in ages and now he is so desperate to reconnect. You have every right not to want him back in your life even if you never had a fight that resulted in the fallout.

He is about to take back what he said, but you finally speak up.

“Okay,” is all you say with a tiny nod. 

He’s shocked, to say the least, even though he was hoping you’d say that. But seeing that small smile on your face is all he needs right now.

“Cool,” he breathes out. The door behind him opens and another guest walks out to have a smoke, making them realize they should probably return to the table. “Look, if you’re free sometime soon, I’m staying until the end of the month. We could have lunch, dinner or even breakfast,” he chuckles. “I would love to see you again and talk. Just the two of us.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

“Cool! Great!” he enthuses, probably more excited than he should be, but it doesn’t matter.

The two of you return to the table soon, no one really noticed that you slipped away, but it leaves Harry with a silly smile on his face that widens every time he looks at you again. Suddenly, he feels like a teenager all over again, he is in that basement with his best mates, just having fun, looking forward to spending some time alone with you.

Your bike rides home together were always his favorites, even the ones when you didn’t exchange a single word. He just loved seeing you by his side, the way you always squinted your eyes when the wind blew harder than usual, how you always checked back at him if he was behind you whenever you were about to cross a road. These are all tiny things that are etched into his memories probably forever.

Sometime towards the end of the evening Bee gathers your little group and asks to talk to you outside. You stand in a circle, everyone eyeing her suspiciously as she tries to hold her smile back, Lucas standing right behind her.

“So, there is something that we would like to share with you guys,” Bee starts and without any time to waste, she pulls out a ring from her pocket and slips it on her finger, holding it up, her grins stretching from ear to ear.

“Oh my God!” Chloe gasps as she realizes what it means. “Congratulations!”

It’s a shock, but not really. Bee and Lucas became an official item sometime before graduation, had a short break during college since Lucas studied abroad and long distance took a toll on them, but they found their way back not long after. Engagement was definitely the next step after they moved together three years ago and adopted a dog just last year.

But still, it’s shocking for Harry to see his old pals move on in life together. There’s a pang of jealousy in him too, but it’s overruled by the happiness.

There’s a round of hugs and congratulations before Bee reaches for her purse and pulls out a stack of envelopes.

“We want to invite you all to the wedding that’s gonna be held in June. You guys have been here from the start and it only feels right if you’re there with us on our big day.”

“Man, I might even start crying!” Joshua jokes, but Harry can see the shimmer in his eyes as he takes his invitation.

“Don’t get too mushy,” Lucas chuckles, patting his shoulder. 

Chloe is already talking Bee’s ears off about the wedding and offers to help with basically anything, while you’re examining the invitation card with a soft smile on your lips.

Harry’s excitement runs even higher when he realizes it’s gonna be another occasion where he’ll see you, though he plans to meet a few more times until June.

The night stretches long, it’s way past midnight when the last guests get ready to leave. Harry has been keeping an eye on you all evening in case you wanted to slip out, but you stayed until the end and he doesn’t hesitate to take this opportunity.

“Do you have a ride home?” he asks, when you’re putting your coat on.

“Um, I’ll just call an Uber or something.”

“We can share, I already called one.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.”

In front of the building everyone says their goodbye, heading their own way and you are left alone with Harry on the curb as the car pulls up.

“So when will you be free for that breakfast slash lunch slash dinner?” he asks, not wanting to miss the chance to see you again.

“I have to check my work schedule, but… I’ll text you, okay?” “Promise?” he arches his eyebrows.

“I promise.”

“Okay. Just so you know, if you ghost me I will come for you.”

“So you’re that desperate?” you chuckle and he just shrugs with a smirk.

“I’m just eager to start over and reconnect with you.”

“I’ll text you, don’t worry. My days are just… a bit hectic lately.”

He wants to ask you about it, would be even better if you just opened up about whatever it is that’s happening in your life, but he’s fine with what he got as well. He doesn’t want to be greedy. 

You make some small talk on the way to your place and when the car comes to a stop Harry is already looking forward to seeing you again. 

“Don’t forget about texting me!” he reminds you again, to which you exhale sharply.

“I actually keep my promises, Harry. Goodnight,” you say before hopping out of the car, leaving him too stunned to speak and the car drives away before he could even react. 

It was like a stab in his chest, your words ring in his head all the way until he arrives home and even after that. 

He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. His nagging was supposed to be just a joke, but apparently, he should have been more careful, because your reaction was sharp and painful. But he deserved it, he knows, because what you said… that was a reminder that he fucked up and he can’t just start all over again so quick and easily.

He wants to go back in time and take the words back, everything was going so well up until that point and now it feels like a setback. While in the shower he is composing a text to apologize for overstepping your boundaries and he is just about to type it out when his phone rings, your name on display. 

“Hi!” he answers, shocked to receive a call from you but also thankful that he can apologize.

“Hey.” Your voice is weak, but a lot lighter than it was in the car when you parted ways. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“No, no, no, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he shakes his head, sitting on the edge of the bed and he wishes he could talk to you in person, see your face.

“It was rude. You’ve been so nice all evening, even asking to reconnect and I was… I was an asshole,” you sigh and he can imagine you closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I kinda deserved it. It’s been long, Y/N, I shouldn’t have expected to just go back to being best friends. I pushed too hard, so if anyone has to be sorry, it should be me.”

There’s a long pause at your end of the call, Harry is dreading to hear your voice and make sure he didn’t fucked up royally.

“I’ve been kind of… moody lately. I should think about my words before talking.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?” he asks, but then realizes that it might be over the line too. “Only if you want to, you don’t have to share anything with me, I totally understand it.”

“Maybe some other time,” you quietly answer and Harry swallows down his greed to know more. “But… I’m free on Friday,” you add and his heart skips a beat.

“Friday is awesome!” he answers without even thinking through his schedule. If he has anything that day, he’ll surely cancel, nothing can be more important than meeting you again. “We could go out for dinner?”

“Can we… Is it possible not to go out?”

“Yeah,” he nods, though his chest tightens. Does this mean you don’t want to be seen out with him? He wouldn’t blame you, it would put you in the spotlight instantly. “Want to come over? I could cook something.”

“That sounds good. See you on Friday, Harry.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he manages to say before the call ends.

A week has never felt longer. Every waking moment was spent by counting the days until Harry could finally see you again. He planned out the whole evening the day after the reunion, from the meal to the outfit he would wear, he knew it all by Monday rolled around so he had to spend five days anxiously waiting for Friday. 

On Wednesday he has a few drinks with just the boys, Joshua, Beckham and Lucas, cheering on Lucas’ engagement and having some boytalk. Even though they kept in touch throughout the years, there’s still a lot to share. They are having a great time, lots of laughs and jokes are shared over their beer.

“Alright, I want to talk about something major,” Joshua smirks over his pint, his eyes finding Harry and he already knows it’s gonna be about you.

“Just ask it,” Harry chuckles.

“Can we talk about how you had the heart eyes for Y/N all evening at the reunion?”

“Like a lovesick puppy!” Beckham laughs, patting Harry on the back as he puts up with the teasing.

“It was nice seeing her again, what can I say?” Harry shrugs, but he can’t hold his smirk up, which earns another round of laughter from his friends.

“Oh, it was more than just nice, right?” Lucas grins with a knowing smirk.

“We shouldn’t be surprised though, you were so in love with her back then,” Beck scoffs as he leans back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest.

“Not in love, I was just…” Harry tries to explain himself, but fails.

“Just in love,” Lucas teases him.

“I might have had a crush on her, I admit. But it’s been a long time, we obviously changed a lot. It was great to reunite with her.”

“And you plan to reunite some more with her soon?” Joshua wiggles his eyebrows. 

“We’re actually meeting on Friday.”

“You little minx!” Beckham laughs. “Will you shoot your shot?”

“We literally just met again after almost a decade. There’s no shot to shoot.”

“Yeah, and maybe it’s better if you’re careful,” Lucas nods, but Harry doesn’t really understand what he meant by that.

“Careful?”

“Yeah, I mean, after what she went through…”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Joshua asks, his gaze flickering between Harry and Lucas.

“What? Tell me what it is!”

“She got a divorce not long ago. Like, about a year ago,” Lucas says, keeping his voice down. 

“Huh? I didn’t even know she was married!”

It feels like a punch in the stomach, how he missed such a major event in your life. Not getting an invitation is one thing, but how did you manage to keep it so secret that he didn’t even know you were engaged?

“She kept it pretty low,” Beckham says. “I mean, the divorce and also the whole relationship.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even know about them until she was engaged,” Joshua shakes his head. 

“And what happened? Why did it end?”

Beckham and Joshua shrug their shoulders, but Lucas seems like he knows something. 

“Lucas? If Bee told you something…”

“I don’t know the whole story, okay? But as far as I know… he cheated on her.”

“Oh fuck,” Harry breathes out, his heart sinking instantly. 

“Pretty rough, yeah. But maybe don’t bring it up until she is ready to share it with you.”

“Yeah, sure,” he nods. 

The night carries on and they talk about anything and everything, but Harry’s mind stays stuck on you. To be more precise, your divorce he knew nothing about. It’s no surprise you are so reserved and moody, it must have been hard for you to go through it. He can only hope you had friends to rely on, Chloe or Bee at last if he wasn’t there for you.

Another thing to add to the list of things he should feel horrible about when it comes to you. 

At the end of the night he offers to share a ride with any of the boys and Beckham accepts, so they leave together. 

“I know it’s eating you away,” Beckham speaks up in the car. 

“Huh?”

“That you didn’t know about her divorce.”

“I wasn’t there for her, Beck. I should have been, but I didn’t even know she was engaged!”

“You weren’t talking, you couldn’t have known.”

“Yeah, but it was my fault we weren’t talking. I should have tried harder and… I should have kept my promise I made to her.”

Silence falls over the car as the passing lights illuminate their faces. Beckham is looking at Harry while Harry is staring straight ahead, his jaw jumping. 

“Look, you’ve made mistakes, it’s fine, totally human. If she is willing to meet you again, I’m sure she is not that mad at you, so it’s a good sign. You… Do you… want to, like… date her?”

Harry presses his lips together, thinking of his answer.

“It’s complicated, but… I think I still have feelings for her,” he admits, finally peeking at his friend. “Is that crazy? I mean, we were kids, can I actually still have… feelings for her?”

“Don’t underestimate your younger self. Look at Lucas. He’s been in love with Bee since forever and now they are getting married.”

Harr hums and nods in agreement, but there’s still a lot he needs to get clear in his head. Whatever it is that he feels for you, he wants to explore it but he also needs to be extremely careful now that he knows what you went through. And what if there’s more to it than the cheating? What if the guy did something else too that left you even more scarred? 

He wants answers, but he needs to be patient and give you time. 

Time, he couldn’t give you before.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[aziraphales-library]

Heya!

I've read a LOT of GO fics in my time, but I can't remember if I've seen crossovers/AUs of the following movies with Aziraphale/Crowley, can you help please?

So my favourite rom coms of all time are the following, and I'd love GO versions (if they don't exist I may have to write them)!

French Kiss (Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline)

You've Got Mail (Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks)

When Harry Met Sally (Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal)

Runaway Bride (Julia Roberts and Richard Gere)

Never Been Kissed (Drew Barrymore)

I won't bother asking about Pretty Woman because I've read so many versions with either of them in either role lmaooo (and I have loved Every. Single. One.)

Or basically any late 80s/early 90s rom coms with Meg Ryan (except Sleepless in Seattle because I find it incredibly boring) or Julia Roberts!

Thank you so much for everything you do! You've helped me discover so many amazing fics and writers and it is much appreciated!!! 💖💖😇😎

Hello there!

Did you know there is a whole collection from the Good Omens Rom-Com Event that was run a couple years ago? You might find what you're looking for there! (Some of the fics are unfinished so keep that in mind)

We have previously recommended a bunch of You've Got Mail/She Loves Me fics HERE, so check those out.

As for the other ones you've asked about:

French Kiss AU:

A Bit of Crumpet by Fyre [E]

With a handsome, successful fiance and a respectable home in Manhattan, Aziraphale Fell thought his life was more than adequate. He never expected to be jilted in a long-distance telephone call and so he sets out for England to find out exactly what's going on and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

When Harry Met Sally AU:

it had to be you by curtaincall [M]

“What I’m saying,” said Aziraphale, looking fixedly ahead, “and please don’t take this as a personal insult in any way, is that an angel and a demon can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said Aziraphale, firmly. “It’s against the order of things. You’re supposed to tempt. I’m supposed to thwart. We can’t go being friends.”

*

A canon-divergent AU inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

I don't know of any fics with your two last wishes but there is also:

Notting Hill AU:

Soho by Lurlur [E]

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages.

One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

Music and Lyrics AU:

pop! goes my heart by attheborder [E], WIP

When has-been musician Anthony Crowley is recruited by pop singer Anathema Device to write a song for her new record, he jumps on the chance to resuscitate his career with a hit. There's only one problem: he can't write lyrics to save his life.

But a chance meeting with a stranger by the name of Aziraphale, with a poetic streak that's a perfect fit for the song, changes everything for Crowley. Together, they'll create something beautiful, fight the forces of the music industry, and perhaps even find a way back into love...

A Music and Lyrics AU for the GO Rom Com Event, complete with all-new original songs written and recorded by the author!

Kate & Leopold AU:

Until by Nadzieja [T]

“I don’t want to go home.” Half-asleep Aziraphale murmurs into his ear and Crowley's heart clenches. His grip tightens reflexively around the warm soft body in his arms, around the smell of old books and sandalwood.

“Then don’t.” He’s trying not to sound like he's pleading, but his throat is tight and his voice hoarse.

*

Crowley lives his average life, working in a high-end advertising company at London that pays just enough to get him a room in a shared accommodation. That's just his luck that he ends up living with a literal witch. One day she brings home an even more eccentric man that has a taste for 19th century fashion, as if Crowley didn't have enough things to worry about. Little he knows that the man will turn his world upside down. Literally. And that's just the beginning of his problems.

~Mod N

[novlr]

Hi I’m interested in writing, but idk how and where to start. Any advice?

Starting your writing adventure can seem daunting, but it’s actually the best time to have fun and discover what the craft means to you. And to get started with writing, I have a few basic concepts to consider.

Whether you’re writing poetry, a novel, short stories, nonfiction, or even screenwriting, the below concepts are versatile, and work as general steps on how to start.

Let’s dig in!

Start small, build a habit

The first thing to do to get started with writing is to actually start writing. Earth-shattering response, I know.

Start with finding a small routine that works best for your schedule and try it for about two weeks to gauge if changes are needed.

For example, you can spend five minutes during lunch every day to type whatever is on your mind. Then, once that becomes an instinctual habit, increase it to 10 minutes. You can also experiment with half-hour increments every other day, or, your routine becomes writing a few hours on the weekend because of your work schedule.

There’s no magical writing routine you should force yourself to do. Everyone has their own pace, and it’s up to you to find yours. There’s no wrong answer to this.

Experiment, adapt, and find your flow. Finding a routine can take a few tries, and that routine can also change after a significant life event (you can also have a different version of the routine for low energy days). So no need to be rigid with yourself. But once you find your flow, do it as consistently as possible.

As for what to write: write about your day, let out an emotion, tell a story from childhood, practice talking as a character; whatever fancies you at that moment. As long as you’re writing, whether it’s 5 or 5,000 words, you’re doing it right!

P.S. Looking for more on building a writing habit? Our course “Write to Play” helps you get started with writing and learn to enjoy it! Our Discord Community also hosts weekly writing sprints and other activities, so you can connect with fellow writers and work on goals together. Both are free to join.

Ask why you want to write

Writing may look like a glamorous career or hobby, but as with many things, it takes effort. And your level of writing effort depends on why you write in the first place.

Some people get started with writing because they think publishing something will make quick bucks. But it should never be about the money (although money is a nice bonus). Writing is about community and entertainment via the oldest form of connecting with others: storytelling.

We write because we love to tell stories. We write because we want to share a message with others through written expression. We write because we are natural creators of worlds and characters that weave adventures.

So ask yourself why you really want to write. Do you want to connect with others through your personal experiences? Is there a message you want to share with the world? Do you want to entertain the masses with meaningful adventure? If the answer to any of those questions is yes, great news! You’re on the right track.

If you need a “why” example, I’ll give you my reason for writing poetry and fiction. It’s to advocate mental health and self-worth.

After going through a personal journey of discovering self-acceptance, I want people to follow their hearts and core desires, and to love themselves for who they are. Because that’s true happiness–valuing your core identity.

Genre and theme

Genre and theme are two vital things you need to get started with writing.

Genre is fairly straightforward. Most aspiring writers already have one in mind. However, if you’re not sure where to start, think about the genres that your favorite books, movies, or TV shows are, and go from there.

Do you like epic fantasy and adventure? Try the action genre. Do you enjoy dystopian settings questioning the ethics of society? Society and worldview are great for getting deep and philosophical. Or do you love a character rising to the top with a successful career or sports tournament? Look into performance and status.

Theme takes a little more effort, but if you spend time on your “why,” that will help significantly! Because the theme you write about, from a poem to a novel, typically derives from your “why.”

Take my own “why” again as an example. Since it’s about mental health, I spend my days on themes of self-discovery, societal influence on “success,” inner demons, acceptance–the list goes on. But they all come from my overarching goal to show how valuing your true self brings real happiness.

Here’s another example: say you have a personal experience of winning a sports tournament because you pushed yourself, even though you wanted to give up. Perhaps that’s inspiration for a project with the message, “with effort comes reward.” That theme opens all kinds of opportunities, from looking at the best-suited genre to what kind of story and character to write about.

Which leads to my next concept! 

Characters and story basics

Genre and theme play right into your characters and story. This is where we dive into some mechanics of storytelling, starting with the concept of story and characters, and then how the theme and genre affect them to create a basic project outline.

To start, your story is the external sequence of obstacles your character faces, leading to learning the theme at the end. Your character is the one going through the story’s external events while internally processing them.

Your theme then determines the “what” in your story: what message the story shares to readers at the end, and what core events lead to the theme reveal. Meanwhile, the character(s) are the “who” being affected by the theme throughout the story.

With that, the theme determines the beginning and end of your story, as well as the path of growth for your character to experience. This is the bare minimum you need when writing a project, like a novel or short story. Even if you don’t use outlines.

For the end of the story, we already mentioned the theme reveal; and that’s typically portrayed through the character facing a final challenge–like a big boss fight. And through that challenge, the character grows from learning the theme. So the theme dictates the end of the story by what the final event and message are, and who the character becomes after growth (or lack of, for tragic ending). 

From there, we can move backwards to the beginning of the story. In storytelling, the ending is the opposite of the beginning. So, if the story’s end has a character learning the theme through a final challenge, then the story’s beginning introduces that character with a major flaw to overcome by learning the theme; while starting the sequence of obstacles that eventually leads to the theme reveal at the end.

Just like that, you have the theme crafting the basics of your story with a dynamic character!

But let’s dive further with genre. Genre helps plot the “how,” as in, how your story and character’s journey are told (i.e. action, romance, etc). Each genre has specific conventions for a story to follow, thus acting as a great template to plot lengthier projects like novels.

For example, romance genres start the story with two characters meeting as potential love interests (the meet cute), and typically end with them falling in love. Thus, if you choose romance as your genre, then you work your theme, story, and character(s) into those parameters.

Once you do that, you’ll notice you’ll have a basic outline for a project. Shall we go through an exercise to see the magic?

Let’s go back to the theme example of “with effort comes reward,” and combine it with a character, story, and genre.

Based on that theme, the character needs a major flaw at the story’s beginning, one to overcome by learning the lesson. Also, the beginning starts a sequence of obstacles that must lead to the character getting rewarded from effort.

So let’s create a character who believes everything comes easily to them–someone born into a rich family and had everything handed to them at a young age. That’s the flaw. And for the sequence of obstacles to start their growth, we’ll have the character lose their inheritance, forced to figure out how to live on their own.

These obstacles become the hardships of living without wealth. That way, by the end of the story, the character comes face to face with the theme, realizing if they want “reward” (or perhaps fulfillment), they must put effort into what they do. The story thus ends with the character growing and understanding it’s worth working toward something.

Now add the romance parameters mentioned above for genre. After the character loses their inheritance, they meet someone at a local store; one who becomes friends and helps tackle the character’s personal dilemma. This also helps the character realize genuine happiness as they also fall in love. Therefore, they find their path through their own efforts, without inherited wealth, and live happily ever after.

Tackle that mindset

There’s only one mindset every writer needs to have before they get started with writing, and that’s this phrase:

Perfection is failure.

Trust me, as a healing perfectionist, that sounds wild. But here’s something crazier.

Not even your published work will be perfect.

You will always reread your work and think a word needs tweaking, or a character needs different reactions in dialogue. Some published books still have typos, too.

With projects like novels, most writers never finish their first draft because they spend time and energy editing the story as they write. To perfect it as they go.

But you don’t know how the novel goes until you write to the end of it. 

Like creativity, your project will change and flow. Especially in the beginning, as your first draft is the discovery draft; the foundation of the project. That’s not the time for tweaking, but the time for building.

So allow your first draft to be messy. Get the whole concept out first. Then, you will have better knowledge on how to edit the entire project. Not just parts of it that might change anyway as you get closer to the end. Don’t waste your precious time and creativity like that.

This is the same for me with poetry. I always focus on the poem’s core message first, then I’ll play with pretty prose and rhyming.

So focus on the journey of writing the draft and getting the full idea down. Again, creativity is fluid. Allow your writing to be the same.

My favorite book coach discusses perfectionism with the analogy of baking a cake. You can’t put icing on a cake without letting it fully bake first. Finish baking your draft to the end, then add the icing edits.

And there you have it! Those are my five main concepts to remember to get started with writing. And those are merely the tip of the iceberg of what the craft has to offer you–but remember, this is the time to have fun and discover!

Are you ready to dive in and get started with writing? I can’t wait to see what you create.

Happy writing!

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Come Back To Me

Description: You get a haunting phone call after Luke is shot by an Unsub during a case.

Word count: 3,306

Warnings: Mentions of blood & gunshot wounds

A/N: Reposting againnnnn

Through gritted teeth, Luke’s hauled off the premise on a stretcher.  His fingers trail down his torso until he grazes the source of his pain.  The warmth of the blood drips down his shaky palm as he clutches his stomach tightly.  Luke’s startled by the amount of thick, crimson liquid that’s seeping though his dark shirt.  

He groans as the stretcher shakes lightly.  EMT’s carefully guide him down the four front steps leading out of the house he’d just been shot in.  

“You’re okay,” JJ follows closely next to Luke, her blue eyes clouded with worry.  “You’re gonna be okay.”

Luke can only nod as a response.  Although, neither he or JJ are entirely convinced that was true.  

Just then, Luke’s squeezes his eyes shut, gasping as a shot of pain radiates through the entirety of his abdomen.

“I’ll call YN,” JJ says, “I’ll have her meet us at the hospital.”

“No,” Luke says sternly, lifting his head up the best that he can.  

One of the EMT’s place a firm hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Sit back,” he orders.  

But Luke ignores him.  Using what little energy he had left, he waves JJ’s suggestion away.  “Don’t call her,” he insists.

“Luke-“ JJ protests.  He’d just been shot point blank in the stomach, in an attempt to deescalate the Unsub, a man named Chris Jones.  Surely, he wasn’t thinking rationally.  

But Luke shakes his head adamantly.  “Do not call her,” he insists.  

In the years since you and Luke had been together, things hadn’t been easy.  You’d both met while he was still a part of the Fugitive Task Force- a career that proved to be daunting and challenging on your relationship.  Luke’s job took him all around the country, occasionally internationally, as he hunted for escaped or missing fugitives.  Him being away so often was hard on your relationship.  

“I miss you,” he whispered one night, his voice low.  Luke’s face lit up your phone screen as you laid in bed. Your eyes were heavy, but you’d been evading sleep.  Luke was in San Diego, an entire continent away, and the time change had proved to be yet another wedge between the two of you.

You’d missed all of his calls in the previous two days.  By the time he was awake, you were already at work.  By the time you got out of work, he had been engaged in the midst of his chaotic day.  And by the time he finally was settled into whatever motel the FBI had put him up in for the night, you were fast asleep again.  

But that night you had waited up for him. And despite knowing that your alarm clock would be ringing you awake in less than five hours, you kept Luke on the phone for as long as you could.  

“I miss you too,” you had said, your hand subconsciously traveled to Luke’s side of the bed, and balled into a fist when you had felt how cold and empty it was.  

You had fixated on Luke’s eyes.  And even though your phone screen and FaceTime couldn’t capture the depths within them, their warmth put you at ease.  He made you feel safe.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  You didn’t have to ask him why.  He knew how sad you got when he was away- how the distance between you two gnawed at you.  

You pulled the comforter up closely to your chin and nuzzled into your pillow before smiling.  “Don’t be sorry,” you told him.  “As long as you come back to me.”  

“Always,” he had assured you.

“Promise?”

Luke smiles and nods.  “I promise.”

The two of you prevailed through Luke’s time at the fugitive task force.  Things had even gotten better since he’d joined the BAU.  Luke was still on the road, but is was far less frequent. He even made it home for dinner some nights.  

The truth was, Luke knew how lucky he was to have found someone like you- someone so tolerant and supportive of him and his job.  You put up with far more than any person should; missed holidays, dates, and birthdays, cancelled plans and long days without seeing one another.

But in the end, Luke’s safety was all that mattered to you.  

“It’s okay,” you reminded him, every time his phone rang with a new case.  You’d cup his face with your two hands and plant a soft kiss on his lips.  “But promise you’ll come back to me.”

“I promise.” He’d whisper, leaning into your touch for as long as he could before duty carried him away.

Lying on the stretcher now, with the endless, dark sky casting overhead, all Luke could think about was your touch.  He craved it- your fingers grazing the stubble on his cheeks, your forehead pressing against his own as he leaned in- the feel of your soft, delicate lips.  

But Luke couldn’t call you, which is why he shoots JJ’s idea down so quickly.  He can’t call you, because he knew this was your biggest fear- him getting hurt at work.  And he can’t let you get that phone call, the one that would shatter your entire world.  

Besides, he was going to be okay, he thought, as he grimaced through the pain.  There was no sense in calling and worrying you over nothing.  He’d go to the hospital, get stitched up, and then walk out of their good as new.  

He made a promise to you- one he had every intention of keeping.  He would come back to you.

…

The ambulance doors slam shut, leaving JJ outside the Unsub’s house with blood still caked on her hands and shirt.

She appears disheveled and in shock as Emily approaches her cautiously.

“JJ, what happened?”

JJ snaps her head to the side, meeting Emily’s gaze.  “I uh-“ she stutters, trying to get her bearings.  “I don’t know- it happened so quickly.”

Rossi’s quick to approach the two women, his vest still securely attached to his chest.  He holsters his gun.  “What happened?” He repeats.

The memory of being in the house with Luke start flooding into JJ’s mind with full force.  There’s no logic or sequence to their arrival, they just come pouring back.  She closes her eyes sharply, trying to regain her composure before speaking.

“We didn’t have time for backup- we had to go in, Jones had the girl” she explains, justifying her and Luke’s decision for the two of them to storm the Unsub’s house alone and with no vests.  

Emily nods, placing a reassuring hand on JJ’s shoulder so that she can continue to talk.  “He had her in the back bedroom.  He the gun to her head when we walked in, but Luke-“ JJ pauses at the sound of his name.  She bites back a few tears before continuing.  “Luke convinced him to let her go.  He told him to point the gun at him instead. So I took her out- I brought her outside, so she’d be safe.  Before I could get back in the room, I heard the shot,” she explained.  JJ wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.  “When I went in the back room, Luke was down and the screen to the back window was popped out. Jones had escaped.”

“Matt and Tara are after him now,” Emily said comfortingly, giving JJ’s shoulders a soft squeeze.  “You did everything right.”

“I’m just worried about Luke,” JJ admits.  “He told me not to call Y/N.”

Rossi’s face twists in confusion as he and Emily look at one another, surprised.  

“To hell with that,” Emily says as she pulls out her cell phone.

…

The call comes through at 10:38 pm.  The only reason that you know is because the time displayed on your TV screen is the only thing you can stare at as Emily tells you that Luke’s been shot.  

Your heart had sunk the minute you saw Emily Prentiss’ name flash across your phone screen.  Luke had saved her as a contact in your phone, just in case of an emergency.  Your voice is already shaky when you answer.  

It waivers even more as you ask the daunting question you’re not even sure you want to know the response to.  “Is he alive?”

Emily hesitates, “He was conscious before being loaded into the ambulance, but he’s being taken to the hospital now, I’m sorry I don’t know anymore.”

The news that Luke was awake and alert after being shot is enough to have you jolting off the couch.  You use your shoulder to keep your phone pressed to your ear as you rummage around the living room for a jacket and your keys, all the while asking Emily what hospital Luke was being sent to.  

The ride to the hospital drags on agonizingly slow.  You’re grateful that Luke was working a local case and know that anything further than the forty minute drive you had to make would have been just pure torture.  Throughout the entire drive, you battled back and forth with your thoughts, trying to push out the fact that Luke might not make it.  The idea was unfathomable to you- so there was no point in dwelling on it.

You found yourself repeating a mantra the entire way.  

“He’ll come back to me,” you whispered as you drummed your thumbs anxiously on the steering wheel. “He’ll come back to me, he’ll come back to me, he’ll come back to me.”

You hurl yourself into the E.R. of the hospital Emily had told you about with what little force you felt you had left inside of you.

You’d only met Luke’s team twice, but you easily spot the FBI agents as the three disheveled people in the waiting area.

The first to spot you is Emily.  She’s comforting JJ, who’s hunched over in a chair, her head resting in her hands.  Reid is sitting next to JJ- his face contorted in a way that makes it look like he’s in pain.  He watches as JJ remains distressed.

“Have you heard anything?” You ask nervously as you approach the group.  

JJ’s head shoots up just as Emily and Reid look towards you.

Emily sighs, walking to meet you.  She laces her hands together in front of her as she speaks.  “They took him into surgery about twenty minutes ago.  I expect we won’t hear anything for a little while.”

You nod, the news washing over you.  Pressure builds behind your eyes as the tears start surfacing.  

Emily places a reassuring hand on your back as she guides you towards the chairs.  You take a seat next to JJ, before wiping the wetness from your cheek.

JJ turns to you then, her eyes clouded and tired.  She takes your shaky hands in her clammy ones and assures herself that you’re looking at her before she tells you slowly, “I am so sorry.”

You shake your head, not even bothering to hold back the tears that were flowing down your face now.  

You were worried about Luke.  Your entire body was wracked with anxiety and fear that Luke would not survive the night- but as you looked at JJ- her sad eyes and unruly appearance, you felt nothing but empathy.  She had been through something horrific tonight- something with Luke- and you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know what that was.  But no matter what the outcome of the evening was, you knew you could ever blame her.

Gently, you gave her hand a squeeze.  “It isn’t your fault,” you say.

She exhales sharply and looks away as a tear escapes down her face.   When she meets your gaze again, she nods and offers you the slightest of smiles.  

She doesn’t let go of your hand.

…

A steady, rhythmic beep comes into focus in Luke’s mind.  As he wakes up, he finds himself concentrating on the sound.  He keeps it at the forefront of his mind as he starts to become aware of other parts of his body- and the pain that encompassed them.

The beeping starts to speed up as Luke becomes more alert.  There’s a rustling noise beside his bed and then suddenly, something soft and warm is gripping his hand tightly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay-“ the sweetest sound fills his ears.  It’s just enough motivation for him to find it in himself to open his eyes, as tired as they feel.

He’s so glad he did- because he’s met by the only thing in the world he ever wants to see.  

You’re standing over his bedside with a furrowed brow and worried eyes.  They’re encompassed by deep, purple marks beneath them, indicating to Luke that you hadn’t slept in a while.  He sighs a breath of relief at the sight of you, as he thinks that you look more beautiful in that moment, than ever before.  

“You’re okay,” you repeated, your voice lighter.  It was almost as if the more you repeated the phrase, the more you believed it.

You sat in the chair next to his bedside.  “Thank God,” you exhaled sharply, your chest caving in as you spoke. You bowed your head to Luke’s bed and brought his hand, still clenched in both of yours, to the top of your head.  You let out a whimper as you cried, the relief that he had finally woken up overwhelming you.  

Luke frowns at your current state knowing that he was the reason you were sobbing at his bedside.  

“Hey-“ his croaked, looking down at your heaving frame.  He lifted his other hand, moving it so that he could caress your hair softly.  “I’m okay,” he reminded you of the words you had just spoken.  

You lifted your head then, sniffling loudly.  Luke relaxed a little when he saw your lips tug into a small smile.  

You nodded at his reassurance.  “Yeah,” you said.  You pull one hand away from his to wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.  “You are.”

Luke moves his hand and gently dips his thumb down the length of your soft cheek.  You lean into his touch and squeeze your eyes shut.  Another wave of tears start to wash over you.

“Don’t cry,” Luke begs, his face twisting at the sight of your sadness.  

You shake your head.  “I was so worried,” you tell him between sniffles.  “I thought-“ you let your voice trail off as you reimagine the unthinkable. “I thought you were going to die.”

Voicing the fear that had held you captive for the last twelve hours, as you waited for news from the surgeon, is what makes you break.  Your shoulders shudder as you start to sob and your cheeks sting as more tears rub them raw.  

Luke attempts to move forward in his hospital bed.  He wants to console you- to just scoop you up in his arms and engulf you in his embrace.  As he shifts, the IV in his arm gets tugged, reminding him of his limitations.  He helplessly shifts back against the pillows and sighs.  

“Please,” Luke mutters.  He gives your hands a tight squeeze.  “Please don’t cry.”

The rapid release of tears is still evident on your face, but you make an effort to control the sobs that threaten to wrack your entire body, at Luke’s request.  

“I should be the one comforting you.”

Luke shakes his head.  

“Yes,” you object, nodding fiercely.  “Yes, I should- you were shot… and here I am.  A blubbery mess, getting snot all over your wounds.”

Luke’s plush lips pull into a tight smirk.  “You can snot into my wounds any day, baby.”

Laughter spills from your mouth involuntarily.  “You’re disgusting,” you tell him.

Luke smiles back. “I know,” he says.  “But I love you so much.”

You look deeply into Luke’s brown eyes, marveling at the depth of their warmth underneath the fluorescent lights.  You sigh a breath of relief at the sight of them, realizing that they never failed to make you feel secure.  You trace the side of his face lightly, his eyes growing heavier as you continue the soothing touch.  

“I love you,” you tell him, right before his eyes fall shut.

…

There’s a significantly greater number of people gathered in Luke’s hospital room by the time he wakes up a second time.  His eyes wander the hectic area, grazing over everyone, until he lands on you.  He sighs a breath of relief at the sight of you, curled up on a chair in the corner, nursing a cup of coffee and wearing the same, tired expression on your face.  

“Hey, you’re awake!” An excited voice rings through the room.  

Reid is at your bedside, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

Luke nods.  “Yeah, I- uh, guess I fell asleep there.”

“You need the rest,” Emily states.  She’s standing at the foot of Luke’s bed.  

“How do you feel?”

JJ stands and approaches the other side of Luke’s bed.  At first sight of her, Luke can’t help but feel guilty.  Her cheeks are hallow and her eyebrows furrowed.  She looks like she hasn’t slept in days- which he was probably to blame for.  

Looking back, Luke knew he should’ve waited for backup.  He should have never led JJ into that house without it.  

“I’m okay,” he says before lowering his voice.  “Hey, I uh- I’m sorry.”

JJ scoffs.  “You’re sorry?” She asks, in disbelief.  “Why the hell are you sorry? I’m the one who got you shot-“

“No,” Luke states clearly. “JJ, no.  This wasn’t your fault. I should’ve waited for backup, okay?”

The look on her face tells him she doesn’t quite believe him.  “Okay?” He repeats.

She lowers her head, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear before nodding.

“What happened to Jones? Did he get away?” Luke asks his team.  

Matt, who’s sitting adjacent to you, speaks up. “No,” he tells Luke.  “Tara and I found him hiding in the shed in his backyard.  We got him.”

Luke sighs a breath of relief.  “And the girl?” He asks JJ.  

She smiles, her first genuine smile in the past day.  “She’s okay, too. Because of you.”

After a few minutes of visiting with his team, they slowly start to file out of the hospital room. Emily orders him to get some much needed rest before exiting the door, leaving him and you alone.  

For a moment, you stay curled up in the hospital chair in the corner, just gazing at Luke adoringly.  

“What?” He asks, questioning your stare.

“You’re a hero, you know?” You tell him.

Luke rolls his eyes.

“JJ told me what happened.  You saved that girl.”

Luke looks away, embarrassed by your claim.  “It’s just the job,” he says.  “Any one of my team members would’ve done the same thing.”

“You’re all heroes then.” You stand up and pull a chair to his bedside.  “But you’re my hero.”

Luke scoffs lightly, but you ignore him.  Instead, you collect his hand in yours and pull it up closely to your lips, planting a soft kiss to his knuckles.  

Luke tugs on your hands, indicating for you to lean closer to him on the hospital bed.  You take his hint and close the rest of the gap between the two of you, wasting no time before softly pressing your lips to his.  The familiarity of the kiss eases some of the nerves that have been coursing through your body.  You relax into his touch, letting everything- his warmth, his smell, him- engulf you.  

You pull back from the kiss, but Luke’s quick to move in again, this time pressing his forehead tightly against yours.

“Thank you for keeping your promise,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Luke nods against you.  “I will always come back to you.”