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dilf-docs · 2 months ago

Text

Saturday But in Your Sunday Best

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel has a co-worker's wedding in las vegas. everything that can go wrong, does.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, oral (f. and m. receiving), breast play, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation kink, ANGST (as in i've suffered so will my characters. this wasn't at all what i had envisioned at first for this part), hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff (that's new), pls be nice this writer's block shot me in the foot

word count: 11,121 words

side note: sorry this took so long. between movie watching for the oscars, my other works, midterms, pedro pascal horny hours, my wattpad fic, the max fic you citizens let flop (ĉüřşę ÿoụ āĺļ), the brat taming fic that made numbers among my oomfs on twitter, a very shitty date (the situational irony of letting a man ruin my women's day) a ptwt fic gc in twitter (love u frens), and uni again, i let the ttdik series collect dust, my bad. as compensation, take this girthy chapter altho it makes me kinda insecure IDK. this is why i don't do series okay!! i'm my worst enemy and i fear procrastination is a chronical disease of mine atp

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What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

His foot taps anxiously against the marble floor, sound drowned by the bustling crowd.

People come and go. Some hug, others cry. And Joel? Well, he's just waiting for you to come.

He checks his watch, the one Sarah gifted him, and sighs. Should've known better.

It's been two months since the pregnancy scare, and ever since then, you have put a bit of a distance between yourselves.

It was slow, gradual: first the excuses then nights were you wouldn't stay or ask him to. And, even if your affair was that, just an affair, he missed sleeping in the warmth of your embrace. He also missed the way your nose would crinkle when you laughed. You didn't laugh that often anymore, and if you did, it sounded like you were holding in: as if you were afraid to let loose and let him see through you. And to be honest, it was killing him.

So when he reached out to you for this, he should've expected for you to say no. That you wouldn't show up after that I'll see if I'm free text: no, Joel Miller simply shouldn't have harbored that much hope for his daughter's bestfriend he happened to be banging.

If he hadn't confirmed his invitation, he'd probably gone home and layed down. Watch some garbage TV with Sarah and some beer in hand, but here he was, like a lonely loser, luggage in hand.

(Sarah helped him pack. He didn't even know what to wear to a wedding, and then she showed up with his old suit-- that still fit, somehow, albeit a bit more tight, from the dry cleaning. Joel would be lost without her)

The speaker announces his flight is about to leave. Joel gets up, trying not to be dissappointed about the whole thing. He's got no right to, after all.

"Joel?"

He'd end up breaking his neck by how fast he turned.

There you are, and it's like the weight he wasn't aware of, settling on his chest, had been removed.

"You made it" is the first thing that makes it out of his lips.

You softly laugh, "Hello, Joel"

He gets closer to you, slowly, like if he where to do it faster, he'd scare you off. Or you'd be gone, as if a dream.

(It'd be a nightmare, though, because you wouldn't be here)

"Sorry. I-" he cuts off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. There's some tension lingering in the air, the same when you left his house a week ago. Joel had been too much of a coward to invite you then, rather hiding behind a screen.

But now you were here.

"I didn't think you'd come" he says after a beat of silence.

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrow up as if you hadn't been acting weird at all.

"Why wouldn't I?"

(Because it seems like being in the same room as me tires you. That your eyes don't shine anymore, and the starry sky looks like a storm when you dare search my gaze as we fuck. Every time you breath, its like breathing the same air as me burns)

He rather not press, so instead, he says:

"I'm jus' glad ya' came. 'S all"

You nod, not adding anything at all. Then, both you walk to your gate, side by side in silence, the same that had seemed to seep inside your romance for the past weeks.

Well, romance was definitely a stretch. An affair seemed more like it.

Of course, you're aware the change it's on you. It would've been dumb of you to think Joel wouldn't notice your withdrawal, or how more often than not you'd be stuck in your head. But still, he didn't comment on it, and like you, danced around the subject, afraid for different reasons as yours. Or the same. Yet, you'll never know. No, you're aware you both are too stubborn, and that whatever it started on that day, had settled in between like a burning flame.

(Had you been engulfed by the fire yet?)

You try not to think about it. After all, you had the option not to come. But a weekend away in Las Vegas after midterms? Too tempting to let go.

(And it's not like images of a stood up Joel in the airport, looking miserable, had made you restless the last couple of days after his text)

"Ya' can take the window" he says, even if it's his seat.

He knows you're nervous about flying, a little detail that came up during a post-sex small talk.

(What're you're dreams? Joel asked. You had answered that you'd love to travel the world after graduating, but that you had a fear for flying, despite having only done it once. It may have been because the first time you did, it was to fly for your grandma's funeral. Perhaps it was by association then, that the bad feelings about boarding a plane could be related to that)

"Thanks" you mumble, sitting down. You're avoiding his gaze, but know he's looking at you.

"What?" a little harsher than intended.

He looks taken back, looking at his lap as he let's out a soft whisper, sheepishly:

"Nothin'. Jus' thinkin' you look pretty today"

A light blush creeps up your cheeks as you huff out a Whatever.

Joel let's a breath of relief out his tight chest and allows himself to smile.

(At least, he's still got an effect on you)

The wedding Joel was supposed to attend is in the Ángel De La Guarda cathedral. You'd be staying nearby, at a hotel room Joel's coworker had paid for, the same where the reception would take place.

Being in the same room as Joel one night should be the least of your worries, but then the space is even smaller than it was supposed to (given by Joel's cursing as he paced around, anxiously), and the strain of your relationship settles in the air, physically so, tight around your throat.

Then, it's the bed issue: there's only one. It's not like you haven't slept in the same bed before, obviously, but there's a certain dread deep in your stomach about sharing the enclosed space when you're at your most vulnerable. He moves around a lot during night, and something tells you you'd wake up to his strong arms and hot breath fanning over your neck, hairs rising at the proximity, making it harded to calm your heart.

"You okay?" he's asking, dropping the bags in a corner.

"At what time is the wedding?" you ask.

He checks his watch. "In about seven hours"

The glass bounces a ray right into your face, and you have to close your eyes at yet nother reminder of why this is all so wrong.

Sarah.

"We should rest..." he says, plopping on the bed. His plaid t-shirt rises up at the same time the color of your cheeks does, when the glimpse of soft tanned skin reveals itself. He looks up to your stiff standing figure, bulk arms behind his neck as he rests his head on his biceps. "Don't 'cha think?"

Lay with me. Not outloud.

"No" you say, hastily so, not missing the way a flicker of dull akin to the pain of rejection finds its way to his brown eyes. "I..." your voice softens. "I'd rather take a tour of the place, you know? It's not like I'll come every weekend here"

He's about to raise up. I'm coming with you, again not out loud, in case you'd reject his offering again.

Which you do.

"I'm fine" you say, grabbing your purse. "Just... I need a moment"

Away from you.

"Suit yourself" but there's a sharp edge on his apparent kindness.

Closing the door behind you, it takes all of you to not turn around and see his face one last time.

You wander off through the bright lights and noisy hallways, walking until the sun of the outdoors filters a ray over the carpet through the glass doors. Strides take you to the pool area, kids giggling, parents sunbathing and youngsters chilling.

You sigh, dipping your feet in the pool, chlorine up your nose and water baterly grazing your sundress.

But you're drowning.

Drowning on his presence, every room he's in now smaller. Walls of the room collapsing, as the ones of your lungs, every breath tight if your nose catches a whiff of his scent lingering in the air. You'd wash the sheets almost immediately, crying when your head hit the pillow and it smelled like lavender and not Joel.

It was the only right choice: to erase him out of your life, because with every new kiss and thrust, he'd take another part of you with him, and you don't know how much more you can give of yourself without dying. A part of you dies every time he walks out the door, anxious heart pondering when will he walk out for good. When he'll realize the thrill is gone, that your escapades were all but a product of his crisis, and what started as a mutual use of bodies, ends in the waste of your heart.

Joel has become a drug for you: knowing it's destructive, but the high so addictive, you don't mind the crash. It's unevitable, and a small treacherous voice in the back of your head says you're just postponing a foretold death.

Yet Joel Miller makes you feel alive. Alive as a spring, grassbed full of blooming flowers. As sun carressing your skin: if you stay too long, the warm becoming burning.

A kid walks up to your sad lonely pensive corner, splashing water onto you.

"Hey!" but he's gone, and it's Vegas, so his parents are three mojitos down from the open bar, asleep under the sun. You curse, getting up and back to your room to change.

When you get to your room, is eerily quiet. And dark, the curtains closed.

You rumage through your suitcase, pulling out a change. The dress slips off, falling to the carpet with a pathetic drowned sound. You're about to change into the t-shirt when the lights flicker.

"You back?"

You scream, trying to cover yourself.

"Woah!" Joel covers his eyes, both your reactions ironically funny. Your cheeks burn as you finish dressing yourself up, and if he takes a small peak between his fingers, well, you'll never know. "Jesus, doll. If ya' wanted it so bad, could've asked"

Something akin to anger and deception morph into a burning flame in the pit of your stomach. Even after all this months, after this imminent fight, Joel can't bring himself to ask, dancing around the fragile line that barely holds on with the clap of skin against skin and sweat, as to replace the tears that will never see the light of the day.

"Right, because that's all I want"

He raises an eyebrow at your tone. "S' a joke"

"Jokes are supposed to make people laugh"

He shoots you a look, before standing from the bed.

"What's gotten into ya'?"

He walks closer, yet you give him your back, tossing the sundress with too much force in your bag.

"Don't know what you're talking about" as nonchalant as you can muster.

"Look at me" you keep the harsh packing going on. Joel grows impatient at your confusing demeanor, not just from today, but days ago. He's had enough. He spins you around, losing his cool as he shouts. "Damn it, y/n, stop actin' like a brat!"

"Don't touch me!" you yell back, pulling away.

"So that's how's it now?" Joel lets out a scoff. "Y' get on ma' bed but the moment I put a finger in ya', y'act all coy and angry?"

"Right, 'cause I'm a slut. That's what sluts do: we get on lonely men's bed and fuck them"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. His voice is laced with frustration, and you know it's your fault.

"Never said that"

Why not talk it like adults? No. Too much of a coward to do that.

"Jus' tell me, doll. What's goin' on?"

I think I love you, and I'm fucking scared.

His voice is soft, pleading. In your lifetime, you never thought you'd see Joel Miller beg. You did once, but it wasn't like this. Please, he'd say. Now, here he is, standing before you like the smallest man who ever lived and not the unstoppable force you made him out to be.

It should be easy. But words never come easy. Not to you. Neither love, so foreign it makes you shiver with fear. So natural, one day you opened your eyes to him laying next to you, Sarah staying in another city for a soccer tournament, and decided that was what you wanted. All his mornings. His bed voice, thick from sleep. His droopy eyes and tired smile, facil hair tickling your face as he says Good mornin', Southern drawl never more prominent, kisses in between. Let's get sum coffee after, because he always had to drink the bitter liquid out of his owl mug or wouldn't be able to make it through the day.

You want him to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

You want Joel Miller. Want. Want. Want.

"I hate you"

You have ruined me.

He probably expected anything but that, given his crestfallen face. Joel wishes for time to go back, at the beach. He'd say no, push you away. Fought a little harder. Never gotten into your bed.

The worst part is, he's a fucking liar: he'd probably still choose the same, even if the end is near.

"You ain't mean that" not knowing if he's trying to convince you or himself. "Jus' wanna hurt me"

You don't humor him with an answer.

"I shouldn't have come" is what you say instead, the bitter taste of defeat and hurt etched in your voice.

Would've been easier to stop when we should've.

His words run through the tense air like a bullet.

"I agree"

Weddings had always made you cry.

You weren't even a romantic, but the whole thing-- the promise of forever, it seemed to move your heart a bit.

So, if your eyes shimmer when the bride makes her entrance and the groom, Joel's co-worker, tears up, you feel your chest tight and stomach drop. It clenches with something akin to dread and want, as if suddenly, all that mattered to you was love. A year ago, if you told yourself-- the one who got on her knees to suck Joel's dick at the beach that night, that you'd be here?

You would've laughed.

Falling for the grumpy old man who also happens to be your bestfriend's dad?

Right. Imagine that.

Except there is nothing to imagine. All of it is real.

From his quiet laughter, the sound foreign and not frequent by the way it rasps against his throat. But now the wrinkles around his eyes are more prominent, forbidden laughs marking his blushing face. as he looks away, embarrassed. You can laugh, you had said, I won't tell anyone, yet he made you swore like the sight of Joel Miller laughing was the worst thing in the world. So had become the grey strands on his hair, more sprouting each time, as his damp curls twisted in your fingers.

It is also in the way his sweat that drops over your body as he tries hard to last longer, to his grunts that fill the room as he fills you to the brim with his warm cum. How his rough seems to meet every inch of your soft skin, like pieces of a puzzle.

Something clicks when you're with Joel, and you can't help but feel it's your fault this rift has been created, aggressively peeling the white off your nails as some form of anxious torture. But, he too, aside from his initial Just glad you came, hadn't said a word about it again. Even if he had noticed it all, before Vegas too. Nothing. And then Joel told you it was best if you didn't come. Fucking great.

You feel him tense next to you, body stiff when your arm accidentally brushes his when you stand up from the bench, making you roll your eyes.

The fallout had been awkward. The elevator ride took forever, and then the space on the cab felt too small. He took you to the back, on the benches near the exit, like he didn't want to be seen with you. It got you fuming: why bother to invite you at all?

In all truth, you could've picked up your bags and left after the fight, yet you stayed. You wonder who's more of a coward. In this weird dancing around you've got going on, walking in circles over the words Stay and Leave, like both are too delicate to say out loud. Even as the couple speak their vows, amid the claps and tears, your mind keeps drifting back to one question: Which would hurt less?

It's not until it ricochets on your arm that you realize the tears are also your own. You brush it fast, but by the corner of your eye, you know Joel notices. Still, he doesn't say anything, which contributes to your spite.

The ceremony is over, and just as you can feel the anticipation of the reception's drinks to buzz your nerves down, someone blocks you the exit. A couple, more like it.

Before fully registering their faces, Joel's hand flies to your back, pressed in a firm manner that oozes protectiveness. It makes your heart flutter, no matter how much you try to suffocate the treacherous butterflies in your stomach. You try not to think too much about it as you take them in: a man, looking in his middle forties, probably around the same age as Joel, so as the woman next to him, who smiles warmly. Not like the man, who seems unwelcoming.

"Joel" he pronounces his name, manners coming out cold. "It's nice to see you made it"

His grip on your back becomes more firm.

"Mark" he uses the same tone. "Well, when ya' confirm, y'gotta come"

"And who may this be?" Mark's wife asks, not thinking there's harm in her words. You swear you can hear him snicker next to her.

"She's-"

Joel stops midtrack. How is he supposed to even call you?

"I'm his girlfriend"

You don't know why you did that but you did. You also don't know why it causes you such satisfaction to see their wide eyes and Mark's disdain.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. How lovely!"

His cheeks go pink. "Thanks, Laura"

"Yes, Joel. Didn't think you'd move on" but his tone isn't like his wife's. "I just assumed that being with someone wasn't on your list anymore, you know, at your age. Especially one so... young"

Laura shots him a look.

Maybe it wasn't your place to get angry, not after how you've subjected Joel to your silent treatment this past months. Not after the fight you've just had hours ago. But he is also the same man who held your hand after you thought you were pregnant. He was the one who stayed. It is too how his shoulders slump, like he believes it to be true. You can't bear to see him sad, as contradictory as that may sound.

"Mark, right?"

The man nods, still sickly smiling.

"To me it sounds like you're jealous. Which is awful, because you've got a lovely wife" she looks away embarrassed while Mark fumes. "Also, when I turn around, try not to stare at my ass. I saw you when we arrived"

There's nothing left to say, so you walk past them.

"I think that was funny. Don't you?"

He avoids looking at you.

"I called a cab. Should take us back to the hotel"

No thanks. Nothing.

"Alright" your tone is dry. "Do as you please"

He opens the door for you, but his movements seem stiff and unnatural. Like he's second guessing every breath and step.

The car begins to move. You lean against the window, seeing the hues of neon through the glass. Joel's eyes burn holes on your head, a glimpse of brown in the reflection.

"I liked the wedding"

Joel looks at you properly for the first time since the fight. Your hair falls gracefully in cascades, hinting at an effort that tries to pass as a nonexistent one. Your makeup is soft, but your lips are in a shade he can't quite name, yet manage to make them even more fuller than usual. God, he thinks of it smeared on his clothes and mouth, feeling dumb all of the sudden. Then there's the dress. He doesn't have a favorite color, but as of now, it may be red: specially if its the red that hugs your curves, pushes your tits up and gives a little peak of your leg with its open cut, dangerously close to the start of your inner thigh. Not appropriate to wear at a church, maybe not a wedding either, but fuck didn't he care. He'd even rip it off, if it was such a problem.

"It was beautiful" he agrees, softly. "Never been to one. Maybe's why I think so"

You remove yourself from the window, now holding his gaze.

"What?" your mouth drops in surprise. "What about yours? Weren't you married?"

He smiles, but it appears to be sad. "Never got time for a wedding thought"

Joel has told you things. Things he'd never say outloud to anyone else. So whenever he opens up, letting you in, you let him, feeling that familiar pleasing ache in your chest at the thought of being enough: enough to be trusted with a piece of him. Of Joel Miller's heart.

The rest of the ride is silent, your mind still on Joel's hand on your back, on his words, and how the sting never goes.

In every thought of yours, he is.

"What'appened to your nails?"

The question catches you off guard. You're surprised he even noticed at all. But your hand lays in the space between his and your dish, stiff, as if waiting for him to hold it.

"Oh" you remove it from the table, placing it in your lap. "I chipped the polish off"

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, brown eyes examining you curiously, as if he didn't know you. Like he hadn't almost whisper those three words you had been tettering around as well.

"Why what Joel?" tone brash.

He scoffs at the change again, shoulders slumping a bit. Probably in annoyance, perhaps in defeat.

"Dunno" he goes back to his dish, cutting the steak with a bit too much force. I thought we were okay again. "S'rry I asked"

Your chest tightens, as it had been doing lately.

Was this the only thing you knew how to do now? Hurting Joel?

"No, I'm sorry"

It's his turn to get back at you. "Sorry for what?"

You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, avoiding his gaze.

"I-"

Your eyes nervously dart across the room, trying to ignore the churn of your stomach and knot on your throat. You then catch the perfect distraction.

"I think Mark is staring at us again"

"What?" Joel asks in disbelief at your change of topic.

"Mark is staring" you sigh, getting up and dusting your dress off. "Wanna put on a show?"

"I didn't come to a wedding and wore this dress to be seated all night" you extend your hand. A quiet truce settles in between. "Let's dance"

At some point he gets up and takes your hand. It feels good. For a moment, be it childish or foolish, your mind thinks this is how it is: with no one around to know you, you're his and he's yours. It's just the two of you, dancing and laughing under the lights. He'd know the song that's playing, and when you'd ask, unfamiliar, Joel would joke: how could ya' know it, if you ain't even born yet?

For just a moment, it feels like it could be.

The music is soft. It's some sort of rendition of Lady, Lady, Lady by the band Jim hired to play at his wedding.

Joel's clammy hands slip against your cold palms as you walk to the dance floor.

"Nervous?" you ask, biting back a smile.

He squints his eyes at you. "I'm just outta practice, 's all"

You laugh. "I would've never guessed"

He shakes his head, but the ghost of a smirk hides in his lips.

"Cheeky baby. Now you actin' funny?"

Joel's hand finds its place in your waist, holding firmly as the first verses go by.

Dancing behind masks, just sort of pantomime.

But images reveal whatever lonely hearts can hide.

"Maybe I'm just tired" you reply, placing your head against his chest. His heart starts drumming faster, and you hear him gulp.

"It ain't even midnight yet"

You close your eyes, feeling every breath of his chest against your cheek.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

I know it's in your heart to stay

"Y/n-"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

"I'm sorry" this time clearer.

His body rocks yours slowly to the tempo of the music, and for a brief moment, amongst the sea of guests and the voice of the singer, time stops, and it's just him and you.

"Don't"

He can't bear it. Not tonight.

When will I ever hear you say

I love you

Not when your body feels so well against his, your head resting on his chest like all those nights ago, where Joel held you close, the silent promise of never letting you go on his warm strong embrace. Not when just the thought of losing you is too unbearable to even think of. Not when today, he can let his mind drift away and heart beat, dreaming of things that'll make him the butt of the joke. For a moment, you're not wearing this red dress that's making him insane. You're all in white and there's a ring in your hand, just as there's one in his. You'd dance and say I'm yours, forever. A giggle. You can't get rid of me. And he'd smile and reply a Good, wasn't plannin' to.

But now he feels like he's going to lose you forever.

"I missed you" it's your way of trying, again.

His head is a whirlwind of emotions.

"Yeah?"

You lean closer, until his cologne burns in your nostrils.

"Yeah"

Time like silent stares, with no apology

"Joel"

Move towards the stars, and be my only one

This time, he finds it impossible to shut you up. Not when you've raised your head until your eyes meet his, and the constellations he very much loves are ever present in your stare.

Reach into the light, and feel love's gravity

"Yeah?"

You pull in closer, and he can feel the whiff of champagne coming out of your mouth. Your lips are parted, and a shaky whisper is all it takes for his head to spin, drunk in love.

"Please"

That pulls you to my side, where you should always be

Your lips are so inviting. All he has to do is cut the centimeters separating your mouths.

But it's a wall. One filled with doubts, fear and the quiet rage of rejection.

His voice wavers when he starts speaking.

"I think-"

He hasn't even finished his sentence, but your heart is already broken.

No wonder why you've always treated it like a burden: nothing is worst than a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd come to realize just how absurd this all was. Him, much older than you and Sarah's dad. How could he let his daughter's bestfriend go this far. That he was a forty something guy, dancing with a twenty two year old girl. That love comes in all shapes and sizes, but there's no name for this you have going on since last summer. Perhaps, there'll never be.

"Please" you hear yourself repeat.

It started as a plea for a kiss. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.

"No, baby-"

And Joel is the first to step back.

Lady, lady, lady, lady, I know it's in your heart to stay

The cold water of rejection hits you in the face, far from his warm embrace, the contour of his face, centimeters away, now meters.

"We can't"

An ocean away.

"Joel-" your throat tightens, panic bubbling in your chest.

"I think we should stop"

The whole world around you does as soon as those words leave his mouth.

Sorrow is quick to turn into anger, and all those months of guilt, rush, thrill, labored breaths, broken rules and promises you held to your heart as an oath, sweet whispered cons in your pillow that smelled like him. It all comes crashing down with force.

A dry laugh escapes past your lips. Joel winces at the sound.

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?"

"Baby-"

"Don't call me baby" you hiss, feeling your vision blurry. "Don't call me like you meant it"

"I do" the music has reduced to a buzz in the back of your head. His firm voice borders between desperate and pathetic. "Which is why am making 'tis"

"Fucking coward" you spit, feeling your skin on fire.

Don't give up. Please.

Fight for me. Fight for this.

For us.

"Coward?" it's Joel's turn to laugh. His dark chuckle sends shivers through your skin. "Y' shouldn't be talkin' 'bout that"

"Don't put all of this on me" you raise your shaky finger, accusing. "Don't you fucking dare"

"Thought Mark was watchin'. Or 's that 'nother one of y'r lies?" Joel seethes. "Or maybe ya' don't give a shit 'bout it. Jus' like you ain't give a shit 'bout us!"

"You think this is easy?" your voice raises. "You think I wanted this?"

You think I don't care? That I'm doing well? That I wanted to pull away from you? That I knew things would got as bad as they are?

You think I wanted to fall for you?

His eyes darken. "You started this"

Your heart stops beating. People laugh, the band is still playing and chatter bubbles like the champagne flutes waiters carry by.

But all you can hear is the moment your palm meets his face.

"I wish I never met you, Joel Miller"

And then you rush out the door, your heels burning as much as your eyes and chest. Far from the party, far from the world.

Far from him.

"We ain't done yet!"

You hear him bark behind you, yet your legs don't stop, despite the buzz in your ears and the slight stumble in your walk.

Your voice sounds like it doesn't belong to you when you hear yourself speak, without turning around.

"I think we are"

But Joel doesn't give up, making you feel trapped between wanting to hit him again and let yourself be held.

"Y/n!" he calls out just like he used to when you were a kid. Like you knew no better. Reckless. Berating. But now the taste of bitter mingles with his punishing demeanor.

You spin your heel, walking menacingly towards him.

"Don't call me that" you seethe, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"That's your fucken name!" he shouts.

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes. "You know what I mean"

"Enlighten me, doll" the nickname feels like a slap to your face, and for a moment, you wish he called you by your name again, instead of tainting the always sweet calling with his vitriol, as if the four letters meant something sacred he had profaned. "S'a matter of fact, why don't y'enlight me 'bout everythin' that's goin' on. 'Cause guess what? I'ont know what the fuck is happenin'!"

And it terrifies me.

His shout probably ran across the empty hallway. The music coming from inside sounds like a muffled heartbeat, mirroring your own.

To lose you. I might as well have.

"I don't know why you seem'a hate me now" quiet this time, like every word coming from his mouth take his voice little by little. "Why ya' get all sweet on me after weeks of leavin' me, pushin' me to the side... I'm old, doll. I ain't capable of takin' this anymore"

I'm not capable of surviving a broken heart.

The possibility of losing Joel, foever, had never crossed your mind, not even as you closed off, ignoring the way his brown sad eyes would search yours to try and find answers, maybe scraps of the... whatever it was you shared.

Now, it was real, and it shook you to the bone.

"Was fun while it lasted" closing off, trying to shut the doors he let you in, clawing back to that Joel Miller who couldn't be bent. The one Sarah deemed unbreakable. But it's the same that didn't know when to back down, now praying the price of his foolishness.

I don't regret it, but Joel doesn't have it in him to give you more of his heart for you to take. If he cuts it now, from the root, he'll spare his brain from saving more seconds of the image of you he'd have to get rid off: you, taking your coffee with two bags of sugar because you hated uneven numbers, and three seemed too much for your latte. You, standing on his room like you belonged there. You, on his car, the leather having absorbed some of the floral scent you seemed to carry with you. In your clothes, your skin, your hair. He'd have to go to bed knowing he'd never get to feel your strands in his fingers, tickling the remmanents of desolation he'd been carrying like a second skin ever since Sarah's mother walked away.

Your blood runs cold.

"Fun?" the words spill in a bitter incredulous tone, all the while you're trying to hold to him without raising your hand for him to take it, like just the thought of it would be enough to choose you. Words seem to fail you, and grasping at him feels like holding sand: it keeps falling from your fingers, a cruel reminder of your borrowed time. "Joel"

"Fun" he repeats the word, feeling sick. "As in, you'd marry someone who's worth for ya'. Probably choose Texas, maybe you'll stay away. 'Cause you're smart, and know what's good. But if ya' came back, livin' at the same neighbour, in the house across mine, you'd glance up and see my porch, thinkin' 'bout us, and this will become a joke with y'r husband, 'bout your rebel days. To your kids, summ cautionary tale. To you? An'scape of summ sorts of y'r other wise boring life"

Your shaking at this point, not knowing if it's anger, humilliation or sorrow.

I'm sorry. Please, don't give up on me. Stay.

"I'd be an experience. But to me? Doll" Joel chuckles, humorlessly. "You were everythin'"

A choked up sob bubbles from your chest.

"So that's what you think of me?" you laugh, a sound so hollow it makes his skin shiver. "That this is for the thrill? For the fucking anecdote?!"

"Trust me. I've lived long 'nough, kid. You'll understand later"

It's like all those months next to him meant nothing. Like pulling away from your lips was the easiest thing to do.

"Don't you fucking dare call me a kid!" you push him. "I'm not a kid"

"I know you ain't!" he roars back. "But you don't know shit!"

"Neither do you!" your quick to counter. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh? Bet you think that I'm some helpless naive idiot who doesn't know what I want. I don't know what I'm doing, that you're right. But I do know what I signed up for, the price I would pay" losing you or Sarah. Both. "I wanted it, and newsflash: so did you" you breath, running your hands through your hair, trying to comb some sense of normalcy to ground yourself while you try to recover your composture. His arms lay weakly by his sides, restraining himself from running to you and craddle you on his arms. "You chose this. You chose me, Joel Miller" each word pronounced with contempt. "I'm not a victim. Neither are you"

A dry chuckle escapes past his chapped lips. "What are we, then?"

(Two lonely souls who seek warmth. People who fell into the same bed. Shared time they shouldn't have. Selfish. Living on borrowed time. Always tettering around the edge, so easy to fall. History repeating itself. The dancing around. Dirty, like the Texan roads: and they all lead back to his bed)

"So do it" you shove him again, as if by doing so, you could push him away forever. From your mind, from your heart. From your life. "Say it"

He shakes his head, as if you'd insulted him.

"Sweetheart-"

"Say. It" you bark, tasting the venom on your tongue. "Say it!"

"I can't" looking so small, your resolve almost crumbles. Almost.

"Coward" you spit, repeatedly punching him feebly on the chest as tears stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hands, to stop you. "Don't touch me! Let me go"

"I can't" this time louder.

Tears sprout with more intensity at the desperate weight on his tone.

A single drop runs down when you say, defeated: "Quit me"

"I can't!" he shouts in your face, voice breaking slightly.

"Why?!"

"'Cause I fucking can't!" Joel breaks. He crumbles in your arms, body shaking as he buries himself in your reluctant embrace. He speaks again, this time softer, "I can't lose 'cha, baby. If that makes me sum goddamn coward, then so be it"

Something in you stirs. Like a lost boat, finding a lighthouse during a storm. Arriving to shore with gentle waves. Home, where it belongs.

"Joel-"

"I'm sorry for bein' selfish" between agitated and terrified, afraid of the silence and what you may say. "For noticin' your quiet and still carryin' on"

"Joel"

"Believe me, doll. I tried to stop. To leave ya'" he swallows, "but then I got invited and my mind went to ya'. Fast. You were the first person in my mind. Always are. I think that's when I knew. S'okay if you don't-"

"Joel!" you shout this time.

He raises his view from his little spot on your chest.

"It isn't just you" in a whisper that could easily pass as the wind that sweeps inside from the main door. Voice so fragile it hurts like glass. "I feel this too"

Just like that, he's both gone and back. His heart beats on his throat, voice raw when he searches for your eyes and asks:

"You do?"

The big unbreakable Joel Miller, looking at you not like a force to be reckoned with, but as a man, worn down by years of solitude and the weight of a secret.

You smile through the tears. "I've been many things, but a liar never"

He chuckles, softly. "Always was a bad one"

"See?" softly teasing, "you can attest to that"

"Twenty one years seem 'nough"

"Soon to be twenty two" pause. "And I would love it if you were there to see it"

A breath hitches somewhere in the middle of the new aphonia that's settled.

"You don't mean all'at. Think 'bout it-"

"I do" you interrupt him, firmly. You hold his gaze while cupping his face, the fright on his face mirroring your own. "You asked before, remember? There's your answer"

Joel is at loss for words. Was never good with them, less when it came to you: like your presence unsettled him in the same way tornadoes made him quiver when he was a child, rattling him to the bone. But there was a morbid fascination to them, in their destructive nature. Like beauty could be horror too, and he had learnt it thanks to your unforgiving winds that had swept him away from his feet.

He was flying. Fucking flying. Never quite landing. Afraid of the fall.

"I'm scared"

Joel leans in, forehead touching yours. His skin is warm, something about it soothing your nerves down.

"Me too"

You bite back a smile. "Big broody Miller, scared?"

"Y' know how'da disarm a man. I'll give ya' that"

You laugh, eyes crinkling while you swat his chest playfully. It's the same sound he missed so dearly. Joel can feel himself breath with relief.

"Now that's the story I'll tell my kids" could be our own. "The one where I won over Joel Miller"

A deep, rich rumble erupts from his chest as he pulls you even closer, this time, your head the one on his chest.

"I'll do you one better" he slowly moves his leg closer to the inner part of your thighs. "Wanna hear how it ends?"

"Jesus, Joel" laugh tense. Your heart pulses like his cock. Hard. "You sure are a mood killer"

He presses further. "But ya' want it, don't 'cha?"

You whimper, weakly. Truth is, you've been wet since you saw him dress on his rather tight suit. Now, after what you just confessed, you're not sure you can hold back any longer.

"Use y'r words, baby"

"Our room" the possesive adjective making his stomach rumble with need. "Now"

Stumbling feet. Whispered breaths oozing with drunk desire. Giggles. Buttons of an elevator pressed forcefully. A crammed space that felt even smaller. More giggles in a hallway full of doors that looked the same. Some mumbling, trying to remember the room. Grabbing the card from his pocket. You somehow make it to your room. Fumbling fingers. One swipe. Two. Try slower, but his voice is as urgent as strained. The door gives in. Finally, couldn't wait any longer. And he's chastising you, for being so impatient. Yet his eyes are all dark and sweet when looking it at you.

"We're here" and then the door closes with a loud thud. And Joel is yours again, just like he was that night, and forever was since.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back fervently. You open your mouth and let his tongue get inside as you moan his name.

"Please" you whine.

"Please what?" Joel chuckles, enamoured at your hanging mouth and heaving chest. Fucking tease. "Use y'r words, doll"

"Please, Joel" and hearing your name fall out of your lips like it's the most sacred prayer brings him weak to his knees. "I need you"

(I need you, as in I need you here. With me. Now. To never let go and hold my hand, not only when we fuck, but also when we walk, side by side, hands brushing like a touch it's too much to bear. Because if we held hands, I'd never be able to pull back. I need you to look at me as you undress me, because I'm bearing all of me for you, scars, body and secrets, trembling like a scared child, because no one's ever had me. Not like you. Not like you)

"'S right, sweet thing" he drawls out in a husky whisper, like his slick tongue was coated in honey. He pulls your head back, nipping and sucking on your skin. "Say ma' name like 's the only thing you know"

And in a way, it is. Because you'd always call Joel, fingers itching at a number you've memorized until it's burned in your eyelids, like when you close your eyes, you can see him standing in front of you, Texan accent and heavy boots in your doorstep, later to be discarded and hidden beneath your bed.

He pulls back, making you involuntary whine at the loss of his lips and tongue on you.

"Tell me you want this" he's saying, and for a moment, past the fire and the need, you see Joel as not the man who can bring you to come two times in a row, but your bestfriend's dad, who's slept in a bed alone for the past two decades, who can't meet you in the eyes when he undresses himself, looking like the one who's got the more to lose when his lips press aginst yours in a soft manner, not out of tenderness but out of fear.

"I do" without hesitation, as if you would tattoo your promise and wear it like your heart on your sleeve. "I want you, Joel"

You want all of him: from his boring Sundays sprawled on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom to his greying hair, aching joints and creaking bones, that despite so, would still kneel and eat your pussy like a man starved, tongue sliding through your folds with a learned ache, pouring the same yearn, longing and hunger that he wears on his eyes when they land on you, no matter if his brown are miles away, because they'd always find your own, like a boat lost in translation and a sea of sorrow coming back home, as if you're the only important thing in the world. His anchor. The lighthouse of his vast ocean of forlorness.

"That's my girl" but no smirk adorns his face, rather a small smile that warms your chest, right as he pulls you back in. There's a shift in the aire as he kisses you know, as if not only his tongue is in your insides but his soul, without holding back this time, like all limits have blurred and melted into a pool of desire and affection.

Joel pushes you down onto the wide bed, climbing on top of you as he kisses your jawline, leaving wet kisses along your warm skin. You moan as every contact of his mouth sends shudders to your body, him taking his time as he works over your jaw, down to your chest.

"Such'a pretty doll. And's mine" his calloused fingers fiddle with your bra, unclasping the lingerie until it falls messily discarded next to the bed. "Got summ nice tits on you, baby" and Joel's eyes sparkle with excitement, lighting up like the neon lights of the Vegas sign, "don't 'cha think?"

Your back arches with his touches, mouth ghosting over your nipple, already pebbled at just Joel's breath.

"Fuck, Joel" you mewl his name, dragged with difficulty as he laps his tongue over your breasts greedily. You can feel Joel's cock pulse and throbb in your thigh as his body hovers over yours, lips still wrapped around your nipple as he suckles and nibbles at the tender flesh.

"'S sorry, doll" he's apologizing in a mocking manner as you whimper at the contact of him against you, suckling hard, tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud as he drew it deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. "Ain't know you'd be so fucken responsive with just a lil' lick at y'r pretty tits"

As your body trembles and quakes, he speaks again.

"Open y'r mouth" you do so, because honestly, you'd never deny him a thing. "Want 'cha to suck on 'tis fingers, like the slut ya're. Get them wet so they feel good against 'tis greedy pussy"

You take the fingers as you'd take his cock, sucking on the skin that tastes like salt and gasoline, a slight bitter taste but you take them as deep as you can, until your lips brush his rough knuckles.

"Good greedy whore" he praises. "Now let me help ya' with that"

Joel gestures your damp panties, taking them off and putting them up his nose, inhaling like he did the first time you ever fucked, back at the beach house that summer that feels a life ago, seawaves crashing onto the shore as they drowned out your moans.

"Sweet" as if your arousal was his favorite dessert, gripping the sticky lingerine until his knuckles turn white. "Fucken wet and drippin', and s'all for me"

He feels your greedy hands fumble with his pants and belt, pulling him closer as the feeling of unfairness at his clothed figure dawns upon you.

"I like how you look in a suit, but right now-"

He laughs, a deep rich sound bubbling up from his chest.

"Ma' baby wants it that bad, huh?" you nod your head feverishly, a beg threatening past your lips.

"Please, Joel. I want to suck your cock" the dirty words come out as quick as a breath. "I missed it so so bad" not caring at all about how desperate you come across or the pitiful begging that's a plea away from drooling out of your mouth with an aching hunger.

"'S that what you want? Draggin' me out'a reception 'cause y'r greedy dirty mouth couldn't keep still? Bet you'd crawl on da' floor just to get a taste of this dick" every word makes you mewl. "Might have to see ya' beggin' for it"

"I'll do it" you beg, voice a wanton plea. "I'll do whatever, I just need to-"

"I see ya' really do"

He removes your hands from his body, chuckling as you pout and whine like a baby.

"Love hearin' ya' so eager fo'me" Joel says, tugging the pants finally down. Through the cloth of his underwear, it's impossible not to see the silhoutte of his hard throbbing dick.

The sight of him, hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, white button shirt now wrinkled and sticky with sweat, tie loose and that faint smell of champagne that clung to his mouth and scent like a second layer of his skin.

"Get on the floor. Now" he commands, and you're quick to obey. "Gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours until my cum dribbles outta your cheek. S' now? Be obedient if ya' want a taste, slut"

You let out a small whimper as Joel frees his cock from his underwear.

"That's right, baby. Like what ya' see?" his cock is straddling your face in your current kneeling form. "Need that mouth to open wider"

You obey in an instant.

"Good girl"

Joel shoves his cock inside your mouth, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pushing a little further. You bob your head forward but the task proved to be hard when he was thrusting at the same time. His big hard dick hits the back of your throat, a gag dying past your busy lips.

"'S it bad if I tell ya' I like watchin' you squirm and struggle with my cock? 'S fuckin' hot"

You narrow your eyes, struggling to keep your throat relaxed as he thrusts forward, fucking your mouth and throat. Your thighs clasp together, the slick pooling down your legs in the absence of underwear.

Joel's groans become raspier as his body begins to tense.

"'M gonna fuck y'r throat raw, doll. And then, I'm gonna cum. Down y'r greedy throat. 'S my girl okay with that" he can see the plea in your eyes as you choke on his cock once more. "S'alright then. Ya' know I love to spoil ma' girl"

As his body starts to edge closer, his tongue runs loose.

"Love watching you suck ma' dick" he looks down on you, eyes glossy, probably because he was drunk in alcohol and you. "Love how it feels. Love how you feel. Love- I love you"

(There's an involuntary gag somewhere)

Joel's body tenses and it doesn't take that much for you to feel the warmth of his cum go down your throat.

You choke again and he brings his dick out of your throat and let you swallow the rest.

There's a beat of silence, as dense as his fluids down your throat. You avoid his gaze, heart drumming on your chest.

"Doll..." he whispers, the last bits of climax sweating off his skin; all that's left is shame. "C'mere"

(Say it back, he should plead. I know your eyes don't lie, but if I heard those three silly words out of your mouth, I could die happy tonight. A bigger man would beg, but he's never been good, even if he tried)

He helps you get up, wobbly legs not being of help when it comes to the shock of his confession.

I love you.

As much as a tender touch as a knife slitting your chest open in a clean cut.

(You're bleeding love)

Love.

Such a foreign word, one you've never felt before. Yet, what's scary is recognizing that latent warmth on every stolen glance; brush of a hand. The tingles provoked by getting the largest serving, even if his daughter sat at the same table. The flutter of your chest when he tried to be there for you when you thought you were pregnant, even if he was as scared as you. In every little thing he had done since you first started playing with fire, how you wore his heartbeat as an echo and his skin like a second layer to your own.

His lips are swollen when they take yours.

"'S fine" some kind of tiredness seeping through the cracks of his gruff exterior and composed rejected posture. "Ya' don't have to-"

"I love you" you croack out.

His voice comes out impossibly small as he whispers. "What...?"

A fireworks show explodes out somewhere in the background.

"I love you" you repeat, words dripping with an adoration only known to captain's going down with their sinking ships.

You're drowning, but the water doesn't burn your lungs anymore.

"Lemme help with that sore throat of yours" he's tugging down your bottom lip, fingers playing with your mouth to open it. He gazes at you with a look that tugs at your heartstrings. "Open, baby"

Your dry throat and warm mouth welcomes the spit he lands inside.

"There ya' go" and you swallow it, making him curse. "Fuck. 'S so hot seein' you do that, my lil' sweet slut"

"Joel" you whine, hands curled up in white fists as you grab him by the collar of his button shirt.

"Whoa, baby. What's goin' on?" he chuckles softly. "Use y'r words"

"Y-You made a mess-" you blabber, the wet slick between your thigh sticky. "I-It hurts, Joel"

"Hurt?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Care to show me where?"

You sit in the bed, parting your legs, finger pointing out the moist zone.

"Here"

His adam's apple bobs, and the gulp reverberates against the walls of the room.

"Fuck... I see" each word strained. "Don't worry, doll. I can help ya' with'at"

It's his turn to kneel, knees burying on the carpet.

He places one of his big hands on your knee, his calloused fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin. His other hand drums slighty against your trembling leg, so close yet so far. You're so impossibly eager, and a part of him, that fragile ego, is boosted to the roof at your (actual and very real) want for him.

All that glistening pussy was his work. Joel really disarmed you like that.

"If I do this, maybe it won't hurt anymore" his mustache and recently trimmed beard tickle against your sensitive folds as he presses a kiss to your core. You writhe, throwing your head back as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the greying loose curls tightly at the contact. "Will ya' let me eat out this pretty pussy, doll?"

"Please" you let out, breathlessly.

"Love hearin' ya' beg" and he dives in, strong hands holding your thighs on place as he sucks your clit lightly. Your hips buck, his face burying into your cunt to the point his nose touches the warm folds. You moan at the feeling, his tongue now circling against your center.

"J-Joel"

"Feels s'good, right? As good as I feel feastin' on this tight little cunt" and his deep voice sends jolts when it echoes against your walls. You squirm at the sensation, stomach tight with his sucking and licking, misntrations sending you to the edge.

"Joel?"

Barely above a whisper, voice tight.

He looks up to you, pupils blown wide. "Yes?"

"C-Can you finger me, please?"

"Fuck, baby" he whistles. "You really know how'da bring a man to his knees"

And you chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, not laughing at him but with him.

Joel slides one of his thick, calloused fingers through your soaked folds, feeling the velvet softness of your inner walls clench down on the invading digit, a demonstration of how impatient they were to take his cock. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, slow circles.

"Wanna hear you, y/n" just your name alone on his mouth makes you writhe, and Joel's encouragement as his finger dips lower to tease at your entrance. He slides a second finger into your cunt, pumping in and out of your tight walls in a steady, driving rhythm. You roll against his hand as he curls his fingers. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Wanna see you ride 'em 'til you come undone. Wanna taste your cum on my tongue as you scream ma' name"

He can feel your body start to tremble, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks you with a relentless pace.

"Shit" he groans, tongue lapping firmly at your clit, "s' fucking tight"

"I-I can't help it" you feel the burning sensation in the corner of your eyes, "I-I feel every inch of you in me"

(Up to your body, head and heart)

"And you ain't even had my cock yet" he's quick to tease. "But I know you'll feel s'good, baby. Takin' my cock like da' good girl y'are"

Tears begin to stream down your face freely, the salty drops hot against your warm skin.

You sniffle, and Joel's movements stop for a bit.

"You cryin'?" but you know damn well he's aroused, by the way he licks his lips absentmindedly as his brown orbs stare back at you, dilatated. You still remember the last time you cried during sex, and how his reaction was practically the same, except this time, it's received with a grateful welcome home. "Fuck, baby- I love when you cry like a lil' cocksleeve over ma' dick"

Despite the lewd words, he's wiping your tears away with his thumb in a soft gentle touch.

"S'okay, baby" he coos, kissing up your throat and onto your chin. Then, you feel a wet sensation on your cheek: but it isn't the tears, yet his tongue, licking the hot stream. "I'll give ya' ma' cock if you want it so much. Now quit your cryin', yeah?"

But you keep sniffling, impossible to close the dam once it's broken.

"My sweet crybaby" Joel mumbles, "I love ya', doll"

"I love you too" each time you said it, a new flower blooming in your heart. It could be. "I do, Joel"

He smiles, the kind of smile that is painful to watch. The kind that says: Is this real? Do I deserve this?

"Y'know I'm bad with words, so lemme show you instead"

He's climbing on top of you as you push yourself into the middle of the bed, lips tangled into a demanding kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth like he wants to tame it. He drops his underwear again, but he's still wearing the goddamn shirt. You whine, and for a second, while over you, he stops.

"What is it, baby?" Joel pants.

"T-take it off" you huff, worked up. You let the tie loose first, starting to unbutton his shirt after. "I want to see you, Joel"

His hand is quick to fly and stop you from taking it off. Even in the dim lit room, you can see the faintest of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he mumbles, "I dunno-"

"Please" trying to remove his hand.

"You really wanna?" but behind his teasing smile there's both a hopeful and vulnerable glint to his voice.

You extend your hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it's just you, your ragged breaths and the light tickle of his growing beard on your palm.

It could be.

"Because I love you" holding his gaze firmly. "All of you"

"Fuck, baby" Joel starts to get off the shirt, "ya' really made those fuckers downstairs drop their damn mouths when ya' walked in with me. Couldn't believe it, such'a pretty girl could be mine" he snarls, grabbing your face by the chin. "Hell, I'ont believe it either. That you could wanna be with me"

But then you're touching his now naked form before you, fingers slowly tracing through his face to his tense jawline. Then across his broad shoulders to his tummy, feeling the soft swell against your stomach as he leans over your eager form. It's the way you look at him, as if he's the most beautiful man in the world, that makes his breath catch on his throat, staggering.

Your sweet broken voice rings in his head.

It isn't just you. I feel this too.

(Scared. Confused. Happy. Grieving. Loving)

It should be his ego boosted and cock stroked, but when his eyes find yours, it's his heart that feels the fullest.

Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

"Look at 'cha, making lame ol' me a sappy motherfucker" he laughs, the same blush from earlier now more prominent. He leans down to kiss you, his moustache brushing your lips. "If ya' don't stop, I'll take ya' right now and we're gettin' married tonight by summ random Elvis guy"

"What If I wanted that?" you challenge as your mouth presses fluttering kisses to his caging arm, lips stopping on each spot and mole peppered through his thick bicep.

"Then get dressed" you feel him squirm under your insistent lips, "'cause I ain't gettin' married again while naked"

"Where you married, Joel?" you can feel the salt air up your nose of the first night again, asking the same questions. The fact that he's opening to you warms your chest in a pleasant way.

He looks at you absentmindedly, humming as to confirm.

"We were too damn young. Had to, for the baby on the way" he tells. You remember Sarah's aversion to the topic, and given his next words, it makes sense. "Then she left"

I would never leave.

"I'm sorry" you offer instead.

"Don't" the atmosphere is quick to change again as thise words leave his mouth. "Now, where were we?"

You're quick to spread your legs to him, gilstening cunt on full view.

"Good girl" he smirks, lining himself with your warm entrance. "If ya' keep behavin', I might give ya' my cum"

His tip against your clit for a few seconds before pushing down against your hole. Joel groans as his length sinks in your gummy walls, feeling the tightness from before.

"You feel s'good" grunting as he slowly pushes in, letting you adjust to his girth. "Always do"

He presses a gentle kiss to your sweaty hairline.

"Tell me how it feels"

"Good" you mewl. "Big"

"Ain't that right" he chuckles.

"Need it all. Please" and you grip his neck tightly, arms around it. His nose brushes against yours as he grunts out a You little minx. "Want it, Joel. I can take it"

He bottoms out. "Then do"

"Fuck" you curse, cunt stretched to adapt to his girth. You breath in painfully, and Joel's eyes lace with concern. "I-It's fine"

"Sure? I can wait"

"I’m okay" you assure him, moved by his care for you. You buck your hips. "You can move"

He starts by setting a slow pace, taking all the space insade your clutching heat. Joel groans at the sensation, your walls gripping him like a vice as he continues to move in a slow motion, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. Yet, as his arms cage you by your sides and you look at him with certainty, he picks up a brutal pace, just as you like it, slamming into you over and over again, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom.

"K-keep going" you grip his left arm. Joel lets out a hiss as your nails dig on his skin. "Feels so good"

"Good'nough for you to cum on m'dick?" he groans huskily in your ear, breath ghosting on your skin like a hot kiss. "Gonna fill you up, doll. I'll mark you as mine, now and for da' rest of y'r life"

The way his voice drips with dominance as he commands you, filled with a rough rich baritone tinted with a possesive hunger, his hips moving faster as he drives into you with force, pistoning harder is enough to set you on edge.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss.

"Cum f'me, baby. Let me hear ya' cryin' over my cock"

Tears. Stars. Grunts. Moans. Cum.

Your cry for his name against his lips is how you announce your orgasm, washing over you. Your walls flutter as Joel lets you ride slowly through your climax.

"There ya' go, baby. Go on, ride it" then, he pauses. His face strains. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum. Right there, baby. Stay"

Somewhere along the moans and the writhes of your soft skin against his hard planes and soft belly, Joel asks where you want it. Inside, you hear yourself say, eager to feel all of him again, filling your insides, invading every inch of your body until a part of himself leaks into your heart. He's then blabbering as your walls and heart flutter, about kids and other things you both want but can't have. Tonight, though, as he Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come, grinding against you, making sure you feel every last spurt, every last bit of his release, you allow yourself to believe.

He pumps some shallows thrusts inside of your slick dripping cunt, emptying himself, before pulling out and looking down at you with a tired smile.

"I love you" he says again in fervent whisper, as if by repeating it, he could materialize it. "I love you so fucking much, y/n. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then... then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't"

"You won't" you don't know why it comes so easy, or why the promise slips as natural as a breath. "I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #bfd!joel miller #bfd!joel #tlou #tlou fanfiction #to the devil i know series

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this-is-tiny-mia · 7 days ago

Text

Styles: The documentary (Harry Styles Fic)

General Masterlist

Summary: A documentary is being filmed about Harry’s life, and as his fiancée, you’re interviewed to share your perspective. Reflecting on how you met, your first date, and the special moments that brought you closer, you open up about your relationship and the journey you’ve taken together.

A/n: Hello my loves, this is something i've wanted to finish and now i had the chance! it's just fluffly moments, i hope you like it! i'd love to make even more moments around this, let me know if you'd like that too

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: it jumps from past to present many times so i tried my best to make it clear!

“Is it on right now?” You fixed your hair one more time, sitting up straight on the stool. In front of you was a big camera, a large light to your left pointing directly at you, and crew bustling all over the recording studio.

“Yes, now rolling,” said Drew, the cameraman who had been following you and Harry everywhere lately.

“So…” You chuckled nervously. It was the first day of filming Harry’s documentary. As his long-time girlfriend and newly fiancée, you were obviously a part of it. Today, they were shooting a series of interviews, starting with yours.

“How did you meet Harry?” Drew asked, smiling kindly. Out of everyone on the crew, he had the best knack for making people feel at ease, which was crucial for getting personal stories on camera.

“Oh… that’s a good one,” you said, smiling as your mind wandered back, recalling every detail.

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FLASHBACK

“I’m here for an interview,” you said to the receptionist, a nice woman seated at the front desk of a towering building.

“Company?” she asked, typing something into her computer.

“Pleasing,” you replied confidently. Somehow, one of your favorite brands had noticed you. Your portfolio had managed to shine among the sea of other creative directors. You weren’t actively searching for a new job, but when the email popped up in your inbox, you thought it was spam—or maybe a prank. But no, it was as real as Harry Lambert himself, the co-creative director of Pleasing. You had needed two full cups of coffee just to process how to respond.

“Third floor. You’ll need to wear this visibly.” She handed you a lanyard with a visitor badge.

...

“Y/N Y/L/N!” a cheerful voice called from inside a large, boldly decorated office. Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside.

You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

“Please, sit,” said Lambert, gesturing toward a chair in front of his desk, which was cluttered with photos, papers, and scattered sketches. The room smelled of vanilla and cloves, matching the warm, colorful furniture.

“Thank you,” you replied shyly as you took your seat. Normally, in your position at your job, you felt powerful, commanding respect and creativity daily. But now, in this space, you felt… small.

“Thank you for taking the time to come,” Lambert said warmly.

He’s thanking me?

“We don’t usually hire for such a high position, but I’m stepping away to focus on a personal project, and H is already stretched too thin. So, this isn’t really an interview; it’s an offer—and a chance to get to know you.”

You blinked, a bit stunned. Shaking yourself out of it, you managed to reply, “Yes, of course. I completely understand. But… can I ask? How did you find me?”

“Your boss is an old friend of mine. He talks endlessly about your talent, and, well… I’m stealing you from him,” Lambert said with a grin.

“Oh… yeah… I mean, Mark is great, and I’ve loved my time there. But Pleasing? It’s like a creative playground for me. Honestly, I’m honored.”

Lambert smiled knowingly and launched into an explanation of the job—the highs, the challenges, your responsibilities, the budget. You hadn’t even officially said yes, but he was already discussing deadlines and brainstorming future campaigns. It was overwhelming, but you were exhilarated. Somehow, in the middle of all this, your dream job had landed in your lap.

One Month In

“Y/N, they need you in the meeting room,” your assistant, Faye, called as you inspected samples—16 shades of pink, to be exact.

“Who’s ‘they’?” you asked, still scanning the swatches.

“H and Lambert,” she replied in her usual high-pitched tone.

“Sure, I’ll be right… wait, who’s H?” you asked, eyes widening. Could H be who you thought it was?

She just nodded, and you grabbed your iPad, practically sprinting to the meeting room. You paused at the door for a quick breath before stepping inside. “Good morning…”

And there he was—H.

He immediately stood and approached you with a warm, genuine smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you,” he said in his low, raspy voice, shaking your hand firmly.

“The feeling’s mutual. I was starting to think Lambert’s ‘H’ was an imaginary friend,” you joked nervously.

Harry chuckled. “Sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ve been in Italy for a while, but I’ll be in London for the next couple of months.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Two months later, we kissed for the first time in Lambert’s office. Sorry, Lambert, if you’re seeing this—I promise it was just a kiss," you said with a shy smile, hoping to win over your boss in case he ever watched this.

"We started texting every day," you continued, leaning into the camera as if sharing a secret. "He used to send me a selfie every morning, and I was just over the moon every time." Your voice softened, a dreamy smile spreading across your face.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

FLASHBACK

You woke up to the familiar ping of your phone. It was 7:30 AM, and Harry’s name lit up your screen with a picture of him holding a cup of coffee and a simple "Morning ☕. Don’t forget the samples today!"

You couldn’t help but grin at the message. How could such a small thing make your entire day brighter? You replied with a selfie of your own—bed hair and all—typing, "Morning! Samples are ready. How’s the coffee?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back in the present, you chuckled at the memory. "I don’t know how it happened so quickly, but I fell for him completely. He made even the smallest moments feel like the biggest deal."

"What do you think made Harry fall for you?" Drew asked, his tone genuinely curious.

You hesitated, biting your lip in thought. "I don’t know if it was one thing," you admitted. "But I think it was how we balanced each other out. He’s... larger than life in so many ways, and I think I grounded him."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

FLASHBACK

It was a particularly chaotic afternoon in the studio. Harry had been bouncing between meetings and photo shoots all day, his energy starting to wane. You noticed the way his shoulders slumped as he walked past your desk.

“Hey,” you called out, holding up a cup of tea.

He stopped, looking at you with a mix of surprise and gratitude. “Is that for me?”

“No, it’s for the imaginary friend Lambert keeps talking to,” you teased, handing it over.

Harry chuckled, taking the cup. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” you replied with a wink, feeling a flicker of pride at the way his expression softened.

First Date

You arrived at Harry’s place with butterflies in your stomach, a small box of macarons in hand. The walk from the bike stand to his house had given you just enough time to psych yourself up, and now you stood outside the door, adjusting your jacket nervously.

The door opened before you could knock. Harry stood there, barefoot and wearing a soft cream sweater with sleeves slightly too long for his arms. His smile was instant and warm. “Hi,” he said, stepping aside to let you in.

“Hi,” you replied, holding out the macarons. “Thought these might go well with dessert or something.”

His eyes lit up. “You brought dessert to a pasta night? You’re already winning me over.”

The house smelled incredible—garlic, fresh basil, and something else warm and inviting. The kitchen was open and bright, with bowls of ingredients scattered across the counter. A pasta machine sat proudly in the middle of it all.

“Is this where the magic happens?” you joked, pointing at the setup.

“Absolutely,” he said, walking over to roll out a piece of dough. “I figured we’d do this part together. Homemade pasta tastes better when it’s a team effort.”

You laughed, slipping off your jacket. “Are you sure you trust me with this?”

He handed you a small rolling pin and an apron. “Only one way to find out.”

For the next hour, the two of you worked side by side. Harry showed you how to feed the dough through the machine, laughing when it got stuck and you both had to wrangle it out together. You took turns sprinkling flour on the counter, and at one point, he smudged a bit on your nose with a cheeky grin.

“Hey!” you protested, trying to retaliate, but he dodged you effortlessly.

By the time the pasta was cut and ready to boil, you were both a little flour-dusted and very much at ease.

Dinner was simple but perfect—pesto pasta with a side of roasted tomatoes and a bottle of wine. You sat at the dining table, which Harry had set with candles and a small vase of wildflowers.

“This is amazing,” you said, twirling your fork in the pasta. “I didn’t think you’d actually be this good.”

He leaned back in his chair, pretending to be offended. “I’ll take that as a compliment, even though I’m choosing to ignore the surprise in your tone.”

You laughed. “No, really. This is... perfect.”

As you reached for the roasted tomatoes, your fork slipped, sending a small drop of sauce onto your light dress.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed, glancing down at the stain. It was right on the front, glaring and impossible to ignore.

Harry froze, looking concerned. “Do you need a napkin? Or—”

But you just waved it off, smiling. “It’s fine. It’s just a dress”

He blinked, then let out a laugh. “You’re sure? must be expensive”

“It's okay" You dabbed at the stain with your napkin half-heartedly and shrugged. “No sense in crying over spilled... sauce.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Most people would be freaking out.”

“Well, I guess I’m not most people,” you said playfully.

For the rest of the night, the stain stayed there, but it didn’t matter. Harry found himself admiring how little you cared about it—how relaxed and unpretentious you were. It wasn’t just refreshing; it was magnetic.

At one point, as the conversation turned to childhood memories, he caught himself thinking: Yeah, I could get used to this.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back in the present, you smiled at the camera, recalling that night. "That first date was... easy. It felt like I’d known him forever, but also like I was discovering someone entirely new. And he was just so... kind. It’s funny—he was trying to impress me, but really, he didn’t need to do anything at all."

Harry, now sitting across the studio, interrupted with a teasing grin. "I worked hard on that pasta, you know!"

You chuckled and rolled your eyes "He used to tell me that I made him feel calm," you said, your voice growing quieter. "And I think he gave me confidence—like, the real kind that sticks."

Drew leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. "That’s beautiful. Any final words for this session?

You smiled, glancing toward Harry, who was now watching you from across the studio, his headphones hanging around his neck. "Yeah," you said, your tone lighter now. "It’s been a wild ride, but I wouldn’t change a single thing. Except maybe… I’d have said yes to dinner sooner."

From across the room, Harry laughed, his voice carrying over. "I wasn’t that bad, was I?"

You turned back to the camera with a mischievous smile. "Let’s just say persistence pays off." You held up your hand again, showing off the engagement ring, the studio chuckling as Drew called out, "And cut! That’s a wrap for this session"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

General Taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502

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coldsaturn · 2 months ago

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hiii! i have a question i thought you might be able to answer: how did aftg originally get so popular? i know it was mostly word of mouth on tumblr (still is, i think) (who says this website is unmarketable!!) but what were the early days of the fandom like? personally i've "only" been here since 2016, and by then the series was already decently popular. i remember at that time that the fandom was really welcoming and kind in a way that felt really exceptional to me, and it definitely contributed to me picking up the books, which is the only explanation i can really think of for why it got a bigger following than some to other books which did receive a whole big-publisher marketing campaign aside from it just being well-written. do you have any theories for why it got so massive on here? and do you know how the first readers found it? i hope you don't mind me asking you this, but i remember your blog from wayyyy back when and thought that if anyone had the answer, it would probably be you :)

Hello! I always get so happy when I can talk about the early days of the fandom <3 Sit down here around the fire, let me tell you about this wondrous tale.

So, story time: it was spring 2013, I had just finished a thorough read of In The Company Of Shadows and I was starving for another black hole. It was automatic for me to look up the goodread lists ICoS was featured in, to see what other titles I could pick up, and ended up on the list called "Online M/M stories that deserve to be published". The Foxhole Court was right there (it's not anymore because it IS published <3), so I read it. That was the start of the end lmao

If I remember correctly I didn't wait too long before reading TRK, but TKM didn't come out until the end of the following year, so in the meantime I all but shelved it as something that had incredible potential but that was possibly doomed to never be completed. Fast forward I think the start of 2015 when I accidentally stumbled upon TKM and I couldn't believe I could finally know how the story ended. Nora had a blogspot where she talked about the books (including updates between TRK and TKM), and I remember trying to get as much info as I could on this series. And that was it. For a bit.

So, by the first half of 2015, the fandom was made by people commenting on her blogspot, on her livejournal, the book pages on goodreads, and Ao3 literally had 2 fics ( webarchive gives you what we saw - btw Don't Speak Against The Sun is FIRE and instantly became a new standard for f/f for me). You can still find all this content online. Tumblr had a handful of scattered posts about TFC, mostly Nora's mutuals/friends on tumblr, and a couple of readers screaming into the void with no one answering their call.

I was pretty active on here, especially in the bellarke fandom, and I engaged with mutuals and other blogs often enough that I knew if I talked about something, at least someone would reply. A mutual was reading The Raven Cycle and got me curious enough to liveblog it myself. Instant love, of course, and if you've read TRC you know how strong the found family vibe is. So at the end of my liveblog (we've reached July 2015) I threw out a comment where I recommended AFTG as another worthy title. With the first book being free while the other two were only a dollar each, it sounded a fairly easy commitment. One mutual decided to read it (if you're reading, hi!!!) and liveblog it, and that got the party started.

A party of 2, and I'm not kidding. While we chatted and made up headcanon after headcanon on the phone, the intention was to get others interested in this story. But they'd never do it if there wasn't enough content around to engage with and motivate them to blog themselves, so we started with quote posts, liveblog reactions, a few timid edits and poems. An important choice was figuring out which tag to use (at the time tumblr search only scrolled through tags, not post content): "all for the game" was an actual sports tag, "the raven king" was the title announced for the next TRC installment, "the king's men" was the last book of the trilogy and it wasn't even the free one, so we settled for "the foxhole court" which was an empty tag. Even now my blog content is organized around "tfc" because of it, even though we took over all the relevant tags. A couple other mutuals I had from bellarke fandom got curious as well, and now we could consider ourselves a proper group. We were so starved for fan content that whatever you put out would be automatically reblogged and enthusiastically engaged with. It was a happy little fandom bubble. Then Nora noticed us and started interacting with us, and you got the birth of what would become the extra content page as she replied to our questions.

I possibly had a little bit too much time on my hands because I appointed myself as fandom archivist and tour guide. I reblogged every single post I saw in the tags, and I started a welcome page where I could keep track of everyone announcing they were reading the series. It was meant as a way to find mutuals to interact with since tumblr hadn't yet "canonized" all the tags, and it was entirely possible to lose each other in dashboard chains. I used to reply to everyone reading the series by "officially" welcoming them into the fandom, linking them the page where they could find mutuals, Nora's blog, and the extra content present up to that point. Oh and there was a fictional exy team where you could choose your position and then put it in your blog for fun or roleplay it. I also used smashword's gift system to buy the series for whoever said they couldn't pay for it, just to try and avoid pirating the book (good for word of mouth, bad for sales). This was on my side, but this fandom had so many people pouring their entire heart out I still get emotional thinking about it.

Everyone (before January 2016) made as much content as they could, be it meta, fanart, fanfics, headcanons, edits, wikia pages etc. We had fandom challenges where we pronounced the names of the characters and aftg keywords with our native accent, others where we said our favorite scene. Every headcanon was the first headcanon ever seen in the fandom. The fun thing was that at the time there was a strong etiquette toward "if you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything" so fan content really went in all directions with basically no limits. We tagged for triggers and that was it, we had free reign. For those who were around at the time, the sin squad was a group of us fans churning out the saddest/filthiest/fluffiest/most problematic content we could think of.

Then we reached January 2016. We were around 300 in the fandom at that point (I know because I counted them, literally), it had been slow but constant growth where each new fan brought at least other two people with them, and we had around 20 posts per day in the main tag. Then someone bridged the gap between us and the TRC fandom. If you ask me how the fandom got really popular, that's it. The TRC fandom was stuck in hiatus waiting for The Raven King, and now you had 300 rabid foxes spamming aftg content on tumblr, using trk as tag, too. Popular fanartists that were active in that fandom helped making aftg known, and semi viral posts did the rest. We went from 300 to 700 people in a couple of months, and shortly after I had to stop adding people to the welcome page because the post broke. I didn't even know that could happen. It wasn't long after that we were featured in the tumblr end of year recap for book ships. We were so many it was suddenly possible to meet in real life! Cosplays, tattoos, merch. You name it, someone in the fandom did it.

But how did it feel when we were only 20 people and a cardboard dog cutout? It felt like the most chaotic book club ever, and every new fan was automatically a friend. Nostalgia is a lying bitch, but I really don't think I'm making shit up here. We had fun and made great memories.

By the way, if you want to see how things were in 2015, you can! Just go through my archive starting from July 2015 (I think 17th) and onward. You can also search my blog for the tags "fandom history" and "started from nothing and now we're here", whereas here you can find a list of aftg fandom tags I used.

Tl;dr We were starving for good content, we wanted to have fun together, and we were lucky enough to half-hijack a bigger fandom in hiatus. That was all the marketing AFTG needed on tumblr.

#aftg #all for the game #tfc foxes #fandom history #started from nothing and now we're here #the foxhole court #the sunshine court

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 1 year ago

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AAAA are you planning on continuing the "How They Kiss" series? If so could you please do my sweet baby Hitoshi next? :cccc

Ooooo yessss - I've been wanting to write some Hitoshi fic for a while!! 💜

Shinsou x Reader | Headcannon: How Hitoshi Shinsou Kisses 💋

The first time Hitoshi kisses you – you totally don’t see it coming. It happens in the library on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Hitoshi is sitting in your favorite spot of the city's library – a cozy corner hidden from view behind the oversized art book section. He’s dragged two large beanbag chairs into the tiny space, waiting for you to join him as he studies for an upcoming Pro hero rescue certification exam. He’s flipping through flashcards when you arrive bearing a purple travel mug filled with his favorite caffeinated beverage. You know your friend is a chronic insomniac – with his permanently baggy eyes and constant yawns - so you decided to get him a refillable mug so he can keep his coffee close throughout exam week. You’ve stuck a cute sticker of a black cat with big eyes to the side of the mug, knowing his TikTok algorithm is almost exclusively cat videos.

“’Toshiiiiii!” You warble quietly as you drop your school bag next to your beanbag chair. “I brought you a ‘lil treat for studying so hard!”

Hitoshi looks up in surprise, his forehead still wrinkled in concentration. He puts down his flash cards and when he realizes it’s you standing over him, he smiles easily. Things have always been like this between the two of you – soft and comfortable.

“You brought me something?” He instantly locks on to the steaming mug of coffee, his eyes crinkling into a smile when he sees the cat sticker. “Is that the cat from Kiki’s Delivery Service?”

“Yup!” you hand him the cup as you plop down into your chair and start shuffling through your bag for your notes. “You told me it was your favorite movie as a kid, so I found a little sticker of Gigi on Etsy.”

After a few moments of digging through your bag, you finally find the sheaf of notes you’re looking for and you yank them out – sheets of paper flying all around you. “Whoops!” You hastily gather the papers back into a neat stack.

When you finally look up, you meet Hitoshi’s eyes – he’s giving you an intense, searching look. His eyes are wide, and there’s a soft pink blush across the high points of his cheeks. He absentmindedly smooths a hand through his wild hair, seemingly lost for words.

“What?” You say, a little startled at the sudden tense atmosphere. “Everything okay? Is that not your preferred flavor of coffee?”

“Of course you remembered my favorite flavor.” His voice a quiet rumble and seems to catch in his throat.

You swallow, suddenly feeling hot around the collar as he continues to gaze at you through those bright violet eyes. You can see him biting back his next sentence, seemingly steeling himself to say something.

After a few moments, he takes a steadying breath and his eyes sparkle with a look of resolve. Hitoshi softly places the hot mug of coffee on the ground before leaning towards you. Instantly, he’s a breath away from your face – his delicate features magnified as he tilts his face towards yours.

“You’re just so…” He whispers, moving to brush his thumb against your cheek. Your skin feels like it’s blooming with tiger lilies at the contact. “…sweet.” His tired eyes flutter shut and he leans into you – guiding your lips to his.

The first kiss is feather light – tentative. He wants to make sure you want him back – he needs you to want him with the same deep intensity he’s been feeling in his gut for you for so long. His lips are impossibly soft and taste like a light berry lip balm, and you find the flavor absolutely delicious. When you respond eagerly he smiles into the kiss, blissful. How lucky is he to get to kiss your pretty face?

Hitoshi climbs into the beanbag chair with you deftly, moving his hands to cradle your face. He moves his mouth against yours slowly, purposefully – almost lazily. It’s such a Shinsou way of kissing that it makes you giggle.

“Hey, now.” He breaks the kiss, bringing his forehead to yours as he takes a shaky breath. “Is my kissing that bad?” He’s smiling, but you can tell he’s the tiniest bit nervous for your answer.

You lean in to kiss him again and he pulls back, his lips just out of reach – teasing.

“Your technique can use some refining. But I know someone who can help you practice.” You grin, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him back in for more. He loves that – the banter, the ways you are able to both make him feel comfortable and keep him on his toes. He deepens the kiss, and you know it will be a while before you get back to studying. His flash cards lay abandoned on the floor by your stack of notes.

---------------------

After that, he’s hooked on you. Any trace of nervousness is nonexistent. In just one afternoon, Hitoshi Shinsou has become a lean, mean, make out machine. He absolutely cannot be stopped. He kisses you everywhere he can – in the library, in dark corners of your favorite bar, at the convenience store. He’s constantly trying to sneak away with you so he can crash your lips together in that way that makes his brain feel all blissed out and fuzzy.

I think we’ve all seen just how much determination Hitoshi has – it takes a lot of unwavering dedication to claim a spot in the hero course. He’s just as determined to figure out how you like to be kissed. He pays attention to what makes your pulse race – maybe he kissed your neck a certain way and you moaned? He’s filing that away in his brain so he can do it again and again and again. You don’t like it when he bites your lower lip? He takes note and never does it that way again. He’s committed to figuring out exactly what makes you tick and how he can maximize your pleasure every time. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have the affections of someone like you – someone so sweet and gorgeous and goddamn perfect.

Of course, once he realizes you find him irresistible – he’s smug AF. He becomes such a goddamn tease. You’ll get a rare private moment and move in to kiss him, only for him to dodge your advances until your lips form a disappointed pout. He absolutely revels in how much you want him and loves to build up the tension between the two of you. He’ll kiss you playfully on the cheeks before your disappointed look causes him to concede. “Sorry, Sweetheart.” He says in his low, gravely whisper. “You know I love to tease.” And then he’ll kiss you with as much passion as he can muster, until your legs turn to jello. After all – it’s not in a hero’s nature to do anything half-assed.

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Thanks so much for reading!!

Interested in some ~smuttier~ Shinsou content!? Check out my story:

Never Too Tired To Love You💜

My Master List! 💜

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chanandlersstuff · 20 days ago

Text

Director and Actor

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 9.464

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and devastation, like someone opened your chest and ripped your heart out.

Author’s note: Hello hello again, thanks a lot for the paitence, again, and the love I've been reciving for the series.

It's been a while, since...I actually don't remember, almost a year I think, but better late than never I guess (?.

As I said before, I strugle a lot with writing when I don't have the right motivation and I start and left fics, I finished one in my native language, I picked up fics that were long forgotten and two days ago all the inspiration in the world hit me all at once and I finished this part and gave enought fuel to start the next one.

With that being said, enjoy, don't hate me too much, nor them, hehe. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part

Beginning of August 2021. The show must go on.

The air on set was electric, but no in the way it used to be. It was heavier now. Dense. Suffocating. Every word spoken felt too loud. Every silence lingered too long.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a lightsaber and everyone felt it. The director and the star didn’t speak anymore. Not like before.

There was no more coffee waiting on her desk, nor tea waiting to be brewed in the kitchen. No shared breakfast. No jasmine scent wafting from his coat after he dropped by to say hi. No quiet laughs between takes, no whispered “Bubble” or “Starboy” in the quiet spaces between chaos.

Now, there was silence. Awkward. Cold. Unforgiving.

They hadn’t spoken properly since the training session in the stunt room, the one where she almost kissed him. Or he almost kissed her. Or maybe they both did. It didn’t matter, because he pulled away.

Since then, everything has been different. But it wasn’t like they didn’t see each other, because they did. Every day. Every take. Every meeting. Every briefing. They were professionals after all.

He showed up on time, hit his marks, delivered every line. And she directed with surgical precision, addressing him only when it was absolutely necessary.

Hayden looked at her. All the time. Even when she wasn’t looking at him. Especially then. His eyes found her without thinking, searching for something familiar, some sign that she was still there, that she hadn’t completely closed herself off.

But she had. Not out of cruelty. Or pride.

She avoided him because it hurt too much to not avoid him. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his eyes, not since that day, the day she felt everything shift.

The day she let herself believe that maybe… maybe he felt it too. Maybe it wasn’t just the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the late-night talks and the thoughtful gifts. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was something worth risking.

And then he pulled away.

Not violently. Not harshly. Just gently. Like a door softly clicking shut.

And he hadn’t said a word since.

She tried to hold on to her pride. To the professionalism she’d worked so hard to master. She was the youngest director Lucasfilm had ever trusted with a project this big. She was a woman in a world where that still meant fighting harder to be heard. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.

But her heart was broken.

And worst of all, she was ashamed of it.

Ashamed that she let it happen. Ashamed that she cared so deeply. Ashamed that despite everything, a part of her still wanted him to look at her like he used to. Still wanted to hear his voice say her name, soft and warm like tea on a cold day.

And he did look at her.

That was the worst part.

She could feel it.

Across the set, in the silence of production meetings, during takes, his eyes found her, heavy with guilt and something else. Something she didn’t dare name.

But he kept his distance. Because she did. Because her silence was sharp, and her avoidance louder than any confrontation. And he honored that space, even if it killed him.

The crew noticed. Of course they did.

It wasn’t just the absence of laughter or private jokes. It was the way she stood a little straighter when he walked into the room, how his eyes tracked her every move with sadness on them. The static electricity that sparked when they were accidentally forced into the same space. Everyone tiptoed around them now, like something fragile was about to break.

“You two good?” Ewan asked one afternoon, voice low, brows raised as he stood beside Hayden after a particularly quiet rehearsal.

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He watched her across the room, where she was giving the DOP some notes, her voice soft but her shoulders tight. “We’re fine,” he muttered eventually, jaw clenched.

Ewan didn’t believe a word of it. Neither did anyone else because it was a lie, one he told too easily now.

The day had been heavy for her, everything that could go wrong that day, it did. So as she sat in front of her screen, her headset buzzed with feedback, and her clipboard was shaking slightly in her hands.

She just needed to sleep, to properly sleep, which she had not been doing lately. Because every time she closed her eyes, she was back in that training room, heart pounding, lips parted, breathless, right before it all fell apart.

The AD called, the actors took their places, her eyes glued themselves to the monitor and his on her.

“Rolling.”

She took a deep breath. “Action.”

But moments later, she had to call it.

“Cut,” she called sharply. “Let’s go again.”

Again. And again. And again.

They did six takes. Each one more unbearable than the next. By the fourth the actors started to feel it. Her voice cracked a little by the fifth. By the sixth, the cinematographer glanced her way with a quiet, almost pitying look.

“Let’s take five,” she said, spinning on her heel before anyone could speak.

She disappeared into the narrow corridor beside the soundstage. Bracing herself against the wall, her head hung low and her breathing was shallow, she pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She hadn’t cried in months. She wouldn’t cry now. Not for a scene that didn’t seem to work. Not for the wrong delivery of lunch for the crew. Not for the fucking cold bitter coffee she drank in the morning. And definitely not for a man who pulled away.

Not for a man who looked at her like she meant everything, then acted like she was nothing.

No matter how hard she tried to act like she didn’t care, she did. She cared too much. Still. And that infuriated her.

Her heart was bruised and swollen with everything she didn’t say.

Why did you pull away? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you make me believe in something you weren’t ready for?

Her hands trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go back where they came from.

“Hey.” His voice came from behind her, quiet. Hesitant.

She froze. Her shoulders tensed.

“You need something?” she said, voice sharper than she meant, brittle like glass. But she couldn’t help it. She was too full.

Of sadness. Of anger. Of everything.

Hayden exhaled. “We need to talk.”

She turned slowly, eyes red-rimmed but defiant. “Now you want to talk?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

Silence stretched between them. He looked at her like she was the only thing he saw and she…she glared at him.

The coldness in her eyes stopped him mid-breath, freezing every word in his throat. Because whatever he had come there to say, whatever apology, confession, excuse, died on his lips the moment her eyes found his.

She didn’t have to say a thing. He felt it.

The hurt. The betrayal. The disappointment.

And still, she didn’t look away.

She held his gaze like the lightsaber he taught her to wield.

And somewhere beneath the ache in her chest, beneath the heat rising to her cheeks and the storm of emotions fighting to spill from behind her ribs, she reminded herself of something.

Of him, actually.

Of one of the most beautiful gifts she had ever received, wrapped in silence and sincerity months ago when everything was still soft and new between them. The perfectly placed frame in her bookshelf.

"The show must go on. Come rain, come shine, Come snow, come sleet. The show must go on."

And so it would.

She blinked once, and the emotion in her eyes vanished like smoke.

He watched, helpless, as the woman he missed, the one who laughed with him over tea, who tucked pens in her hair and called him Starboy and Moose, was replaced by her again.

The director. Professional. Precise. Unshakable.

“The five minutes are up,” she said, tone clipped and unreadable. And without another glance, she stepped past him, steps firm on the floor, head high, spine straight.

She didn’t look back and he didn’t stop her.

Because how could he, when she was doing exactly what he reminded her to do? Putting the show first. Carrying on. Even when it broke her.

Even when it broke him.

He turned to watch her disappear down the hall, swallowed by shadows and silence. Not being close to her was punishment, one he knew he deserved every second of it.

Mid of August 2021. How did it end? I can’t pretend I understand.

The set was stripped bare, props cleared, lights off, the chaos of production long gone for the day. Only the golden spill of late afternoon sun filtered in from the open bay doors, warming the edges of the metal scaffolding and stretching shadows across the concrete floor.

She was still there. Alone in her chair.

Her legs were curled underneath her, hands resting in her lap, a red pen twirling idly between her fingers. The black canvas of the director's chair framed her like a quiet portrait, serene on the outside, storming on the inside.

Hayden had only come back to grab a script he’d left behind. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the second he spotted her, still and soft in the quiet, something in him shifted.

He shouldn’t but he did.

His feet moved on instinct, slowly across the floor. Easy, careful. His steps were light, like approaching a skittish animal that might bolt if startled. He didn’t want to spook her. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain.

He just wanted to be near her.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low enough to not echo. “You alright?”

She startled slightly, lifting her head from the open binder in her lap. Her expression was tired, guarded. “What? Why?”

“You’re scrunching your nose.”

Her hand moved before she could stop it, fingers tracing the slight curve between her brows. “So?”

He gave a soft, almost sheepish smile. “That usually means you don’t like something.”

She frowned. “How do you know that?”

With a slight shrug, he said, "I notice things about you."

That silenced her.

The pen in her hand stilled. Her eyes dropped to the binder again, but the blush rose to her cheeks anyway, subtle, but real. She hated that her body still reacted to him like that. Hated that after everything, he still saw her so clearly.

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she finally admitted. “I stayed late working… and just ended up crashing here.”

“You didn’t go home?” His brow creased, concern breaking through the soft edge of his voice.

“No. I had a lot to do,” she shrugged, brushing it off. “Got up early, too, to finish.”

This woman. Taking a few steps closer to her, his hand hovered over her back and quietly, decisively, he said, “Come on.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her laugh was dry. “I can take an Uber, don’t worry.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, stepping closer now, voice firmer. “I’m taking you. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Hayden…” she started, already shaking her head.

Oh how much I missed you saying my name.

“You don’t have to,” she said, shaking her head. “Go home, get some rest. I’m fine.”

“Please.” His tone softened again. “For my sake. I’d like to know you got home safe and sound.”

That got her.

Her lips parted as if to argue, but she sighed instead, and with a defeated smile she nodded. “Fine.”

The drive was quiet.

The soft hum of the radio filled the space between them, some soft song playing faintly as they glided down empty streets. The city was winding down for the weekend, orange light casting long shadows over the dashboard.

But all Hayden could focus on was her.

The jasmine. It was back, her scent, delicate and intoxicating, curling through the air like memory. He hadn't realized how much he missed it until it hit him all at once, warm and bittersweet and so her it almost hurt.

She was tired, he could tell. Her head leaned against the window, eyes half-lidded, but she wasn’t asleep. Just still. And maybe that’s why she accepted the ride. Maybe exhaustion had lowered the wall just enough for him to slip in.

There was so much he wanted to say. Too much. But he said none of it.

When he finally pulled up to her house and shifted into park, she reached for the door, but paused, hand frozen on the handle.

She exhaled deeply, like she was making a decision. “You wanna stay and eat?” she asked, not looking at him. “We can order something.”

“Nono—” he said, almost too quickly.

She still.

The silence that followed felt sharp.

Nodding slowly, she opened the door. “Okay, thank you for the ride” she said, but her voice had gone small, her mouth twitching in a quiet, disappointed smile.

“No—I mean,” he backtracked fast, eyes wide, leaning in slightly. “No to the ordering part. I would love to eat with you.”

She looked at him again then. Really looked. And her lips twitched again, this time upward. “Oh. Okay.” A beat. “Come in.”

He opened his door, already grinning, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. “With one condition.”

She looked at their hands and then at him. “Which is…?”

“Let me cook for you.” A smile drew itself on his lips. “I owe you a pizza date, if I recall correctly.”

How much he was cherishing her hand in his could not be explained, and when her eyes softened, just a little, and he caught a glimpse of Bubble, his heart almost exploded

“You do,” she said, smiling a little. “And pizza sounds perfect.”

“Great,” he said, smile blooming too.

And for the first time in months, something in his chest breathed.

She opened the door, stepping inside first, and he followed close behind. Her place was quiet and warm, not in temperature but in feeling, lived-in, loved, her. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and old paper and something sweet lingering from the morning.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said softly, tossing her keys into a bowl near the door and slipping off her shoes. Her voice was still careful, but there was something softer in it now. Something that sounded a little like hope.

While she disappeared down the hall to change, he wandered quietly through the space.

The living room walls were painted a soft cream, scattered with paintings, some abstract, others dreamy watercolors. On a side table, a small stack of Polaroids showed her with her niece and nephew: one of her with icing on her nose, another where the kids clung to her like koalas. There were little drawings pinned to the fridge too, crayon portraits signed with crooked handwriting. "The best aunt in the whole wide world."

Next to the bookshelf stood a low cabinet filled with records and candles. But it was the tall bookshelf in the corner that drew him in.

He wandered over to it, his fingers skimming over spines and worn scripts and film biographies. Tucked among them, pieces of her, real pieces.

Her world was here, tangible and intimate.

There stood the frame with the Singing in the Rain phrase he’d given her for Christmas. And next to it, still perfectly intact and neatly displayed, was the little card he’d attached to the bouquet of jasmine flowers for her birthday.

He reached for it carefully, his heart slowing and then racing all at once.

Happy birthday, Miss Director. I wish you the best and hope you are utterly and incandescently happy in your day.

He remembered writing those words. Remembered how long he stared at the card before daring to write incandescently. It sounded like her. They were her words.

She’d kept it and his chest ached.

And he wished he could reach back in time and change that day in the training room. God, he wished.

“You found my treasure trove,” her voice said gently from the doorway.

He turned. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, bare-faced, hair tied up messily. She looked tired. And beautiful.

“I didn’t mean to snoop,” he said quickly, placing the card back exactly where it had been.

“You weren’t snooping.” She stepped forward. “You were looking.”

He swallowed. “You kept it.”

“I keep things that matter,” she said simply, then added, “Do you need anything? I can—”

“No,” he cut in, smiling gently. “Let me cook for you.”

She hesitated, but nodded.

The kitchen felt like a dream. A fragile, aching dream.

He stood at the counter, chopping tomatoes with quiet concentration while she leaned against it, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a look she couldn’t quite name, part disbelief, part yearning, part self-defense.

She watched the way his hands moved, the precise rhythm of his knife, the absentminded way he whistled under his breath like it didn’t break her a little to hear it. Like it hadn’t haunted her in the silence these past few weeks.

He stirred the sauce slowly, the scent of garlic and tomato winding around them, as he murmured something about her not owning a garlic press. He found basil, crushed red pepper, her dwindling olive oil supply. She had three kinds of hot sauce and none of them were what he needed, but he made do anyway.

She watched in silence, hardly breathing. It was too much and not enough all at once.

And while he rolled the dough, glancing at her every few seconds, just to make sure she was still there, she stood frozen in the middle of it all, surrounded by the ghost of what they were, what they could’ve been.

She couldn’t believe how natural it felt. How domestic. How easy. And it shouldn’t have felt easy. Not after everything. But it did.

Something bruised and tightly coiled inside her chest began to slowly, painfully unwind.

They laughed, quietly, carefully, as the scent of bubbling sauce and browning dough filled the air, as melted cheese hissed in the oven. Her laughter wasn’t as open as it used to be and his was laced with nerves. But still, it was laughter.

For a moment, it was like the cracks between them didn’t exist. Like they were still them.

When they sat down to eat at her small table, knees almost brushing beneath it, the silence between them wasn’t cold or tense, it was warm, comfortable. Safe but tentative.

But it didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not with everything unsaid, humming between them like a wire pulled too tight.

She watched him take a bite, eyes closing with exaggerated delight. He said it was good. She said it was better than expected. They smiled. Softly. Carefully. Like holding a glass heart between them that could shatter with one wrong word.

She placed her crust down and looked at him, the smile on her lips fading into something quieter. “Can I ask you something?” she asked, voice hushed and raw.

He hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“That day…” Her voice caught. “In the training room. Did you…” She stopped herself, shaking her head, backing out of it. “You know what, never mind.”

“No,” he said, quickly. “Say it.”

She looked down at the table, at her empty plate, her fingers twisting in her lap.

“I thought you felt something. That day.” She swallowed hard. “In the training room. I thought we were… I thought you were going to kiss me.”

“I did,” he said instantly, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months. “I wanted it, more than anything.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Then why?” she asked, her voice cracking wide open. “Why did you pull away?”

He looked at her like the question physically hurt. His jaw clenched. His eyes softened. And still, he struggled to speak.

“Because I felt too much,” he said finally. And that was the truth of it.

Her breath hitched, her chest clenched and her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair.

“I panicked,” he admitted, voice low. “I shouldn’t have. I knew what I wanted. I wanted you. But… I was terrified.” He looked down at his hands, useless now, aching to touch her but too afraid she’d flinch away.

“You’re younger. I’m… me. This industry, this set, it’s yours. It’s your dream. And I didn’t want to be the one to take that away.”

“You wouldn’t have taken anything away,” she whispered. “You didn’t even ask.”

“I know,” he said, broken. “And that’s on me.”

He finally looked up, and she nearly lost her breath at the way he looked at her, eyes full of regret, of love, of everything he never said.

“Loads of things could go wrong, Bubble,” he said softly. “But what I cared about the most is your career.” His gaze was heavy, pained. “People would twist it, me and you, eleven years between us, director and actor, favoritism, headlines. If it ended badly, if anything happened… your name would be the one they dragged. Not mine. You’d become hers, not the director who built something incredible.”

“You didn’t let me decide if I was willing to risk it,” she said, her voice cracking.

His heart broke. “I couldn’t do that to you,” he said, voice firmer now. “You’re too good. Too talented. You deserve to be praised for your work, not whispered about in back rooms. This is your dream. You earned the place you are in.”

“I love this job,” she said, and her voice trembled. “I love what I’m doing. But I loved being near you, too. And you made me feel like I imagined all of it when you pulled away. Like it didn’t matter to you.”

“It did,” he said, breathless. “You didn’t imaginate anything, but…I was scared,” he admitted. “Of how much I felt. How fast. Of how deep it ran.” He wanted her to look at him. “It matters so much it’s killing me.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. And despite everything, despite the pain, the hurt, the silence, her eyes were soft. Full of longing.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Even when I was angry. Especially then.”

“I missed you too,” he breathed, shifting closer, his knee brushing hers. And then, because he couldn’t help it, Hayden reached for her, his hands cupping her face like she was something holy. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I miss you so much. Every day. I miss talking to you. Laughing with you. Seeing you smile.” A shaky breath. “I miss us, whatever that was becoming.”

Her hands didn’t push him away. But they didn’t move to touch him either.

She was still caught in the in-between.“You looked like you belonged here tonight,” she said, barely audible. “Like this was where you were meant to be. In my kitchen. Cooking for me. Laughing with me. And it felt so right it scared me.”

His throat closed and his heart thundered in his chest, because it felt right to him too. So painfully, impossibly right and that was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just a crush. This wasn’t fleeting, or temporary. It was deeper than anything he’d felt before, profound and terrifying. It hit him like an avalanche, an elephant sitting on his ribs, stealing the breath from his lungs, suffocating him with the weight of it.

But still, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t let it live.

Because if he did, and it went wrong, like the rest of his relationships did, she would pay the price. Because what if it ruined her? What if it tarnished her?

And he couldn't live with that, couldn’t risk that. Not her. Not her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice trembling. “For all of it. For not being brave enough.”

She didn’t answer.

She just nodded, tears clinging to her lashes, biting the inside of her cheek like it was the only thing keeping her together.

He stood slowly, gathered the plates like a man trying to delay the inevitable. “Let me help you clean.”

“No,” she whispered. “Just… leave them.”

A beat passed.

And then she added, “I’m tired.”

He nodded, already backing away. Like he seemed to always do with her.

She walked him to the door, and when he turned to say goodbye, she was already hugging herself, like she was trying to keep from falling apart.

“I had a nice time,” she said, and her voice broke with words. It sounded like goodbye.

She didn’t mean for it to slip out like that, not with that quiet ache, not with that finality, but the moment felt like sand slipping through her fingers. She could already feel the after of it pressing in.

She watched him nod, his posture tight, his expression unreadable.

“So did I,” he replied softly, the hollowness in his chest echoing with every syllable, like saying them was a lie.

Because how could it be a nice time when all he’d done was want her, and still choose to walk away?

She turned to open the door, fingers brushing the lock, but before she could twist it, his hand found hers. Warm. Firm. Desperate.

She froze. Her breath hitched. Her pulse screamed in her ears.

Don’t do it. Don’t look at him. Don’t make this harder.

Slowly, gently, he stepped closer, his presence a quiet force and her body betrayed her, turning to look at him in those ocean eyes that she wanted nothing more to drown into.

And when she turned to look at him, something cracked between them, something soft and tragic and too full to hold.

His gaze was glassy, and she could see it now, the grief. The love. The regret. It gutted her.

He reached up with both hands, cradling her face with aching care, as though she were something rare and fragile and slipping through his fingers.

I’m going to remember this. This moment. This version of her, tired, beautiful, sad as hell, and still the strongest person I’ve ever met.

His fingers were gentle against her cheeks. She could feel them trembling. His thumbs hovered by her jaw like they wanted to memorize the shape of her, like he was trying to hold on just a little longer.

She wanted to lean into him so badly her body ached with it, but she stayed still because she knew this wasn’t a beginning. This was the end.

And then, without a word, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Lingering. Devastating. Full of everything he didn’t have the right to say aloud. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was an apology. A confession. A promise. A goodbye disguised as something tender.

I’m sorry.

I wish things were different.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

When he pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, breath caught in her throat like she was afraid to let it out.

Please stay. Please choose me. Please be brave.

He gave her one last look, gentle, devastated, and then stepped back.

Hayden didn’t want to go. God, he didn’t want to go, but staying meant risking her and he’d rather lose her than be the reason the world tried to take her down.

She opened the door. Neither of them said another word.

And when the door closed between them, neither of them moved for a long, long time, the silence it left behind felt unbearable.

Because now she knew for certain, Hayden loved her, but he wasn’t going to choose her.

Because they knew, they had shared something real. Something that still lived in the air around them, but they had no idea how to hold it without letting it destroy everything else.

Beginning of September 2021. The looming end.

The set was a controlled storm.

Stage lights blazed. Wind machines whirred. Crew members darted like shadows in a well-oiled dance. Sparks flew, literally, from props and visual cues, casting brief flashes of light on every surface.

Today, they were filming the final scene between Vader and Obi-Wan.

The scene.

The one that would break fans apart. The one that would define decades of conflict. The one she’d spent sleepless nights fine-tuning, scribbling notes on the margins of scripts, fighting for silence in moments where words weren’t enough.

And now it was here.

But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She paced the perimeter of the set, headset looped around her neck, heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the chatter through the comms. Every corner of her body buzzed with static. The kind of anxiety that didn’t ask permission. The kind that gripped you and whispered, You’re not ready.

She should’ve been thrilled. The little girl in her, the Star Wars fan who grew up drawing lightsabers in the margins of school notebooks, was ready to explode.

But the grown woman, the broken-hearted one, was holding too much.

Because he was here. Because they were a week away from goodbye. Because this scene wasn’t just the end of an arc. It was the end.

And the thought of not seeing him like this again, half-lost behind the Vader suit but still him, tightened something so deeply inside her, she had to excuse herself before she lost it completely.

I need air, God, I need air.

She pushed through the double doors of the soundstage, stepping into the golden hush of early afternoon. Her boots hit pavement with a shaky rhythm, her arms wrapped tightly around her own torso as if she could keep everything in.

She leaned back against the wall. Closed her eyes and let herself slide down on it.

Breathed in. Breathed out.

The footsteps approaching were lost to her, but when the sun was covered, she opened one eye slowly and saw him. Not him him, but Obi-Wan.

Ewan. In full costume. Robes, beard, calmness and kindness wrapped into one gentle presence. He stood in front of her like he knew, like he sensed what was breaking inside her without needing to ask.

“You’ve done something special here,” he said, voice low and even. “You know that, right?”

She tried to nod, but her throat closed.

Ewan glanced up at the sky, like he was borrowing some of its steadiness. “You put your soul into this story. I’ve worked with dozens of directors in my time. But you? You bled for this. And it shows.”

Her lips quivered.

“You’re allowed to feel it,” he added. “This moment… it’s not just an ending. It’s yours. It’s your beginning, too.”

Tears blurred her vision. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. But Ewan just gave her a soft pat on the shoulder, like Obi-Wan himself, quiet and sure.

“You’ve got this, darling,” he said in that thick accent of his.

And with that, he walked back inside, his robes trailing behind him like the last note of a symphony.

She stayed out a few more minutes, letting the sun kiss her skin, letting the words settle deep in her bones.

Then she wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked back inside.

The set was alive.

Every corner was in motion. The makeup team prepped the final touch-ups on Vader’s cracked helmet. Sparks hissed from the VFX rig. The lighting team ran final checks. And at the center of it all stood Hayden and Ewan, suited and still, ready.

She didn’t sit. She couldn’t. Her body was buzzing, nerves, anticipation, love.

“Rolling!”

“Quiet on set!”

She took a deep breath.

“Action.”

And they began.

Hayden, Vader, was thunder. Ewan was fire contained by grief. Every word they spoke, every breath between lines, every step in the battle, it all landed like poetry. Like pain made physical.

The camera glided around them, catching sparks and shadow and soul. Every crew member was silent, frozen, as if afraid to even blink.

She couldn’t look away.

And when it came, the line, the one she'd rewritten a dozen times and cried over at 3AM, when he said it, voice cracked through the vocoder, eyes visible through the shattered mask, she forgot how to breathe.

“You didn’t kill Anakin Skywalker. I did.”

It was perfect. It was everything. It was him.

And Ewan, her heart, her Obi-Wan, delivered the reply with a broken whisper so raw it echoed through everyone present.

She didn’t even remember saying it. “Cut.” The word came out of her, barely above a breath.

Then, applause, like a wave crashing over the set. Technicians, grips, costume artists, assistants, everyone clapped. Some even cheered. Not because of the spectacle. But because they’d felt it.

Ewan turned, gave a solemn, satisfied nod.

Hayden bowed his head, chest heaving inside the suit.

And she? She stood there, frozen, the applause around her fading into static, like the world had turned to fog. Her lungs tightened. Her throat burned.

It’s done. That was it.

Pride surged in her chest. The scene had been everything she dreamed of and more. But so did grief, sharp and immediate, because it was also the end.

The last scene. The last time I’ll see him on set. In character. In front of me.

She didn’t realize she was crying until her vision blurred and her knees gave out. She crumbled where she stood, arms curling tightly around her legs, forehead pressed to her knees as the sobs came, wild and unfiltered, the kind she’d tried so hard to keep locked away.

The noise of the crew faded. Voices muffled. Only her heartbeat and her breathing remained, sharp, jagged, real.

I’m supposed to be professional. I’m supposed to hold it together. But I can’t. Not now. Not when this is goodbye.

Heavy footsteps, measured and familiar, approached her, the kind only one man in the entire world could make in full Vader gear, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t.

“Bubble,” his voice came, muffled by the vocoder but unmistakably him, “I need you to stand up, 'cause I can’t crouch down in this suit.”

His voice hit her like a jolt, absurd and gentle at once. Even now, he was trying to make her smile.

A wet, messy laugh bubbled out of her, half-choked by tears. “No,” she mumbled into her knees.

Please don’t make me. Please don’t see me like this. Please don’t be kind, it’ll break me.

“Please, Bubble,” he said again, softer this time, like a plea. “Come on.”

She sniffled, dragging a sleeve across her face. “I’m ugly crying.”

“I know,” he replied, warmth curling behind the vocoder, behind the mask. She could hear the smile in it. She could feel it.

“Let me console you.”

God, stop being so you. So gentle. So kind. So patient. I can’t take it.

She lifted her head just enough to look up at him, towering, half-Vader, half-Anakin, but Hayden, 100% Hayden.

And even with all that plastic and armor between them, the look he gave her was all heart.

Please let me hold you. Please let me stay.

He offered his hand, gloved, massive, comical in a way, but his fingers curled with careful care, like he was afraid of breaking her further. And she was weak, of course she was, because she couldn't say no to him.

And the moment their hands touched, a shudder went through her. Not fear. Not embarrassment. Something else.

Relief.

And as he gently helped her to her feet, pulling her into the softest embrace he could manage with all the armor and wires between them, she didn’t hesitate and collapsed against him again, this time with her arms around his waist, forehead resting against his chestplate.

She just needed him and he held her. Tightly. Tenderly. Like he never wanted to let go.

I can’t do this again. I can’t keep saying goodbye like this and pretending it doesn’t destroy me.

For a few precious seconds, there was no set. No crew. No goodbye hanging in the air. No scenes left to shoot.

Just them. Hearts bruised. Bodies trembling. Still holding each other like it meant everything. Because it did.

Now that it’s over, I still want you. Still in love with you. And I don’t know what to do with that.

Mid of September 2021. Grow a pair.

The sun was gone, the air crisp and the silence heavy but not with tension, but with the weight of everything Hayden was carrying in himself.

He sat low in a weathered Adirondack chair, hoodie on, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bottle of beer untouched at his feet. He hadn’t said much since Ewan handed it to him twenty minutes ago. The sky above them had shifted to navy, the stars faint but flickering overhead. Somewhere behind the fence, a neighbor’s dog barked.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, the smoke of his cigarette clouded his face, though it did little to match the fog in his brain. The ember glowed at the tip, mirroring the heat that simmered low in his chest.

Ewan glanced at him, his beer resting on his knee, and he looked carved from stillness, like if he stared long enough, he might turn to stone.

“You holding up?” the Scottish asked finally, tone light, casual.

Hayden shifted a little in his chair. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

“Long months of shooting,” Ewan nodded. “Emotional scene the other day.”

Hayden didn’t answer. Just nodded once and stared into the distance.

Ewan took a sip of his beer. “Lot’s of feelings moved.”

The brunette exhaled, half-laughing, bitterly. “Yeah.”

“The suits, the props, the set,” Ewan enlisted, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. “The director.”

That one landed.

Hayden’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look over. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, its ash long and untouched, like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Yeah,” he said finally. Just that. A single syllable packed with regret.

Ewan watched him carefully. “She really gave it everything, didn’t she?”

Hayden nodded once, slowly. “She always does.”

“She’s the real deal,” Ewan added softly. “Knew it the second she walked on set. The story mattered to her. Every shot. Every word.”

“She never treated it like a job,” Hayden murmured. “She treated it like it was hers. Like it meant something.”

Ewan tilted his head. “And it did.”

Another long pause.

“Still does,” Ewan added, watching the ember of Hayden’s cigarette fade. “To you too, yeah?”

Hayden said nothing. He was quiet, but not still. His leg bounced, almost imperceptibly, and his free hand flexed open and closed on the armrest. And Ewan knew, he felt too much.

“You want to talk about it?” Ewan asked, not pushing. Not yet.

“No,” Hayden said hoarsely.

“I figured,” he muttered, then took another sip from his beer. “But I will.”

Hayden finally looked at him, brows furrowed.

Ewan didn’t flinch. “Look, I don’t want to pry, actually, I do. I’ve been watching you two walk around set like ghosts since July, absolutely miserable and I can’t bear it anymore. It was much more fun watching you both give each other heart eyes like a pair of lovesick kids.”

Hayden’s jaw clenched. He looked down, elbows on knees, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes like he could push the ache back inside.

“Before, every time you were together, it was smiles, laughter, inside jokes, cute nicknames, breakfast meetings that ran an hour too long. Now? You only look at each other when the other is not looking. Like something’s broken between you.”

Hayden’s brows drew together, guilt flickering across his features.

“And I’ve known her,” Ewan continued. “She’s sad.”

“I know,” he said, voice low.

“And I’ve known you longer. And let me tell you something, mate, you’re sad too.”

Hayden looked at his cigarette, now down to the filter. “It’s not that simple,” he said, pressing it out with the sole of his shoe.

“No, it never is,” Ewan said. “What happened between you two?”

Hayden sighed through his nose. “A lot. And not enough.”

Ewan waited, tilting his head to the side.

Hayden looked down at his hands. He hated how exposed he felt. “I fucked up.” He confessed. “It seems like all I do is hurt her feelings.”

“I figured that,” Ewan deadpanned. “Thanks for the confirmation. What’d you do?”

Hayden exhaled sharply. “We almost kissed. A few months ago.”

“And?” The Scottish pressed.

“I pulled away,” he said, voice low and slow.

There was a pause and then a slap on his arm. “Are you an idiot?!”

“Thanks, man,” Hayden said flatly, glaring at him.

Ewan patted his back. “Anytime. What else?”

Hayden hesitated, then said, “A few weeks ago… she stayed late at the studio. I found her still there, hadn’t gone home. I took her back to her place. One thing led to another, we ended up eating together. I cooked her pizza. She smiled. It felt like before, when everything was easy. She was tired enough to let me in a little and there was nothing more than I wanted to do than to apologize. I wanted to make it right. But I just,” he exhaled heavily. “I said everything wrong, hurting her even more.”

Ewan groaned and covered his face. “Oh God, you are an idiot. No question this time.”

Hayden shot him a look. “Appreciate the support.”

“I’ve been watching you, man,” Ewan said, turning toward him. “Sulking. Drooling. Making googly eyes at that woman since the third time you met her. But I’d bet money you were already hooked before that.”

Hayden blinked and looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Maybe…”

Ewan rolled his eyes dramatically. “And you pulled away when you were about to kiss her?”

Hayden nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Then you are definitely an idiot.”

Hayden gave a tired laugh. “Thanks, man. Again.”

“But you like her,” Ewan said, watching him closely now.

Hayden sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you tell her?”

Hayden let out a sharp, humorless laugh, eyes pinched shut for a moment as if it could block out the regret clawing at him. “Because I’m a fucking coward.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow, questioning him silently.

“I told her I couldn’t,” Hayden continued. “I told her all the reasons why we shouldn’t work. The age difference. The job. The spotlight. Because I’m me. Because she’s everything. That if it went wrong, she’d be the one who paid. Not me. And she just looked at me… like I’d kicked the breath out of her.”

Ewan exhaled quietly.

“And then she thanked me for the food,” Hayden said, bitterness in his throat. “She was sad and tired and still polite. Like I hadn’t just broken something sacred.”

“She likes you,” Ewan said simply.

Hayden shook his head. “And I like her, but I couldn’t give it back. Not the way she deserved.”

“You could,” Ewan said. “But you chose not to.”

That silence was louder than the rest.

“And then on set,” Hayden whispered, eyes shining now, “when we filmed the last scene… she crumbled. Right there. All of it, everything we never said, everything I held back, came out in that scene. And when she cried, I held her.”

Ewan nodded, remembering. “You didn’t want to let go.”

“I still don’t.”

Ewan leaned back slowly. “Then grow a fucking pair and tell her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?! Because she’s the director of the series? News flash, not anymore!”

Hayden flinched, already exhausted by his own excuses.

“The show’s almost done. The lines have been said. The shots are in the can. And she’s still here. Still hurting. Still hoping, probably.”

“I hurt her, Ewan,” Hayden said, his voice rough. “More than once.”

“And yet she let you hold her like that,” Ewan replied gently. “Do you really think that means nothing?”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’ve been in this business a long time,” his friend said. “You’ve seen how rare something real is. And this?” He gestured with his beer bottle. “This is real, Hayden. What you have with her. That little moment of peace, of home, in the middle of chaos. That was real. Don’t let it rot because you were too afraid to open your mouth.”

Hayden looked down at his hands again, like they could still feel her skin, her tears.

“She’s younger,” he said, quieter now.

“She’s a grown woman,” Ewan countered. “Who knows what she wants. Who’s run a damn Star Wars series with more grace than most directors three times her age.”

The brunette cracked a broken smile. “She is kind of a genius.”

“She is,” Ewan agreed. “And she’s also in love with you. So what are you going to do about it?”

Hayden didn’t answer right away. He just stared into the night sky, chest heavy, heart racing.

“You deserve to be happy. And from what I’ve seen, because I’ve been watching, you were never more yourself, more alive, than when you were with her. She makes you happy.”

Hayden ran a hand down his face, cigarette forgotten now, heart in his throat. “She does,” he whispered. “She really, really does.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Ewan said, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. “You two are meant to be. So get a clear thought through that thick head of yours and tell her. Before the chance slips away”

Hayden blinked back the sting in his eyes. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight.

But inside him, something shifted.

Because Ewan was right. And he already knew it.

He could feel it in the center of his chest, under the stars, in the quiet of a friend’s backyard, something inside him stopped fighting. Because he was tired of the distance. Tired of pretending. Tired of living in the “almost.”

“I don’t want to hurt her again.” he confessed, slowly.

“Then don’t,” Ewan said simply. “Choose her. All the way this time.”

They sat in silence again, smoke curling up into the dark.

Then Ewan added, softly, “Choose each other, you both deserve to be happy. So do it. For her. For you. For that Bubble of yours you’re so damn in love with.”

Hayden closed his eyes. And for the first time in months, he let himself imagine what it might feel like if he just… gave in and chose her.

Ends of September 2021. What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?.

The music hummed low from the speakers, warm bass pulsing through the soft glow of string lights overhead. The room was buzzing, crew and cast gathered with drinks in hand, laughter echoing through the space like the fading heartbeat of something once grand.

It was done. Filming had wrapped. They'd all made history.

Everyone was celebrating. Everyone but them.

She smiled when she had to. Laughed at the right moments. Nodded, accepted praise. The series was wrapped. The series she put so much into. She should have felt pride swelling in her chest, but instead, there was a hollow spot where something else had once lived.

Her glass of wine was cold in her hand as her eyes drifted, once again to the far end of the room.

There Hayden was. Dressed in all black, button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The kind of outfit that made him seem even taller than he already was, like the darkness clung to him in reverence. His curls were swept back, golden under the light. His jaw was freshly shaven, but there was something tired in his eyes. Something heavy.

He laughed at something someone said, but to her, who had heard the real thing, who knew the warm, full sound of it, was off. Hollow. Foreign, because it sounded too practiced, like someone doing an impression of him. His smile didn’t quite reach and it felt criminal.

She looked at him the way you look at a memory you’ve been trying to forget. The way you glance at someone you still love but know you can’t have. Her fingers tightened around her glass.

Because of course she still felt it. Every aching, unwanted, impossible part of it.

Hayden, for his part, felt like something had been left unfinished, like the final page of a script had been ripped out and folded away in someone else's pocket.

Across the room, was his end, sad or happy ending, bathed in amber light from the chandeliers, she stood in conversation with one of the editors. Her red velvet skirt skimmed the floor as she shifted her weight, black corset hugging her frame with a quiet confidence, silver rings catching the light every time she lifted her glass. That worn leather jacket, clearly not hers, too big on her shoulders, added just enough edge to offset the elegance.

Her hair was slightly messy, but on purpose. Like she’d spent just enough time not caring and yet still managed to look like a dream, his dream.

Hayden had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from staring.

She was heartbreakingly beautiful, and she hadn’t looked at him once.

He stood near the back corner, drink in hand, and there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t ache for her, his brain hadn’t stopped thinking about her for a second. And still hadn’t figured out how to say any of it right.

So when she finally stepped outside, maybe for air, maybe to escape, he followed. Not like a man with a plan. More like a man being pulled.

The balcony was quiet, lights dimmer. Away from the buzz of clinking glasses and studio talk, the air was sharp with night, as if to remind her she was still real, still here. Her wine glass dangled from her fingers.

Then the door opened behind her and she didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Her back was to him, hands gripping the edge of the railing, her wine glass still mostly full.

He cleared his throat gently and she turned, slowly. Their eyes met. Something inside his chest fractured and in hers twisted.

“I can give you space,” he said softly, the words hesitant, almost hopeful. “If you’d rather be alone.”

“It’s alright,” she said. Her voice was low. Tired. But sincere. “It’s a big balcony.”

He nodded, cigarette between his fingers and walked towards the railing.

They didn’t speak for a while. Just existed, breathing the same air, in the same silence. The laughter from the inside acted like background music, but it felt odd, off to a scene so sad, so full of tension.

The silence wasn’t comfortable, like before, it itched, it burned, it was like a punch to the gut. But after he smoked half of his cigarette and she drank her wine, something cracked.

“I know I probably don’t get to say this,” Hayden said suddenly, words tumbling from his chest, “but you look… absolutely beautiful.”

Her breath caught. Not visibly. But enough that the glass trembled in her grip before she set it on the railing.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “You look good too.” Her heart was pounding too loudly to trust her voice.

Hayden watched her from the corner of his eye, the ember of his cigarette flickering between his fingers.

The silence was fraying.

“I really don’t know what to say here,” he admitted, voice cracked open. Broken.

She gave a breath of a laugh. Bitter. “You said plenty,” she replied, lifting her glass again. “Just not what I needed to hear.

He ran a hand through his curls, suddenly flushed with nerves and stepped a little closer, not too much. Respecting space. But God, Hayden wanted to fall at her feet.

God. Say it right. Just once.

“I wasn’t lying, back then,” he said quickly, like the words were a dam bursting. “When I said I was scared of what it could do to your career. I meant it. You’re… you're brilliant. And I didn’t want to be the reason people looked at you like…like you were anything less than the genius you are.”

Her brows pulled together. That familiar twist in her chest returned and he kept going.

“And maybe I overthought it. Maybe I overcorrected. I always do that. I always find a way to fuck up the one good thing.”

Her fingers tensed against the railing, her jaw clenched and then loosened.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt you. God, I never meant that.” He exhaled, fast and sharp. “You have to believe me.”

She turned then and looked up at him, really looking at him. The way he held his cigarette like it steadied him. The way he stood like he might break apart at the joints. The way he had his brows frowned, his jaw tightened, like he was holding something back. He looked wrecked. All of it, written in the fine lines of his face.

He was so close now. Close enough that the scent of him hit her: tobacco, and the cologne that lingering in her office, in her clothes after a whole day together. It still lived on that sweater of his he leant her on a particularly cold night and she never had the heart to wash, nor give it back. In her house after he cooked for her and then broke her heart, more than what he already did.

“I do believe you,” she said softly.

He blinked. “You do?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I know you. That’s the problem.”

Those blue as ocean eyes looked down at her with softness, unsureness and devastation.

“At this point,” she whispered, voice thin, “if you were anyone else, I’d think all you want to do is hurt me.”

He shook his head fast, lips parting. “No, I would ne—”

“I know,” she cut in, tiredly. “Because you’re you and I know that’s not what you want.” Her voice cracked, barely. “But it does hurt.”

His mouth opened, maybe to speak, maybe to say the thing he should’ve said all those months ago.

“Every time you open your mouth and say something trying to protect me, or fix it, or be noble, it just… chips away at me a little more.”

Hayden looked like he was in physical pain.

She stepped closer, her hand almost reaching for him. Her fingers hovered right above his chest, just inches from touching him with trembling fingers, and then, she moved it back. Like the contact might burn her. Like if she touched him, she wouldn’t be able to let go.

Because she wouldn’t and she couldn’t afford to fall again.

He wanted to catch her hand, pull it to his chest and press it there, over his heart, right where it hurt the most. Right where her absence lived. But he was frozen in place.

Her lips parted like she might say something, but she didn’t. Just exhaled through her nose, trembling. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. But he could see her breaking in real time, fracture by fracture.

“So just… stop talking,” she said, no, she pleaded.

Stop hurting me.

Hayden’s heart broke right in his chest. She was so close now, closer than he had any right for her to be. Close enough that he could see the shimmer of unshed tears clinging to her lashes. The ache. The longing. The love that hadn’t gone anywhere, not even after all the silence.

And he stood there, aching too. Wanting to reach for her. To fix it. Hands itching to touch her. But he just couldn't. But his mouth had betrayed him too many times. Now, even silence felt safer.

“I’m so-” his voice broke. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it shook.

She just nodded, blinking the tears away before they could fall. “I know.”

Because it was true, she knew it, he knew it, but it changed nothing. They couldn’t be together. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So they did what they seemed to always do now since July. They said nothing, letting the moment pass, letting the silence settle again. But this time, it wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. A truce made of ache from two people who wanted each other more than anything.

Next Part →

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#Hayden Christensen #Hayden Christensen x reader #Hayden Christensen x you #Hayden Christensen x y/n #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #director!reader

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starmocha · 2 months ago

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be my eternity, say my name [Caleb/Reader ★ 2725 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] The secrets only you and Caleb would ever know. A/N: ;~; I've been working on this on-and-off since January. I'm so happy it's finally done. Title is referencing a verse in two TXT’s songs, Deja Vu and Run Away (9와 4분의 3 승강장에서 너를 기다려), but for this fic, I drew more inspiration from Deja Vu (I will probably write something using Run Away in the future, because I have ideas, hehe) @deepspacenova I'm also tagging you because this is one of the Caleb song-inspired fics I mentioned to you last night <33333 Tag list:@solifloris @natimiles @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @miudle @alfredosaws @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yourlocalcatscammer @qyuin 【 request to be added 】

It was a secret.

That you fell for Caleb first.

You couldn’t explain when it had happened, when you finally saw him in a different light, knowing he was someone much more precious than a mere friend. You knew, though, that since that one afternoon long ago when you both came into each other’s lives, you took his hand and never wished to let it go ever.

(I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.)

It was a secret.

In the dark of nights, under thick cover, your hand wandered, slipping in between your legs, driving into your folds, curling just so as your thumb brushed over that sensitive clit as you thought about him just a few doors away asleep in his own bed, unaware of the shameful act you had submitted yourself to, unable to ignore the desires to have him unconditionally, claim him solely for yourself.

All of those close instances, seemingly innocent in the way his body hovered so close to yours, or the way sometimes his arm would wrap around your waist when he teased you, unaware of the effect it was having on you. He never knew how the warmth of his breath teasing against your neck would have your heart skipping several beats faster, how there would be a tightening in your belly when he loomed near you, or the way how sometimes when your playfighting would lead to you tumbled atop him, so close to him physically and yet you felt the vast distance from his heart.

You fantasized of his large hands behind you, resting on the small of your back, his eyes locked with yours, searching almost desperately for permission, an invitation to cross this invisible line between you both. You thought of his lips, seeing the way they trembled, see his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking like a man starved, salivating at the sight of the glorious indulgence before him. You thought of treading first, stealing his lips experimentally, swallowing his surprised gasps as you grinded down on him, feeling his growing arousal brushing against your own.

You imagined his restraints broken, picturing him yielding to temptation, his hands fumbling over your body, his hips thrusting up, needing to feel you through the clothed barriers between you both. Your name spilt from those lips, the rasp in his voice more noticeable as he groaned in pleasure, growing more and more delirious as this lust heightened between the two of you.

You panted harder. You wanted his calloused hands on your smooth skin, trailing over secret places he had never known until this moment. You wanted to discover together with him all of the places on both of your bodies that would have you buckling, your toes curling, a hungry desperation for more and more.

You quickened your pace, fingers rushing as you imagined how he would have you come undone fully clothed on top of him, hearing that sweet, sweet voice of his urging you, praising you, coaxing you until you were trembling and crying against him.

Just a little bit more.

So close. So, so close.

Almost there.

With a few more rushed strokes and you were crying out your orgasm, his heavenly name spilling from your lips. For several minutes, you lay in bed, panting and shaken by the pleasure you had just experienced. There wasn’t much thought left in your head, a sudden wave of drowsiness seeming to wash over you.

You sighed.

When you stared at your hand, chest still heaving from the adrenaline, you wondered what it would be like to be filled by him. You couldn’t seem to stop imagining his body against you, wanting to be pinned underneath him, trapped beneath the heavy weight of him, his forearms resting on either side of your head and his face so close to yours, and those soulful eyes imploring you to want him, need him in a way only lovers would ever know.

Your breathing grew shaky again. You wondered how big he was, wondered how well your body could take him. You couldn’t help but imagined this time his hands just gripping your thighs, prying them apart, letting him see just how wet and willing you were for him. That burning need to stretch around him stirred within you again, your hips unwittingly squirming, feeling nothing but also everything.

Inadvertently, you moaned his name again, your body writhing beneath the sheets, the ache inside you renewed. You tossed and turned, your face buried into your pillow to muffle the way you cried out his name over and over again, feeling like you were humping against nothing, your fingers barely able to satisfy you, not like how you knew his own could.

Caleb’s long, thick fingers filling you, thrusting in and out as he made sure you would be ready to take more of him later. You clenched, voice strangled, as you cried harder, feeling your climax approaching again.

“Caleb… Caleb… please… please… Caleb…!”

There was a noise outside your room. You froze in that instance just as your second climax arrived and you bit down on your lip to stifle your moans. Someone was in the hallway. Was it your grandmother… or was it Caleb? You didn’t know, too scared to even peek at the shadow beneath the crack in the door. Stay silent, you ordered yourself, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle any sounds that could slip through. You could still feel the lingering shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, curling up under the cover. Even after it was safe to stir again, you stayed still.

You almost wished it was Caleb who came into the room to check in on you. You almost wished he would discover the dirty secrets you kept from him, the way you pleasured yourself many nights thinking of him. You wondered how he would react seeing you in your bed with reddened cheeks flushed hot and fingers wet with your own arousal from the way you shamelessly touched yourself to dirty fantasies of him. You wondered if it would destroy your precious relationship with him, or just maybe, he felt the same.

Maybe he also felt the same about you. Maybe he had his own dirty secrets. Maybe he also carried lewd thoughts in his mind, thinking of you in ways he probably shouldn’t.

If he did, you couldn’t wait to uncover them, wanting his secrets exposed to you alone and yours to him.

(Mornin’, pipsqueak, did you sleep well?

…You could say that.

What is that supposed to mean—never mind, we’re going to be late for school. Hurry up and eat.)

It was a secret that you made the first move.

If there was ever a forbidden line between the two of you, you crossed it without a care, unable to ignore the growing feelings and desires within you. You could never entertain the idea that Caleb would be with anyone but you. He was yours from the beginning and you wanted him to the very end.

One warm afternoon, he was napping on the couch, a book facedown on his chest. You knelt on the floor next to him, drawn to how handsome he looked, peacefully slumbering away like an angel of God seeking respite for just one instance. Such long lashes, you admired with slight envy before smiling as you looked at his lips. They were just barely parted, his breathing soft and slow.

You swallowed, suddenly nervous, before you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, light and a little awkward, but that immediate tingle you felt was already an exhilarating rush that chased away your earlier coyness.

He stirred, but before you could pull away, his hand was behind your head, keeping you in place to your shock. He didn’t say anything, but you felt him kissing you back, and you yielded to him, savoring this moment like a sweet forbidden fruit you had shamelessly coveted.

When he opened his eyes, beautiful pools of violet stared back at you in relief. You smiled back, thinking you could drown in them forever if he would let you. His book dropped to the floor with a dull thud and you were dragged on top of him in seconds. You stared down at his smiling face, a warmth spreading over your cheeks, suddenly coy again now that it was apparent his feelings were identical to yours.

One hand reached up to cradle your cheek, your own two hands covered his as you gazed down with fondness in silent understanding.

The house was empty. It was just the two of you, in your own little world, your own little Eden.

Just like how it had always been, it seemed.

(Mm, are you… are you sure?

Never been surer in my life, Caleb… You?

If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.)

It was a secret how soft Caleb’s lips were, how quickly addicted you became, wanting and needing all of his kisses, wanting to greedily pocket them all for yourself. The short, fleeting ones, just barely there, stolen lips in passing when no one could see, or passed off as just a trick of the mind. The long, drawn-out kisses, both your feelings poured out in intense sessions that would leave you breathless but unable—unwilling—to stop, always yearning for more.

Fast, messy kisses, rushed with frantic hands grabbing at one another, bodies pressed together in secrecy, hidden away in dark corners or under covers.

The way he would kiss you all over. Gentle, tender forehead kisses. Playful pecks on the tip of your nose. Sweet, chaste cheek kisses. He would get bolder, kissing along down your neck, in the crook, along your shoulders, leaving not a spot untouched by his lips.

He would be more sensual, worshipping you all over. Down your chest, leaving you gasping and squirming against him, trapped beneath him in surrender.

Such lascivious kisses he would leave along the inside of your thighs. Heavenly lips seeking your intimate area, a secret place only he would ever know as he hungrily tasted you, devouring like a man starved and worshipping like a sinner seeking salvation.

Caleb was always smart, so it didn’t take him long to learn your body, discovering all of the ways he could make you cum for him. He could be the sweetest man when he wanted to be, but those little moments when he was just a little more taunting in his words and in his ministrations had a way of driving you wild, finding him even more desirable than you thought was possible.

(Ah… Caleb… I’m going to… ah… wa-wait…

Cum for me, my pretty girl.

Oh, fu—)

It was a secret how delicious you tasted afterwards on his lips.

(So pretty. So, so fucking pretty like this.)

It was a secret how warm Caleb’s mouth felt around your nipple, how the way his tongue swirled over the sensitive nub had you bucking shamelessly against him, his hands automatically forced to grip your hips to keep you in place on his lap. Even when your small hand grabbed at his hair, tugging and whining, he suckled harder on one nipple while he let one hand squeezed and groped your other breast, kneading the soft, supple mound with experimental strength, relishing in the way that you gasped out his name and how under your skirt, he could feel your panties getting damped, the soaked fabric brushing over his thigh had his mind racing, growing delirious with ideas of what he could do to you.

It wasn’t just the mere imaginary ideas of what he could do to you that had him going wild, but the very knowledge that you would willingly let him had him hardening, his control and self-restraints weakening as all he wanted to do was give in to his desires—give in to you.

(You make such pretty sounds. Is it only for me?

D-don’t tease me… Ah…!

I’m not teasing. I want to hear more.

Ca-Caleb!)

It was a secret how Caleb pressed you into his mattress, how you always and willingly spread your legs for him. This was always where he was meant to be, between your legs, his body looming above yours. No matter how many times he had taken you, it always felt like the first.

With Caleb, everything always felt like the first time, as if you and he were always restarting from the beginning, never letting the story of you and him end.

(Already this wet? I haven’t even done anything yet. Naughty, naughty.

I… I… can’t help it… you…

Tell me. Tell me how I make you feel.

Caleb…! Ah…!

Tell me. Did you get excited—thinking about my cock pounding this needy pussy?

Wai-don—yes!

Do you always think about me like that? Answer me.

…Yes…

Louder.

Yes! Yes, yes, Caleb, always!

Ah—oh fuck—)

It was a secret how you always would come so sweetly around him, muffled moans suppressed under his large hand, under his intense smoldering amethyst eyes before they closed as he filled you full with thick, heavy spurts of his seed, his own groans stifled, burying deep into your shoulder.

(Shh, we don’t want anyone hearing us, alright?

…Mmph…

I’ll spoil you next time. I want you to scream my name next time.)

It was a secret how many times Caleb had filled you. How full you felt as your belly bulged, the sight always clouding his mind with dark lust, the need to always keep you like this, completely ruined by him, made for him.

He kept you flushed to him, your body heat exchanged and shared. He kissed you soundly as he softened inside of you, but he showed no sense of urgency about parting, still wanting to stay buried in your warmth. He seemed reluctant to break the kiss, the sounds of both of your heavy breathing filled the room as he gazed down at you, wanting to keep you locked within his gravity.

(It’s like you were made for me. All mine.

And you for me?

Right. Yours. I’m all yours. No one else’s. Yours.)

It was a secret how you dreamed of a life of just you and him, hidden away in a paradise of your own making. There would be no sorrow, no anguish, or judgment from others. You dreamed of long summer days, basking in the day’s warmth with his fingers intermingled with yours.

You dreamed of laying on green grass, him on top of you with the blue heavens above as witnesses of your love for him, and within his vibrant violet eyes, there was a promise of eternity, his life was yours—was only ever yours and no one else’s.

(Pipsqueak… go to sleep.

No… I want to keep watching you.

Silly girl… You can watch me tomorrow.

I want to watch you now. And I’ll watch you tomorrow, too. Caleb…

Hmm… So greedy.

Only when it comes to you.

…

…Caleb?

I feel the same. I want to keep you all to myself. Forever mine.)

It was a secret.

That you and Caleb belonged together.

The world would never understand.

A bond this sacred was meant to last for eternity, your souls bounded together long ago when you took his hand first but he was the one to hold on tight, promising himself to you for all of your lives together.

(Caleb… I—

Wait—let me… just let me…)

Such heavenly secrets stayed hidden away from nonbelievers.

No one would ever know of him the way you did, just as he had uncovered all of your secrets, stealing them away to be his and his alone.

His hand on your cheek, eyes always finding yours, you knew already the words that were to come, but you waited in anticipation with bated breath.

In the next instance, his sweet smile filled your vision and you were pulled back into his orbit, locked within his embrace. When you looked up, his warm breath intermingled with your own, your heart beating quietly for him. He cradled your cheek, guiding your lips to his, and he breathed a secret to you, a promise of eternity only for you.

(I love you. I’ll always be by your side.)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb smut #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #you need to know this fic is my precious baby i have been nurturing for months #and all it took for me to finish it was posting thirsty zayne thoughts lmaooooo #i always do this #write about one guy while thirsting another guy #like the time i finished a sylus fic while making kissy faces at caleb in the work together feature lololol #Spotify

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sleepberries · 1 month ago

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Hiii!!! How you doing? I hope ok!!

Hear me out on a spideyhood fic =Peter parker purrs

Cause some spiders like the wolf spider makes a sort of purring noise to attract mates waht if peter did it when hes happy or comfortable?

Let me now what you think hope you have a wonderfull day💖💖

My baby^^ (i love spiders so much☺️)

hehe yes ofc !! i've thrown some tidbits of peter purring through the series so far, but here's an actual fic for it 🙇‍♂️ i hope to explore more of peter's more spidery traits in the future !!

The Sound of Contentment

Jason was absolutely certain that he was hallucinating.

It had been a long night—the kind that left bruises blooming beneath his armor and fatigue settling deep in his bones. Patrol had run later than expected, a weapons shipment requiring more firepower than he'd anticipated. By the time he dragged himself through his apartment window at 3 AM, all he wanted was a hot shower and about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.

What he found instead was Peter Parker sprawled across his couch, fast asleep with one of Jason's dog-eared paperbacks open on his chest. This wasn't unusual—Peter had a habit of appearing in Jason's apartment at odd hours, usually with takeout or some crisis that needed talking through. What was unusual was the sound coming from him.

A low, gentle rumbling that rose and fell with each breath.

Jason froze halfway through removing his helmet, convinced his exhausted brain was playing tricks on him. He set the helmet down carefully on the counter and moved closer to the couch, tilting his head to listen.

There it was again. A soft, rhythmic vibration that sounded suspiciously like... purring?

"What the hell?" Jason muttered, leaning closer.

Peter shifted in his sleep, the book sliding dangerously toward the edge of his chest. Jason caught it before it could fall, marking the page out of habit before setting it on the coffee table. The movement stirred Peter, his eyelids fluttering.

The purring stopped abruptly.

"Mmm... Jason?" Peter mumbled, blinking owlishly up at him. "You're back. What time is it?"

"Late," Jason answered, still staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Or early, depending on how you look at it."

Peter yawned, stretching his arms above his head in a motion that was distinctly feline for someone supposed to have spider-based abilities. "Sorry for crashing. I was waiting for you and must've fallen asleep."

"Were you purring?" Jason asked bluntly.

Peter's sleepy expression snapped into sudden, wide-eyed alertness. "What? No. That's—why would you—that's ridiculous."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You were making a noise."

"I was snoring," Peter said quickly. Too quickly. "I snore sometimes. May used to complain about it when I'd fall asleep on the couch during movie nights."

"That wasn't snoring," Jason insisted. "I know what snoring sounds like. Dick sounds like a chainsaw when he sleeps. That was..." He searched for the right word. "...vibrating."

Color crept up Peter's neck to his cheeks. "Must've been the heating system. Or your refrigerator. Those things make weird noises sometimes."

Jason crossed his arms, wincing slightly at the pull of a fresh bruise. "My refrigerator doesn't follow your breathing pattern, Parker."

Peter sat up, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Look, can we pretend this conversation isn't happening? I'm still mostly asleep and you look like you've been hit by a truck, so maybe we should both just... go to bed and forget about this."

"Fine," Jason said after a moment, too tired to push it. "But this isn't over."

Peter's relieved smile was worth letting it go. For now.

"You're the best," Peter said, standing and stretching again. "I'll take the couch. You look like you need a real bed more than I do."

Jason nodded, already heading for the shower. "There's leftover pizza in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Already found it," Peter called after him.

Of course he had.

Jason didn't forget.

For the next two weeks, he paid closer attention when they were together, watching for any signs of the strange sound he'd heard that night. But Peter seemed to be on his guard, carefully maintaining control even when they were relaxed together.

It wasn't until movie night at Jason's apartment—Peter's choice, some science fiction film with questionable physics but decent explosions—that Jason got his second clue.

They were on Jason's couch, Peter tucked against his side with Jason's arm draped casually around his shoulders. The film had hit a quieter moment, the protagonist having an emotional revelation about the nature of time or existence or whatever—Jason had lost track about twenty minutes in, more focused on the warm weight of Peter against him.

And there it was again—so faint he almost missed it. That gentle rumbling vibration.

Jason went very still, not wanting to alert Peter that anything was different. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even, his posture relaxed, while straining to hear the sound better.

Definitely purring. It was subtle, more felt than heard, a continuous vibration that seemed to emanate from deep in Peter's chest. It had a strangely soothing quality, like the distant rumble of summer thunder.

Fascinated, Jason experimentally tightened his arm around Peter's shoulders, pulling him a fraction closer.

The purring intensified slightly.

Interesting.

Jason waited a few more minutes, then slowly, deliberately, began running his fingers through Peter's hair—something he'd done before, knowing how Peter leaned into the touch like it was the best thing he'd ever felt.

The effect was immediate. The purring grew stronger, and Peter melted against him, eyes half-closing in apparent bliss.

"You're not watching the movie," Peter murmured, though he made no attempt to move away from Jason's touch.

"The movie's boring," Jason replied, continuing the gentle motion of his fingers through Peter's hair. "This is more interesting."

Peter made a noncommittal noise, then seemed to realize what was happening. The purring cut off abruptly, and he tensed under Jason's arm.

"You're doing it again," Jason said, keeping his voice neutral.

Peter sighed, defeated. "Damn it."

"So, purring," Jason said, fighting to keep the amusement out of his voice. "That's a new one. I thought your whole thing was spider-based."

Peter groaned, burying his face in Jason's shoulder. "It is. But apparently some spiders make vibrations to communicate. I didn't know I could do it until... well, I didn't know until someone pointed it out."

"Someone besides me?"

"Gwen noticed it first," Peter admitted. "Back when we were together. She thought it was cute."

"But you don't," Jason guessed, noting the embarrassment in Peter's voice.

Peter lifted his head to look at Jason, his expression a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. "It's weird. It's one more thing that makes me not... normal."

The way he said "normal" made something twist in Jason's chest. He knew that feeling too well—the sense of being fundamentally different, marked by experiences that separated you from everyone else.

"Normal is overrated," Jason said, meeting Peter's gaze steadily. "And for the record, I don't think it's weird."

"No?" Peter looked skeptical.

"No," Jason confirmed. Then, because he couldn't resist, "I think it's hilarious."

Peter punched his arm, but there was no real force behind it. "Jerk."

"Your jerk," Jason corrected, resuming the gentle motion of his fingers in Peter's hair. "Now purr for me, bug boy."

"Spiders aren't bugs, they're arachnids," Peter said automatically, but he was already relaxing against Jason again. "And I can't just do it on command. It just... happens when I'm really comfortable or happy or... whatever."

Jason smirked. "So I make you happy, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Peter muttered, but there was no heat in his words. After a moment, he added more quietly, "But yeah. You do."

Something warm unfurled in Jason's chest at that. He pressed a kiss to Peter's temple, oddly touched.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the movie playing forgotten in the background. Eventually, as Jason continued his gentle ministrations, the purring resumed—hesitant at first, then more confident when Jason didn't comment on it.

It was... nice. Soothing in a way Jason hadn't expected. The steady vibration against his side felt intimate somehow, a wordless expression of contentment that Peter couldn't hide or fake.

"I like it," Jason said finally, his voice lower than he'd intended. "The purring. It's... I like knowing you feel safe with me."

Peter looked up at him, surprise evident in his expression. Then his features softened into something warm and genuine. "I do. Feel safe with you, I mean."

Coming from someone who had spent so much of his life in danger, who carried the weight of responsibility that came with his powers, it felt like a gift—that trust, that vulnerability.

Jason tightened his arm around Peter's shoulders. "Good."

The purring grew louder, and neither of them mentioned it again that night.

After that, the purring became a regular part of their relationship—a barometer for Peter's comfort and happiness that Jason found himself listening for without even realizing it.

He discovered that certain actions were particularly effective at triggering it: running his fingers through Peter's hair, tracing patterns on his back, holding him close after a particularly harrowing patrol. The sound became a comfort to Jason too, a tangible reminder that despite everything—their dangerous lives, their complicated histories, the odds stacked against them—they had found something good together.

One afternoon, after a rare day when neither of them had responsibilities, they were sprawled on Jason's bed, Peter half on top of him, both of them drifting in and out of a lazy doze. Peter was purring steadily, the vibration rumbling against Jason's chest where Peter's head rested.

"Does anyone else know?" Jason asked suddenly, the question occurring to him for the first time. "About the purring, I mean."

Peter was quiet for a moment, the purring faltering slightly before resuming. "Gwen did. Aunt May figured it out eventually—kind of hard to hide when you fall asleep on your guardian's lap. And I think Matt noticed it during patrol once, but he was polite enough not to mention it."

"So just the people closest to you," Jason observed.

Peter nodded against his chest. "It's not something I advertise. Can you imagine if the Avengers found out? Fantastic Four? I'd never hear the end of it."

Jason smirked, imagining the reactions. "Their loss. It's cute."

"You think everything I do is cute," Peter said, the smugness in his voice unmistakable.

"Not everything," Jason countered. "Your cooking is a crime against humanity. And that dance you did when you thought you won at Mario Kart before realizing you were looking at the wrong screen? That was just sad."

Peter lifted his head to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the lingering softness in his eyes and the fact that he was still purring. "You're the worst, you know that?"

"So you keep telling me." Jason ran a hand down Peter's back, smiling as the purring intensified in response. "And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," Peter agreed, settling back against Jason's chest. After a comfortable silence, he added, "Does it bother you? Really?"

Jason considered the question seriously. "No," he said finally. "It's just part of you. Like everything else."

He felt rather than saw Peter's smile. "Red Hood, secret softie. Who would've thought?"

"Tell anyone and I'll deny it," Jason warned, but he was smiling too. "Gotta maintain my reputation."

"Your secret's safe with me," Peter promised, the purring growing louder as he relaxed further. "Just like mine is with you."

Jason tightened his arms around Peter, feeling strangely protective of this unusual trait that Peter had trusted him with. It was one more piece of the puzzle that was Peter Parker, one more thing that made him who he was—brilliant, strange, endearing, and entirely unique.

And maybe a little bit cat-like, though Jason would never say that to his face.

"Go to sleep, Parker," Jason murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter's head. "You're keeping me awake with your engine running."

Peter's laugh vibrated against his chest, mingling with the purring in a way that Jason felt in his bones. "Your fault," Peter mumbled, already drifting off. "You started it."

As Peter's breathing evened out into sleep, the purring continuing softly, Jason found himself thinking that of all the unexpected turns his life had taken, this might be one of the strangest—and definitely one of the best. Sharing his space, his life, with someone who literally purred with contentment in his presence.

It was ridiculous. It was perfect. It was them.

And really, what more could he ask for?

#asks #my fanfic #spideyhood #jason todd x peter parker #peter parker x jason todd #dc x marvel #marvel x dc

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deathbxnny · 6 months ago

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Oh yeah, raising literal childish soldiers canNOT be good for one's conscious 🥲

But, I'm glad you're eager for more of that succulent emotional hurt, though this one will be... different the previous ones. And without further adieu, let's get into it 😈

So, I've noticed how, in this series, any harm sent mother's way has always been somewhat second-handed, and psychological in nature. Physical arm has always gone to the Children of The House. So, what if for this scenario, "Mother" is the unexpected one coming to harm?

Now, I could definitely write up a scenario of "Mother" getting hurt in some drastic way, and Arle and the House Kids retaliate in grand fashion, but that would be... kinda generic, no? Rather, I'm thinking of a scenario where "Mother" is hurt by the one thing that not even The Knave herself can protect her from.

Herself.

Or more specifically, her own body. Lemme explain.

So, "Mother" is in a position that can be IMMENSELY stressful and emotionally draining, so imagine one day, it's about as normal as life in the Hearth can be, "Mother" is at work, performing or assigning chores, or maybe prepping a meal for the kids, with some their help. When suddenly, she's hit with immense chest pains, as though her rib cage is squeezing around her heart, it becomes hard to breath, hard to focus because of how dizzy she's become. That's right, Mama suffer (or very nearly suffer, that detail is up to you) a literal heart attack, give everyone in the House a good scare, if you would 🤭.

And so, after this incident "Mother" is pretty forced to "take it easy" so that she can recover (which according to some brief searches I've done, can take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months). And, considering how "Mother" is definitely seems like she'd be something of a workaholic, someone who feels she needs to be present and contributing to be a "worthy" mother, suddenly being forced to take a break from all her usual daily tasks must make for an absolutely miserable experience for her.

So, in the meanwhile, Arle and the kids try to figure out some things to cheer her up and keep her mind occupied while she recovers.

X Anon

Heartfelt devotion. | Arlecchino x Fem!Wife!Reader

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three) (Part four) (Read more parts under Arlecchino's name in my Genshin Masterlist!)

A/N: Hello X Anon! Thank you so much for your request. I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, this turned out to be a bit of a personal piece due to me having had the experience of an immideate family member suffering a heart attack, so I put some of that into this fic, which is why I took a bit of a different approach to your idea. Either way, I hope it's to your liking X Anon!!<33

Content: Heart attacks, comas, angst, hurt/comfort, wife reader, mentions of Curcabena, reader becomes a bit delirious, trauma, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

The will of the Tsaritsa never rested for anything.

The expectation for everyone to continue until nothing was left of them always weighed on your shoulders, but it did little to ever make itself noticeable in the ranks of the Fatui. Exhaustion? Sickness? Death? None of that was an excuse enough to stop. You were all motivated by the goal ahead, even if uncertainty of what exactly it was often lingered in your mind. It was inspiring to work hard even in the face of pure agony and hell. It's just how things were. That's just how you kept going for so long as an organization.

The Tsaritsa's gentle kindness was ultimately not enough of a reason when the cold, icy snow and wind of your home ripped at your skin hungrily for more of your soul to take.

And you especially, as the wife of a Harbinger and "Mother" of the House of Hearth, felt that deeply.

Day in, day out.

It was all the same in the house of Hearth that forever kept busy no matter the occasion. You were unofficially the head of it all. Your wife often had better things to do as a diplomat and therefore entrusted you with your family from day one. The title and duties of the "Mother" weighed on you painfully, just as expected from you. And whilst you've spent endless years attempting to repair the relationship between that title and the family, you still didn't feel like it was enough. The woman that raised you and the 4th Harbinger haunted you with every step, always looking over your shoulder with that sinister smile of hers. You could feel the scrutiny in her gaze, see the rage in her grin, hear her venomous words in that sweet, gentle voice of hers.

Arlecchino had moved on from her by taking on the title of "Father," but you remained cursed. You remained in the past where you belonged, fixing connections that died for a reason, yet you were stuck with due to your own doing. There were no regrets in your actions initially, but now, after seeing the carnage and death you had caused to your own children by sending them off to the grim reaper yourself, you realise that over time, your mind and body has become worn down dangerously. You were beginning to fall apart, yet tried to keep yourself together just enough to continue every day. Like everyone else here.

It was getting hard to move and sleep lately, however, something that should've unnerved you when it was first starting to become noticeable. But you waved it off like everything else, your mind focused on your daily tasks and responsibilities instead. With your wife abroad back in the motherland for a Harbinger meeting, you were stuck shouldering absolutely everything again, not that you ever protested or cared much. You saw it as a necessity, perhaps even an honor to work at her side and take care of such an important part of the Fatui. If only the glamor and patriotism didn't melt away every time you got a new death report regarding more of your children. Crucabena used to read them as though they were the latest fashion magazine, a content smile on her lips every time. You, on the other hand, shed endless tears, finding no enjoyment in what you've become.

How did she do it? How was she able to be so indifferent and cruel to you all without feeling a thing? What was the secret to absolut absolvation from the guilt and shame? Years later, you still find yourself asking these questions in the shadows of the night, your blurry reflection in the water of the cold bathtub mirroring her image. You wonder if you even were any different than her ultimately. You felt like you did the same things as her, just less cruel, less callous. Was your care and love for the children enough to make a difference?

"Of course not. You and I are one in the same, my dear child." You often hear her voice whisper to you in those painfully sleepless nights, and you wished Peruere was there to keep her quiet again.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a weak hum when you felt someone grab onto your shoulder with a gentle shake. "Mother?" Lyney asked carefully, brows furrowed in worry at your near catatonic state lately. You barely seemed alive at times, your blank stare staring through everyone, some of your tasks even neglected seemingly unbeknownst to you. Your movement was sluggish, slow, and clumsy. Everyone noticed this, and the worry was beginning to seep into all the children belonging to the house. This was nothing like you. And yet, you didn't seem to be aware of it. Or maybe you were ignoring it.

Either way, Lyney had enough of just watching you suffer, his gaze becoming stern when you gave him a tired look. "Have you... slept or eaten properly lately? You look ill." The answer was 'no' to both, of course. You haven't been able to eat much due to the sudden huge workload you were confronted with ever since their Father left for much longer than usual. Sleep was out of the question due to the odd pain and pressure in your chest whenever you laid down. This led to you often sitting in a chair instead in front of the fireplace in hopes of getting some sleep that way... but unfortunately, that didn't work either.

Gently shaking your head, you mustered the strength to give him a shaky smile in hopes of calming him. "I'm alright, dear, don't worry about me. It's just a little stress, nothing more." Ever so perceptive, you sighed when you saw his eyes narrow. He didn't believe you, and you certainly wouldn't believe yourself either. Something was terribly wrong, but you had no time to deal with it. You didn't want Lyney to take on any duties he didn't have to yet, even if he'll most likely be your wife's successor one day. The pressure was too much. You didn't want him to feel the way you did.

Behind him, you saw two agents enter the kitchen through the backdoor. Masks obscured their faces, but the aura they let in was grim and cold. One you were so awfully familiar with, including the documents in their hands. A red envelope peeked out, a silent sign of more carnage and death raised by your own hands. The pressure in your chest suddenly increased once more when the guilt crept back up your body and whispered those evil words of self-doubt into your ears again. "How... How many this time?" You breathed out, a hand pressed to your chest in pain. Lyney grabbed onto your arm in surprise as your body nearly keeled over. Your mind was ringing, and you couldn't even hear the response to your question anymore.

It was all too much. You couldn't take it anymore. In the forefront of your mind, the woman that raised you gave you a "proud" smile, like she always did. It sickened you, for it meant that you've done something that once again proved that your title was cursed.

"Mother!" Lyney yelled out in panic, quick to alert everyone around them to your collapsing form. This has never happened before. The Lady of the House never fell, never faltered. And yet, as you now laid there on the floor, hands pressed against your chest as you heaved painfully, unable to breathe, you realised that everything you've done in your life has led you to this point. This was karma. This was the pain you deserved. Your children's terrified faces faded away and swirled into your mother's dark, sinister gaze. She reached out to you, her gloved hand pressing against your sweating forehead and tearstruck eyes, but you didn't feel any comfort. You felt like another death report, her favorite and one she has been waiting for forever.

If this is how you died, then so be it. One thing about Curcabena was that she'll always find a place for you to sit next to her no matter what. This time, you supposed, it would be in hell for the hurt you've caused.

How fitting.

"... Is she going to ever wake up?" "Not for a while. The doctors said the coma is necessary for her recovery. The reanimation took too long and... it's on her now to awaken." Lynette took a deep breath, her voice coming out in hushed whispers in fear of being overheard by their stressed Father. When Arlecchino came back come after an emergency letter practically crashed into the meeting room through a panicked Fatui agent, she found herself in the middle of a near warzone. You kept the house together at all times. But with you being in a medically induced coma now, everything fell right onto Lyney's shoulders. The one thing you never wanted.

The Knave had yet to say a thing, her lips pressed into a thin line at all times, as she silently moved to reorganize everyone and ease the pressure off of the young man's shoulders. Not even three days of taking on everything, and he was done emotionally and physically. How did his mother do it every day? How was she able to function? How was she able to keep everything in mind, do every task with perfect precision? He had so much to still learn, and that's what your absence proved him so painfully.

But hope still remained. If you woke up soon, then things would get better. Then, no one needed to be so terrified anymore.

Freminet nervously leaned against the doorway to your room, red eyes casted downwards to his shoes in silent shame. Guilt was eating everyone in the house up, their hearts aching with the question, "Could we have done more?". Yet their father wasn't keen on answering anything, her reassurance coming in the form of stern orders and a call for strength from them all.

"I see... in that case, I'll stay and watch over her for the night. You should go rest, Lynette." The young man spoke, watching as his sister exhaled a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. No one was getting any sleep lately, but it's the thought that counted. Passing by him with a short hug they both needed, Freminet watched her disappear into the darkness of the corridor, the moonlight filtering in through the windows leading her way. Stepping into the room with a soft sigh, he closed the door behind him and approached your sleeping form. His father hadn't stepped into this room much due to how busy she was with the chaos that broke out with your absence... but when she was in here, he saw the way she'd just stare at you, the pain in those stern eyes melting the ice and leaving behind a worried, foreign gaze that was rare to see on her.

Pulling a chair to the edge of the bed, he leaned his head against your slowly rising and falling chest, his eyes fluttering close in hopes of catching the tears that threatened to fall again. He wanted you to wake up so badly. It hurt to see you in this broken, weakened state. You were so pale and looked hollow, like all the life had been taken out of you. It was a terrifying sight that he could only barely comprehend. You have never looked like this before. You were always so strong and domineering.

He just couldn't believe it.

Fingers running through his blonde hair calmly is what made him flinch back to reality, his body reeling backward in surprise, yet the hand kept him there firmly. "Calm down, child... don't be afraid. It's just me." It was your voice, yet it sounded raspy and defeated, a slight slur to it from the lack of using it. Freminet froze and stared into the white covers of your bed, his tears dampening the soft fabric. But you didn't seem to notice his plight at first. He wanted to stay still, in case this was a dream. He was afraid that a single sudden move would make you fall back into your coma, the irrational thought plaguing him painfully.

"Mother..." "... Is this... heaven, after all?" You whispered, mind returning to the woman that haunted you. Surely, this must be the bliss before the storm. You imagined that soon flames and the hands of the children you've sent to their death would reach out and drag you down with them. And yet, all you got was the blonde boy pulling himself back again and grabbing onto your hand. "N-No! You're... you're alive." He stuttered out in panic and confusion, wishing someone else would help him, someone else could be here with you and take care of you much better than he could.

But once you processed those words of his, your heart skipped a beat in panic. The emotions finally caught up to you, and the surge of emotions made you attempt to sit up. Letting out a small yelp, Freminet attempted to hold you down and comfort you, knowing how you were about the house and your duties. The doctors had warned about this happening, too. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer strength you demonstrated despite everything that happened. Something which could prove deadly soon, if you didn't relax immideatly.

And as though the heavens had heard his prayers, the door to the room creaked open, and in came his Father, an unreadable expression on her face at the sight of your struggling form. You were alive and somehow filled with energy, which unnerved her a little deep down. This certainly was going against your bedrest orders. "Peruere, I... I'm sorry for disappointing you- I'll get back to my duties as soon as I-" Her hand rose, and your deafening silence came with it. Taking slow steps towards you, her hand came down to rest on top of her trembling son's head. A silent absolvation from his duties for tonight.

"It's okay. You have not disappointed me in the slightest. Now rest." Her voice was stern and cold like it always was, but beneath the icy surface, you could feel the warmth and worry spread through her like a wild fire. She didn't want you to feel this way, and you could tell that the state you were in hurt her deep down. You and your family were her only weaknesses. Wanting to ease her pain, you leaned back into the soft pillows, eyes not daring to look up at her anymore. Why did you feel so ashamed? Perhaps because you should have taken care of yourself better. If you had, then maybe you wouldn't feel like a burden now. As though she was reading your mind, Arlecchino gave her son a curt nod, which he immideatly took as his sign to reluctantly leave.

Silence now overtook you both until she sighed and took a seat in the chair Freminet was in earlier. The moonlight filtering in through the open window illuminated the side of her tense face, her unique eyes near glowing. It was a peaceful moment, despite the pain that now raked through your entire body and especially chest. You closed your eyes weakly in relief when you felt her clawed hand carefully caress your sweat drenched face, your throat feeling so awfully dry as you gulped.

"I... I need to get up... I need to go back to work." "Not for a while." "... For how long then." A week maybe, you hoped. It was more than enough. It was all you allowed yourself, and even that was pushing it. Your restless mind was spinning in circles at all the tasks it still had to complete, and you felt yourself at a loss for words when she shook her head with the faintest frown. She knew you too well. You were an open book she had read many times over and couldn't get enough of. "Six weeks. Perhaps even longer after, depending on your state-..." She stopped herself when she saw your body trembling, and in the dimmest moonlight, she saw tears glinting in your eyes.

"Please don't cry. This is for your own good. I was... afraid when I heard of what happened. In fact, I'm grateful that you are alive, my songbird." Oh, how delicate her words were. Her honesty was forever going to be proof of her undying love for you. The ache is your heart lessened at the gentle warmth that spread through you from her touch, her tone lulling you into the safety you've craved ever since you fluttered your eyes open again. If only the guilt left with it. "What of our children? I must've scared them terribly. Especially my poor Fremi'..." You whispered after a moment of contemplation. Arlecchino watched your sick, tired form with kind eyes that were only reserved for you.

She figured that you'd feel this way. You were always so desperate to prove yourself to absolutely everyone. Whether it was to her, your children, or even the entire organization, you wanted to show everyone that you were better than Crucabena. Yet no matter how many years past, and no matter how much you achieved, you were never able to realise the truth. You had always been better than her from day one. The moment you rebelled and refused to take her side on the day, Arlecchino defeated her was proof of it.

"Do not fret over them. The children are strong. It is you that we need to worry about now. Just take it easy and sleep." Her words were comforting, even if short and to the point. You trusted them with your life. And yet, the feeling of being a burden just creeped up your body until you fell into a restless slumber once more.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing short of attention and borderline spoiling from all children in the house and beyond. Whether young or old, they all took care of you in the same way you cared for them. Something you could only barely handle. You felt like you should be doing that for them only, never the other way around. Yet under your wife's iron gaze, you were left with no choice but to accept your fate and stay put in bed or, on the rare occasion, in the living room near the fireplace. Lyney and his siblings especially took charge of your care, and you couldn't help but feel guilty at what you've put them through. You had attempted to apologize to the young man plenty of times for simply collapsing the way you did in front of him, but he'd always wave you off with a gentle smile. One they all attempted for you to mirror again.

The magician and Lynette would perform small shows just for you, knowing how much you enjoyed their tricks. Freminet, who was practically glued to your side, would read books with you about sea animals, whilst the other children brought you tasty pastries and food. The house was kept spotless by everyone, and you didn't have to lift a singular finger. And your wife was more affectionate with you in her own special way. Gentle kisses and careful, early morning cuddles were the norm, despite her reluctance for physical touch beforehand. You could tell through her actions that the state you were in had hit you deeper than she was most likely aware, and it didn't help the small guilt that was still left in your heart. All she had left from her old life was you. The woman she considered her wife and the mother of the house.

And by the time you've mostly recovered fully, you realised that the past wasn't haunting you anymore. Crucabena's strict hold on you had faded away, even if you knew that she was simply waiting for your arrival in hell one day. But your small revenge would leave her seething, absolutely enraged for years to come first.

In fact, it felt so good to be alive now.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #arlechinno genshin #genshin arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #x reader

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idiotgojo · 8 months ago

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Megumi in Heart Diffraction Glasses ♡♡♡

warning; nothing just tooth-rotting fluff and grumpy megumi, school au

Megumi had been in a foul mood all day, snapping at classmates and avoiding eye contact with anyone who tried to talk to him. It wasn't just a bad day; it was terrible as if he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Not even seeing you when he got to school could lighten up his mood. You noticed his sour attitude and wanted to cheer him up, but every time he saw you walk toward him, he'd turn around and walk in the opposite direction ignoring you too.

It was finally after school hours that you found him sitting alone, shoulders slumped at the bottom of the staircase nobody uses near the ground. The sun was setting, and orange hues were cast across the field of boys playing football.

"Hi gloomy," you said approaching him, he was surprised to see you but at least wasn't making a run for it this time. He didn't say anything, just went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. You sat beside him on the stairs looking at the beautiful sky that was turning pink and purple.

"I really don't want to talk right now," he said after a long silence. "Not even if I offer you your favorites?" you opened a wrapper of these ginger-flavoured sweet treats, offering the whole thing to him.

You watched him pick a few out, trying not to grin as his expression softened slightly. Before you knew it, he was crumpling the empty packet. "I've just been having a terrible day. A series of unfortunate events," he grumbled incoherently, not wanting to delve into details.

You scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "I get it. Sometimes everything seems to go wrong. But you know what? You don't have to go through it alone. I'm here."

He didn't respond immediately, but his posture gradually relaxed as you continued offering comforting words and small jokes to lighten the mood. You rummaged through your bag, searching for something, while Megumi waited patiently.

"Look what I've got!" you said, presenting ridiculous red colored heart-shaped glasses.

Megumi raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "What are those?"

"They're those new heart diffraction glasses!" you explained, slipping them onto his face. "They turn every light into tiny hearts. Perfect for brightening up a bad day."

He looked around, blinking as the world transformed into a field of glowing hearts. His initial skepticism gave way to a surprised chuckle, his eyes softening in awe.

"Alright, alright," Megumi said with a small, affectionate smile. "I'll admit, this is kind of amazing," His gaze lingered from the scene ahead of him to you, your smile accompanied by a million little hearts in the background. He couldn't help but be charmed by how you seemed to light up his world. "And so are you" he added.

As the two of you sat there, surrounded by the playful glow of heart-shaped lights, Megumi realized that sometimes, the smallest gestures could make the biggest difference.

note; requested by @blue-musingss , I'm sorry but when I posted the original asks Tumblr's tags weren't working so I had to take that one down and repost. Hope you like this one!

#megumi fushiguro #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x y/n #jjk fluff #megumi fluff #sage.receipts

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calaisreno · 4 months ago

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Re-Read Recs: Victorian Edition

Thanks to @totallysilvergirl for pointing me to this post by @acethatlovesdinos asking for more Victorian Johnlock. Your timing is great; I was just compiling a list of Victorian setting fics for my next RRR post!

If you go searching specifically for Johnlock in a Victorian setting, part of the problem, as always, will be finding things. As admirable as the AO3 tagging system is, when you're searching for something specific, you still have to dig a bit.

Many people, myself included, assign all their Victorian stories to the fandom tag "Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle."

But some writers add "Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle" to all their stories, including those set in BBC or other adaptations, because they wish to attribute the characters' creator.

And some do not use the ACD tag at all because their stories, even those in a Victorian setting, are inspired by the BBC adaptation and imagined with those characters.

There are other tags: Victorian, Victorian Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Victorian Holmes/Watson, Victorian Johnlock.

(My own approach: readers may imagine whatever actors they prefer; I tag by the setting. Even so, I've tagged stories set in the 1920s and 1820s as ACD, even though these are outside of the Victorian Era.)

There is no one-click method to separate out all the stories, and only the stories, where Watson and Holmes are together in a Victorian setting. AO3 lets us use tags however we wish; it's a folksonomy, a collaborative system. For the number and variety of stories contained there, it is the most practical method.

You can search an individual author's works, filtering and sorting by kudos, hits, relationships, tags, and other things. You can search anyone's bookmarks in the same way. (I'm always surprised when people don't know this!)

If you search my works, for example, you will find 60 stories in the Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle fandom. A couple of those are tagged 'timetravel,' so if you don't want that, you can exclude that tag. If you don't want any stories with Mary Morstan married to John Watson, you can exclude John Watson/Mary Morstan under Relationships.

However you search, if you filter your search results by hits or kudos, you will find that stories in the ACD/Victorian Johnlock category have many fewer of these. AO3 went live only a year or so before BBC Sherlock began to air, and it was one of the top fandoms for many years. There are a huge number of stories in the BBC fandom.

But there are dedicated and talented authors who have been writing Holmes/Watson for a long time, and today I'd like to point you towards a few of them. Here are some of my favorite re-reads:

Memento Vivere - @mydogwatson - The life stories of Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes and John Watson. An alternate history.

My Gentle Sin Is This - janeofarc - It takes a near miss for Holmes to realize that he cannot imagine his life without Watson.

Missing Pages - @PlaidAdder - a group of interlinked short stories (most between 2000 and 7000 words) which tell the story of how Holmes and Watson really came to be separated at the Reichenbach Falls, and how they found each other again

Missing - @Random_Nexus - Holmes is missing. Watson is trying to figure out where he is and what happened.

Oubliette - gardnerhill - A series: a treatise on love and grief. Watson is kidnapped by a gang; Holmes must find him before it's too late.

Laphroaig in the Lumber Room - wordybirdy - Holmes & Watson discover a bottle of Laphroaig inside the lumber room at Baker Street. A drinking game of truth results in intimate confessions.

All of these authors have written many excellent Victorian Holmes/Watson fics. But there are many more you should look at if you want to read more of our boys in their original canon setting. I think I will have to write a Part 2 for this post!

Thanks for reblogging!

@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes

@redmondcollege @raina-at @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@a-victorian-girl @ghostofnuggetspast @friday411

@meetinginsamarra @inevitably-johnlocked @copperplatebeech

#johnlock #victorian husbands #victorian era #acd johnlock #sherlock holmes/john watson #granada holmes #re-read recs #johnlock fanfiction #fic recs #finding fics

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daisyvisions · 8 months ago

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Unspoken Words (Pt. 3)

➺ Pairing: best friend!Sangyeon x afab!reader x enemy!Hyunjae

➺ Summary: If someone were to tell you that you'd be in a fake relationship with the person you despise the most just to make your best friend jealous, you would've laughed in their face. But here you are... caught up in this exact situation.

➺ Word Count: 7.4K

➺ Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI) very angsty but with a happy ending, jealousy, confessions, some arguments, mentions of being drunk, heated makeouts, groping, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f! receiving), slight masturbation, marking, neck biting, slight dry humping, pet names (sweetheart) lots and lots of sexual tension y'all (pls let me know if I missed anything!)

➺ A/N: Okay hear me out... it wasn't supposed to take this long for me to write this I swear 😭 but life got in the way huhu but anyways WOW 7.4K words? this is the longest fic I've ever written! This is the last part of this series and while I'm sad it has to come to an end, I'm just very proud of this series as a whole! Proofread once, I hope you enjoy this last part!

➺ Part 1 | Part 2

➺ Network and tags: @deoboyznet @winterchimez @snowflakewhispers @aimeecarreros and the anon that reminded me to write for it bless you I hope you see this!

As your body sways to the rhythm of the music blasting through the speakers, you can't help but become immersed in the kaleidoscope of colors moving around you. You finally feel relaxed enough after a couple of drinks and slowly let everything around you move through you like an ocean wave.

It's been a while since you've been this loose, especially with all the college requirements piling on you like bricks. You needed this, especially since it was your birthday. You deserved to have a break and not think of any responsibilities for a moment and have fun with the person you adore the most… your best friend. Speaking of best friend, where the hell is he right now?

Your mind pulls you away from your reverie as your eyes frantically search for the man who was with you all night. The man who had your whole birthday planned out and dragged you to this place. And just like a moth to a flame, you spot him easily across the room sitting by the bar as he watches you with his warm eyes, the growing smile on his face as soon as his eyes finally meet yours.

Without hesitation, you make your way towards him, weaving through the sea of bodies. You stop right in front of where he sits, your body wedged between his legs as you place your hands on his shoulders for stability. His eyes grow wide as you slowly lean closer to him, wondering what you might do next.

"C'mon Sangyeon, dance with me!" Your mouth is dangerously close to his ear as you try your best to speak above the reverberating music around you.

"I think I'll pass. I'm good right here," he responds as his hand holds your waist to stop you from swaying.

"You can't say no, it's my birthday, remember?" you remind him, your tone playful yet insistent.

Sangyeon hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the crowded dance floor. You can see the internal struggle playing out on his face. He lets out a heavy sigh, remembering that he was the one who set that rule for the evening to begin with. It was the condition he had suggested in order for you to say yes to going out tonight.

"Okay… let's dance," he sighs, quickly chugging down the rest of his drink before allowing you to lead him onto the dance floor.

As soon as you step foot on the dance floor, Sangyeon grabs your wrist and makes you twirl for him. You laugh at the silly gesture but continue to dance with him and let the music move through both of you.

He laughs at how loose-limbed your movements have become but still tries to match your energy nonetheless despite not being much of a dancer. Sangyeon can't help but smile as butterflies soar throughout his body.

He can't believe how lucky he is to have you in his life, wishing for moments like this to never end.

Later on in the night as you both walk back to your apartment, Sangyeon wraps his arm around you, trying to keep your balance as you yap about anything and everything. For some, this would be considered bothersome, having to be the caretaker of their tipsy friend. But to Sangyeon, it doesn't matter as long as it was you.

Aside from getting you home safe, all he can focus on is the beautiful sound of your voice and the way you hold onto him closely. The smell of your perfume was far more intoxicating than the drinks you downed tonight.

When you both finally make it to your front door, you suddenly spin around to hug Sangyeon tightly. "This was the best birthday ever, thank you so much Sangyeon," you mumble against his shoulder.

"Anything for my girl," he smiles, returning the same hug you're giving him.

His cheek presses against your head, taking all the strength he could muster to not kiss your temple. You both hug each other for a little while longer, not wanting this moment to end. As soon as you reluctantly pull away from one another, Sangyeon chuckles at the tousled appearance of your hair.

"Here, let me just—" Sangyeon's hand reaches for the loose strand of hair and gently tucks it behind your ear. You impulsively press your cheek onto his palm, letting the heat of his skin cradle you as you sigh dreamily.

You look up at him with these sultry eyes, and Sangyeon can't help but feel a shiver run down his spine. This kind of thing has never happened between the two of you. He tries his best to ignore the sudden warmth blooming at the back of his neck but fails as soon as his eyes gravitate towards your lips almost touching his palm.

"Sangyeon?"

Beep, beep, beep! The sound of your alarm rings as you wake up from your dream. You find yourself smiling as you open your eyes, but reality hits you like a lightning strike as you soon realize who was the male lead of your dream.

You aren't upset because the dream ended so abruptly, but rather the scenario reminds you of a time when you and Sangyeon were happy. When you two were still friends and not in the shit show you're currently in where he makes you feel like a total stranger.

Before you start wallowing in your own sadness, you rub your eyes and immediately get up from your bed, stretch, and check your phone. Today, you're assigned to check the inventory and the progress of everything the team needs for the play next week. While that sounds easy to do, it also means you have to quality check and sort out all the props, costumes, and other items before the tech rehearsal.

Today is definitely going to be a long one, but at least it will give you enough distraction from overanalyzing that dream, right?

You slowly exhale a sigh of frustration as you continue untangling the mess of rope on your lap. Not only have you been trying to straighten them out for the past hour or so, but you also start to feel a numbing pain in your tailbone as you sit cross-legged on the stage. It was a mistake positioning yourself here as you figure out this task, but at least you were a few more tasks away from calling it a day.

"Didn't expect to see you here—" A deep voice startles you. You were so focused on unraveling the rope from its tangled knots that you didn't pay attention to the creaking sound of the auditorium's entrance.

You clutch your chest, trying to calm your heartbeat while your eyes search for the source of the voice. You'd think finding who the voice belonged to would calm your nerves, but you suddenly feel your heart pounding harder than it did a few seconds ago when your eyes finally lock in on the other person's face. Oh god… Sangyeon.

"Uh—" You try to swallow down the non-existent lump stuck in your throat. "The rest of the team couldn't make it today so I volunteered to help…"

"I know, I signed up with you weeks ago to check on inventory, remember?" He awkwardly laughs. And in that moment, it only occurred to you that you did in fact sign up with Sangyeon for this weeks ago, the whole rift between you two making you forget that little detail.

"R-right…" You turn away to focus on the task at hand before he spots the embarrassed look on your face, quietly praying that he will decide to just leave you to your work.

But apparently, the universe had other plans for you today.

Sangyeon starts walking down the center aisle of the auditorium. The sound of his footsteps is so slow and gentle it's more nerve-wracking than any sound you've ever heard. You really do try your best to ignore him, but that alone starts to become difficult as the faint scent of his warm cologne starts to invade your senses.

"Need a hand?" Sangyeon offers, taking a step closer to the edge of the stage.

"No, I've got it," you quickly reply as your eyebrows furrow in frustration at a particularly difficult knot.

Sangyeon chuckles at your stubbornness, finding it cute rather than annoying. Suddenly, he places his hands on the edge of the stage and pulls himself up, his figure now closer to you than ever before as he sits right across from you.

"Here—" He grabs the tumbleweed of rope from your hands and starts to untangle the mess effortlessly.

"You were always a stubborn one, huh?" he teases, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment.

"I only learn from the best," you reply, sharing a slightly awkward laugh together.

"Come on," Sangyeon says, his voice softer now. "I'll help you so you don't stay up too late."

At first, you were worried about how awkward it would be to have Sangyeon around you for a couple more hours considering everything that has happened between you two. But much to your surprise, it was like nothing happened at all, as if you two were just picking up where your friendship had left off.

The first couple of minutes or so were obviously weird, but as soon as Sangyeon made a joke about an incident that happened backstage weeks ago with two of the crew members, you couldn't help but burst out laughing. From that point on, you two were talking nonstop as you tried to untangle the rope together. And for the first time in weeks, you both felt that missing part of you become whole again.

By the time you both finished straightening out the rope, he asked you what other tasks you had left so he could work on some while you did the other half. You both got up to do your tasks and met back at the same spot where you sat cross-legged from one another to finish retouching the paint on some props.

As the night went on, Sangyeon couldn't help but steal glances at you as you focused on painting the item in your hand. A warm, fuzzy feeling engulfed his entire body, remembering how it felt to be around you like this again.

He suddenly snapped back into reality as you let out a loud sigh as you brush the loose hair from your cheek with the back of your hand. A light streak of paint smudges your skin, making Sangyeon chuckle at the sight of it.

"What's so funny?" You looked at him quizzically. Sangyeon couldn't help but smile at your confused face. Without hesitation, he put down the brush in his hand and leaned closer to you.

"You've got a little something—" He held your head steady with his palm as his thumb tried to remove the smudge of paint on your cheek.

You suddenly became aware of how close you were to Sangyeon. You could see every detail of his face. Your heart began to race as you realized he was staring at you intently, his breath catching in his throat.

"T-there. Just a bit of paint, that's all—" Sangyeon stammered, his eyes never leaving your face. Before he could lower his hand, you impulsively grabbed his wrist a little more firmly than you had hoped, instantly missing the warmth of his palm against your cheek.

You melt at the touch of his caress, eyes closing as his warm hand envelops your skin. You turn your head slightly for your lips to lightly touch his inner wrist. Your heart starts pounding out of your chest; it's as if this moment seems too familiar to you.

"Sangyeon?" You say his name under your breath, wondering if he could hear how loud your heart is beating in this moment. Wondering if his heart is also beating as loud as yours.

Sangyeon's lips part, his mind running a mile a minute as he tries to find the right words to say. How can he, especially when you look at him with deep longing? After everything that has happened between you two?

He sees your eyes falter with his lack of response as you try to slowly pull away from him. Regret starts to consume him, knowing that this would be the last time he'd ever get close to you again.

No, he can't lose you, not like this. It's either he does it now or regrets this for the rest of his life.

"Fuck it—" Sangyeon grips the back of your neck and pulls you towards him, your lips suddenly pressed against his.

You impulsively place your hand on his chest and push him away, scanning his face for his reaction. But all you can see is how dilated his pupils are, looking at you with an intense gaze you have never seen before. Suddenly, the air around becomes stuffy and surges with desire all at once.

Without a word, you grab the fabric of his shirt and pull him towards you desperately as you smash your lips against his once more. Sangyeon responds with the same level of desperation as he cups your face between his warm hands and presses a deeper kiss onto you. He groans at the sound of your faint whimper as he hastily pushes the props and other items that stand between you two to the side, not giving a damn if they get all messed up.

His body hovers over yours as he leans closer to you, gently guiding your back onto the wooden floor of the stage. Your hands try to cling onto his broad shoulders, but as soon as you lay completely flat beneath Sangyeon, you find yourself grabbing onto the back of his hair and pulling him closer than ever before.

He inserts his knee between your legs, causing them to split apart while he tries his best not to place his entire weight onto you. Your core accidentally brushes against his thigh as you both adjust yourselves, gasping into his mouth at the delicious friction below. Sangyeon wastes no time slipping his tongue between your lips, moaning at how your tongues move together so perfectly. He needed to taste more of you or else he would go insane.

As Sangyeon's lips pull away from yours, they start to make a trail from your jaw down to the column of your neck. Each kiss feels as if he's leaving permanent marks on you despite not actually sucking on your skin. Your faint whimpers and sighs of satisfaction encourage him to keep going. He was so lost in the moment that he had forgotten where you were. But that didn't matter to him at all.

All he could think about was having you in his arms again.

Just as things were starting to become even more heated between you two, a loud ringing echoes in the air. The source was coming from your phone, which was just a few inches away from Sangyeon. At first, you tried to ignore it, too caught up in the sensation of Sangyeon's lips on your neck, his hands inching dangerously close to areas that made your core throb in excitement. But when the phone kept on ringing, you couldn't avoid the curiosity any longer.

You reach for your phone, trying to calm yourself before answering so that whoever was calling you wouldn't suspect anything odd on your end (but that alone was difficult as Sangyeon deepened the kisses on your neck).

"Hello?" Your phone fumbles against your ear as you try to hold it steady. "Oh, Hyunjae, I was just—"

As soon as you said his name, Sangyeon froze. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him, suddenly bringing him back to reality. He chuckles under his breath, mentally slapping himself for getting so carried away with you like this that he forgot the person thats between you and him.

Sangyeon lets go of your waist and abruptly gets up to straighten his clothes and hair. Without warning, he hops off the stage and walks towards the exit of the auditorium. You try to process what the fuck is happening all the while maintaining your current conversation with Hyunjae over the phone.

"I'll call you back, Hyunjae. Give me a sec—" You get up and try to follow Sangyeon quickly.

By the time you burst through the theater's doors, you see Sangyeon walking to the nearest fountain to take a sip and splash water on his face. You walk towards him carefully as he lets out a sigh of frustration and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Sangyeon?" you call out softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. But he flinches away from your touch, causing a massive ache in your chest.

"This... this was a mistake. I shouldn't have come here," he replies, his voice cold and distant.

"What? Sangyeon, can you please just—"

"It's nothing," he interrupts you.

"It's not nothing. Tell me."

"Seriously, it's nothing. Leave it alone."

"Sangyeon, cut the bullshit," you snap, your patience wearing thin.

"What?" he asks, his tone defensive.

"You've been acting weird towards me ever since the day after my birthday, and I want to know why," you say, your voice rising with frustration. "Why have you been avoiding me? Making me feel like shit?"

Something in Sangyeon seems to snap at your words. "You want to know what it is?" he practically shouts. "Hyunjae. He's my fucking problem. Doesn't help that I see you two everywhere I go and practically hear you two at each other like animals!"

"I didn't even know you were coming over that day!" you retort. "This all wouldn't have happened if you had just not cut me off like that. It fucking hurt, Sangyeon. Then now you can't just suddenly walk into my life again like nothing happened, kiss me, and expect everything to be okay!"

"You wouldn't understand," Sangyeon says, his voice suddenly tired.

"Understand what exactly?" you press.

"I—" Sangyeon struggles to get the words out of his throat.

"That night, your birthday party," he says slowly, searching your face. "You don't remember anything at all?"

"Stop with the cryptic shit and just spit it out!" you say, your patience completely gone.

"Fine!" Sangyeon explodes. "You want to know why I've been avoiding you this whole time?"

You nod, bracing yourself for whatever he's about to say.

"You kissed me."

His words hit you like a train. "W-what?"

"And you wanna know what hurts the most? The way you looked at me the next day when I almost tried to kiss you again. You looked at me with this terrified expression on your face, as if you regretted what had happened." His voice lowers as he explains. You don't notice the tiny dots of tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"W-why didn't you just tell me?" you murmur, the pieces falling into place as you realize your dream from last night was actually a forgotten memory.

"I panicked," Sangyeon admitted. "What if you didn't mean it at all and I just made a fool of myself? I didn't want to ruin our friendship. And I know how dumb it was of me to cut you off, but it hurt knowing that you didn't feel the same way and I would have to live with that memory every time I looked at you."

A numbing silence fills the air for a moment.

"I—I couldn't face you after knowing what your lips felt like, what it felt like to hold you. I'm a coward, I know that now. I should've apologized during the dance, but it was too late."

You stood there, frozen, as Sangyeon poured his heart out. Then he suddenly asks you a question that made your heart stop.

"If I hadn't kissed you just a while ago, would you still have talked to me? Would you have chosen me over Hyunjae?" Before you could formulate a response, your phone rang again. It was Hyunjae. Sangyeon's face fell, and he took a step back.

"Go," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll finish up the work inside."

You stand frozen as Sangyeon walks away. Everything suddenly feels too intense that you don’t even realize the tears that start to run down your cheeks. You need to get out of here or else you’ll drive yourself insane.

You grab your phone, fingers hovering over Hyunjae's number. At first you hesitate, torn between telling him the truth about your feelings for Sangyeon or seeking physical comfort to forget about everything. Your irrational brain picks the latter option instead.

“My place tonight? 😉”

Everything for you was completely a blur. One minute you're standing still outside the auditorium, the next you're pouncing on Hyunjae as soon as he rings your doorbell. You were so in over your head you had no grasp of time or any coherent thought.

"Looks like someone's missed me a bit too much, hm?" Hyunjae mumbles as he kisses you messily, pressing you against your front door.

"Just shut up and fuck me already, will you?" You breathe out, grabbing his hair in your hands.

"Yes, ma'am," he smirks before you both start hastily walking into the living room, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in your path.

To Hyunjae, this wouldn't be the first time he's seen you so worked up like this over him. But something about you right now seemed a bit off. Yes, seeing you incredibly horny like this was exciting, but your movements did not match the energy in your eyes. It was almost like you were on autopilot to him.

There's definitely something bothering you, he thinks. Or maybe you've been working all day and just need a way to relax. He'll probably check in on you later but for now, all he can think of is hearing those beautiful moans you make for him.

Too eager to get a taste of you, Hyunjae drags you over to your couch as he pulls you in to straddle his lap. He wastes no time littering your neck with kisses, groping your ass while you grind on his growing bulge.

"C'mere." He grabs your face in his hands, admiring little details of your face while he smiles to himself. "Tired from today?"

"Mhm." You hastily reply, wanting to not think of anything else except Hyunjae's touch. So you lean in to kiss his neck while moving your hips on his lap, your hands struggling to unbuckle his belt.

The way you answered just now threw Hyunjae off. There was definitely something wrong with you. How does he know? It was all in your eyes. Usually, you looked at Hyunjae directly when he called your attention. But now? It was like you were trying to completely avoid any sort of eye contact with him, and that was making him feel uneasy.

"Hey, uh—are you alright?" He calmly asks while gently holding your hips.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" You mumble against his throat. Hyunjae thought he might be overthinking, but the more you struggled to unbuckle his belt (which was not a difficult task for you in the past), he couldn't continue on with you like this.

He calls out your name, hoping you'd stop to look at him, but you don't pay him mind. He says your name two more times and you still ignore him. Instead, he grabs your wrists and holds them up to finally get your attention.

"Talk to me, please—" He searches your face, trying to get a better look at you.

"There's nothing to talk about, Hyunjae." You huff out, irritated that he suddenly halted your movements.

"You think I'm dumb? There is clearly something wrong and you don't wanna say it," he says sternly, trying not to get too irritated with how you're acting towards him.

"I'm telling you there's nothing wrong."

"I don't believe that at all."

"Ugh, Hyunjae, can you just stop? It's none of your business!"

"It is my business if it's making you this upset—"

"Why do I have to tell you anyway?! It's not like you're my real boyfriend—" Your eyes widen as you suddenly regret saying those last words. And to add fuel to the fire, the way Hyunjae looks at you makes you want to vomit. You've never seen his face drop in an instant. The way the light in his eyes burned out so quick, too.

"Hyunjae, I— I didn't mean to, I'm so—"

"You're right," Hyunjae interrupts you.

"What?" You look at him confused.

"You're right. I'm not your boyfriend. But I am your friend. And I deserve to know what's been bothering you because I care about you so much I hate seeing you like this."

His stern but concerned voice hits you so fast you end up bursting into tears on the spot. Sobbing hysterically into his chest as you cry out all the pent-up emotions you locked away from tonight.

Hyunjae instantly wraps his arms around you and envelops you in a warm embrace. He gently strokes your hair while steadying his own breath, waiting for you to calm down until you feel better. You both sit in silence for a few minutes until Hyunjae's voice breaks the ice.

"It's about Sangyeon, isn't it?" He says calmly. Your head springs up in response.

"How did you—"

"The last time I saw you cry like this was when you were outside the gym during the dance." Hyunjae cups your face and wipes the remaining tears from your eyes with his thumbs.

"And well… if you were crying about me, we know it's for an entirely different reason." He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. You let out a faint laugh as he continues to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

"You should be with him—" Hyunjae says as he looks into your eyes. Before you can even ask, he continues. "That's who you want to be with, right? That's who you should be with right now, not me."

"Hyunjae, I—" You shake your head in disbelief. "What about you?"

"Me?" He asks with a surprised tone. "This isn't about me! It's about you. I'm not the one you need, we both know that. We both knew that at the very beginning. It was always Sangyeon." Hyunjae's voice starts getting weaker the more he speaks out the truth.

"I've always seen the way he looked at you and how you looked at him. It's clear as day that you both need each other more than you both realize it."

"But what about our agreement?" You ask him softly.

"Remember the first rule? If one of us wants to stop this thing at any given moment, the contract will end." He pauses his thought as he looks at you a little longer, taking you to memory before letting out a big sigh.

"And besides, our agreement broke a long time ago."

"What do you mean?" Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Well—" Hyunjae's cheeks start to warm up. "I fell in love with you the night of our first time." He faintly smiles. Rule number two, if any of us catch some sort of feelings for one another, the contract is immediately terminated.

"That night, you looked at me like I was the most important person in the world. That I wasn't the guy everyone in school knew as some kind of dick. You looked at me as Hyunjae, the real Hyunjae." He brushes a hair behind your ear. "How dumb of me to fall for those pretty eyes of yours." He sighs once more, trying his best to not let you see his lips quivering.

"I'm so sorry—" You start to tear up, knowing that this would probably be the last moments you have with Hyunjae.

"Hey, don't go all soft on me just because I said that, alright?" Hyunjae tries to bring energy back into his voice.

"I knew what I was getting into. You deserve to be happy, and if I'm not the reason for your happiness and you're stuck with me, that would break my heart even more."

He grabs your face so you could look him in the eye properly. "Got it?" You nod in response.

"Now c'mon. Be a good hostess and walk me out of your apartment." Hyunjae smiles before grabbing your wrists and pulling you up from his lap.

He helps you grab your clothes on the floor and even dresses you up and does the same for himself after. By the time he sets one foot out your front door, he suddenly turns around to face you.

"Can I just have one more request from you before this is all over?" he asks.

"Oh? What would that be?" You look up at him.

"Just one kiss goodbye." He smirks playfully. You chuckle before nodding your head to give him the go signal.

You close your eyes waiting for the warmth of his lips on yours for the last time, but instead feel it on your forehead.

"Don't be a stranger, alright?" he places his hand on your shoulder and gently rubs it for the last time before completely heading out the door.

For the last couple of hours, Sangyeon did nothing but lie on his bed and stare at the ceiling. He could still feel his heart pounding in his ears from your heated exchange at the auditorium earlier this evening. What made things worse was the fact he could still feel your lips on his, and your little sighs of pleasure were replaying in his head.

Where did it all go wrong? Was it when he offered to help you? Or when you leaned into his palm just like you did when you first kissed him? He couldn't stop mentally beating himself up for going off like that on you when you didn't even remember that night to begin with.

And now, not only did he pour his heart out, but there's also a guaranteed chance you may never speak to him again. He regrets this night more than keeping the truth from you.

2 A.M. was what was read on the clock of his bedside table when he turned his head. He hardly even noticed the time go by as too many thoughts and emotions were stirring in his head. His head started to ache from staying up too late.

It was difficult to forget everything that had happened between you two, but sleep seemed like the best option for him at the moment to distance himself from the issue. Sangyeon tried to close his eyes and count sheep; he could slowly start to feel himself drift into sleep until he heard loud knocks on his front door.

Pissed off, he groans and trudges to see who had interrupted his moment to fall sleep. Sangyeon swings the door open quickly, hoping to show the person on the other side his irritable mood.

"You better have a good explanation as to why you're here—" Sangyeon's eyes widen at the unexpected visitor.

"Hyunjae? What— what are you doing here?" he asks.

"Do you love her?" Hyunjae looks him in the eye.

"What?" Sangyeon's eyebrows furrow at the vague question.

"I said," Hyunjae sighs out of frustration, "Do you love her? Because she fucking loves you, man. And if you don't go over there right now—" Hyunjae takes a step forward, his figure almost towering over Sangyeon's.

"You will lose the greatest person that has ever come into your life," he asserted firmly. Out of nowhere, Hyunjae pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind his back and shoves it into Sangyeon's hand.

"No time to explain, just go!" Hyunjae increases his voice slightly.

Sangyeon stays still for a moment, trying to process what the hell is happening right now, then moves hastily to grab his phone, keys, and put on his shoes. As soon as Sangyeon locks his front door, he turns around to face Hyunjae.

"T-thanks, man. I owe you one," he humbly says. Hyunjae faintly smiles, nodding in return. A silent truce being made between the two.

Sangyeon drives to your place like a maniac, not caring if he has run any stop lights or whatever. He doesn't care at all. All he can think about is getting there in time to see you before it's too late to win you back. By the time he reaches your front door, he takes a deep breath before ringing your doorbell.

You open the door slowly, cautious about who could be visiting you at this time. The moment you peek and get a glimpse of Sangyeon's face, your face knits in confusion.

"S-Sangyeon? What are you doing here?" You look up at him. Sangyeon can see how red and puffy your eyes are; it almost makes him mentally beat himself up once more, but he will deal with that later.

"I came to see you," he matches your whisper. "Can I come in?" You nod and open the door wider as he takes off his shoes, lets himself in, and places the bouquet of flowers down on a table. You're slightly stunned as soon as you close the door and turn around to see Sangyeon standing close to you.

"W-what are you doing?" Your voice quivers as your eyes search his.

"What I should've done a long time ago—" he gently grabs your face in his palms, observing your reaction to his touch before leaning in to give you a light kiss on the lips. You try your best to kiss him back with the same firmness despite feeling incredibly weak from crying your eyes out the whole night.

When Sangyeon pulls away from the kiss, he then gently kisses your forehead and slowly litters your face with his kisses. You instinctively wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer while your eyes flutter shut and melt into his touch. Tears of joy start streaming down your face as your heartbeat slowly paces itself to a calm rhythm.

"You really hurt me, you know?" you croak.

"And I'll never do that again." Sangyeon looks deeply into your eyes. "I don't care if I have to spend the rest of my life making it up to you." He kisses your forehead once more before pulling you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around your hips while yours move to wrap around his neck.

You stay like this for a while, basking in each other's warm embrace. As Sangyeon opens his eyes for a moment, he catches his reflection staring back at him through a mirror nearby. When his eyes drift to the back of your figure, his heartbeat starts to rise intensely.

It did not occur to him that when you opened the door, you were wearing nothing but a short and very thin nightgown. Naturally, the silk of the nightgown bunches up as his arms hold your waist, giving him a tasteful glimpse of not only your lace underwear but also the fact that the undergarment you’re wearing shows your ass beautifully.

Sangyeon suddenly starts a coughing fit, trying to beat his chest to clear his throat while you're taken aback.

"Are you okay? What happened?" You hold his shoulder while he attempts to regain his composure.

"I—uh—" He scratches the back of his head, trying his best to avoid looking in your direction. But that fails when you catch him scanning your figure and his cheeks suddenly glowing a shade of pink.

"I—I can turn around while you grab a robe." His eyes look around your apartment. You giggle at his sudden embarrassment, finding it rather endearing more than anything. You take a step closer to him, your bodies practically millimeters apart.

"It's alright Sangyeon, you can look." You try to hide the smirk forming on your lips.

"I'm trying to be a gentleman here, okay?" He replies, still trying to avoid your gaze. But he is instantly brought back to face you as you pull his chin with your thumb and index finger to get him to look directly into your eyes.

"But… what if I don't want you to be a gentleman tonight?" you whisper.

"Oh, thank fucking God—" Sangyeon pulls you into a heated kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck once more as his hands travel down to the doughy flesh of your ass, groping and kneading it.

Your hands are all over each other as you both struggle to make your way into your bedroom, giggling in between kisses as he nearly trips over your carpet. Sangyeon eagerly plops you down on the edge of your bed, kneeling down to match your eye level as you pull him by his shirt to swipe the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip. He moans into your mouth as he opens up for you, intertwining his tongue with yours as his hands rest on your lap.

Sangyeon slowly spreads your legs apart and inserts himself in between, his hands gripping your inner thighs as his lips start to travel down to your neck. You sigh out dreamily, feeling the warmth of his lips make their mark on you.

You suddenly yelp at a particular spot that Sangyeon nips. He pulls away to check if you're okay. You nod, giving him the signal to continue. Before diving back in, Sangyeon notices the spot he had nipped was already red, indicating a mark had been made prior to his own.

Hyunjae… He can already hear that laugh ringing in his ears, but decides not to let the idea get to him and focus on you right now.

Sangyeon continues to litter your neck with kisses, leaving a trail as he makes his way to kissing your inner thighs. Your breathing starts to shake as his lips inch closer to your sex. Sangyeon wasn't even near your core, and he could already feel the heat radiating from you, making him smirk against your skin before giving a featherlight kiss to the wet patch on your underwear.

"Sangyeon, please…" You whine, desperate to feel his tongue wedged between your folds.

"Shh, it’s okay," he looks up at you as he kisses your clothed mound once more. "Let me take the lead."

His fingers pull your panties to the side, feeling his length throb at the beautiful sight of your slick glistening, enticing him to just dive into you. And he does exactly that as he kisses your folds before lapping his tongue between them, taking his sweet time to memorize what you feel like against his wet muscle.

You let out a loud moan as you lie back to enjoy the feeling of Sangyeon between your legs. He continues on like this for a moment until the tip of his tongue starts to circle around your sensitive bud, making your hands fly to his head to pull his face closer to your core.

His lips suck on your throbbing clit as he inserts two fingers into your entrance, curling them up to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back. Your hips start to mindlessly move on their own as you grind yourself on Sangyeon's face. You sound incredibly hot; it spurs Sangyeon to lower his sweatpants down to free his aching cock and fist it harshly.

You start to feel your high approaching fast, the knot inside you ready to snap any second now. But the moment the vibrations of Sangyeon's groan ring against your core, you scream in ecstasy. You clench your thighs together, squeezing his head as your essence bursts in Sangyeon's mouth. For a quick moment, he thinks to himself that if he could choose to leave this earth, he would gladly go out by being suffocated between your legs.

He pulls his head away to check on you, your chest rising and falling heavily as you catch your breath. You couldn't believe the sight before you right now: Sangyeon's disheveled hair as he too catches his breath, the shine of your essence all over his mouth and chin, and the warmth of his cheeks flaring.

"T-that was—" You try to express your current state, but Sangyeon interrupts you as he quickly removes his shirt and gets up from his spot, exposing his glorious abs and his incredibly hard cock standing at attention. You were so mesmerized by his body you didn't even see him suddenly hovering over your body and kissing you like a man starved.

"Oh, I'm not finished with you yet, sweetheart—" he mumbles against your lips. He spreads your legs further apart with his knee and lowers his weight on you, the tip of his manhood nudging your sensitive clit in the process.

Sangyeon kisses your chest, busy distracting you with the way his mouth sucks on your exposed nipple. He swiftly grabs your legs to wrap them around his torso. And in one swift moment, his thick, veiny length fills you up entirely. You both moan as he starts to roll his hips into you, pumping himself in and out of your cunt as your walls grip around him tightly.

Your bodies begin to melt into each other the longer Sangyeon fucks into your heat, all the raw emotions that have been brewing between you finally free from their confinement. He buries his head into your neck as his thrusts start to become stuttered, the throb of his length inside you signaling his high approaching. You dig the heels of your feet into his lower back, locking him in place as you also feel yourself reaching for the stars once more.

"Let go, Sangyeon, it's okay." You moan into his ear, and instantly he lets out a guttural moan as he stills his movements. His warm release bursts inside you as your own high finally falls off the edge, your walls gripping his member like a vice as he embraces you tightly in the process.

You allow yourselves to stay like this a little longer, taking the time to process everything that had just happened before Sangyeon pulls out and gets up to grab a warm towel to get you cleaned up. He freshens up a bit in your bathroom before finally joining you under the covers. You lay your head on his chest as he pulls you in for a hug.

You sigh dreamily, looking up at him as he smiles at you. You both slowly kiss once more before finally drifting to sleep, both your hearts and minds finally put at ease.

The next day, you wake up with Sangyeon hugging you close. His lips are pressed on your forehead as you feel the warmth of his breath fanning you. You smile, recalling the events of last night and finally being in Sangyeon's arms again.

You slowly peel his arms off you as you get up to use the restroom and make yourself coffee. As you finish brewing your coffee, the bouquet of flowers Sangyeon had put down on the counter catches your eye. You gently grab the bouquet and find a good vase to transfer the flowers into. A sealed envelope tucked between the flowers falls to your feet.

You pick up the envelope and scan the item in your hand for a quick moment before opening the flap and seeing the card inside. You smile to yourself as soon as you read the note, a bittersweet feeling blooming in your chest as you read:

"Pretty girls like you shouldn't be crying anymore, okay? — L.HJ"

178 notes · View notes

kigieri · 7 months ago

Text

Turbulence

The Danny Ric Series🍯🦡

Daniel Ricciardo × Reader

Trying to get pregnant can be a beautiful journey, full of delight and happiness, or it can be a sorrowful venture, full of despair and self-loathing, as it goes on and on and on.

A/N: Welcome! I hope you enjoy The Danny Ric Series. It is dedicated to the wonderful man that brought so much joy to Formula One and its fans.

This is my longest fic to date, and I'm very proud of it! Getting pregnant can take a long time, sometimes up to, or over a decade. It's a journey that can look very different from person to person. I wanted to showcase this a little bit. I have no idea about IVF or adoption in Monaco or Australia, so I held the topic very brief.

This story on AO3.

Standing in front of the bathroom cabinet, she looked at the multiple packages of pregnancy tests. Footsteps could be heard, before Daniel stepped into the room. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind her back, kissing her neck lightly. "So, do you want to take one?" She smiled. "I'm not pregnant yet." He nodded, searching for her eyes in their reflection. "Yes, but I know you want to take one and we better make sure. We'll have to try extra hard if you aren't." A light red flushed her face and she grabbed behind herself to pinch Daniel. "You're unbelievable!" Laughter filled the air between them.

She picked one up and opened it, taking the content out of the box before placing it on the rim of the sink. "Let's do it." Daniel took the test from her and took a step back, while she read over the instructions. "Just normal procedure." He looked at her, slightly confused. "Uhm... And what's normal procedure?" Her eyes found his as she turned and looked up. "You... you've never heard how to take a pregnancy test?" He shook his head. "Where should I have gotten that information? We were always careful, there was never a scare, so I've got no idea." She shook her head in disbelieve. "Men. This is just..." She waved the description around. "It's just something you know."

The Aussie shrugged his shoulders. "You pee on it, wait a bit and if it's two lines we weren't as careful as we thought, right?" She rolled her eyes. "That's about right." A big smile took over his face and he stepped towards her, pulling her towards himself by the waist. He kissed her briefly. "Just take one, okay? To mark the beginning of the journey?" She nodded and kissed him again. "Gladly."

Twenty minutes and a lot of banter later, they were looking at a negative test. Their breath slightly faster from a short make-out session. While she carefully put away the test and washed her hands, he could not look away. "I love you." She turned towards him, a towel in her hands to dry them off. "I love you too." His smile was intoxicating and, after she had hung up the towel, she walked over to him.

"I cannot wait to start a family with you." His words were breathy, genuine and filled with emotions. "We've waited long enough, haven't we?" Daniel nodded, taking her into his arms once more. "It was worth it. I want it. We're happy, married," his hand reached for hers to stroke over their wedding band, "and we're more than ready." Her head rested against his chest. He continued, "The moment I will hold our child in my arms will be the happiest of my life, right before meeting and marrying you."

***

Two months had passed since that first test, and her circle had continued. Her period came just as regularly as before. She was sitting on their hotel bed after a race. She had left before Daniel, he had still been in a meeting and wanted to sign a few autographs afterwards. Her hands were occupied with taking out her earrings, she had already taken off the slight make-up she had put on that morning.

A little while later, while slipping out of her blouse, she looked at a hickey Daniel had left a few nights prior. It fell just below her neckline, so she had not needed to cover it with foundation. Her thoughts drifted to the week ahead, while she grabbed her pajama and walked into the bathroom. They had told her parents that they were trying for a child. Some people might find it peculiar, since it was intimate information, but she thought it was wonderful to include their families. After the next race, they would return to Perth, and they planned to inform Daniel's family as well.

After a quick shower, she laid down in bed, opening her book and starting to read. She tried to stay awake, wanting to greet her lover when he returned from the circuit. She had just finished a chapter when the lock gave off a beeping noise. Daniel entered silently, and a smile spread over his face when he saw she was still awake. He walked in and placed his backpack and keycard on the table, before walking over to the bed and leaning down to give her a quick kiss. "It's late. You should have gone to bed." She reached her hand up to stroke over his beard. "I wanted to greet you and give you a chance to talk." He nodded while stepping back and beginning to strip. "Thank you." He motioned towards the bathroom. "I'll take a quick shower first." And with those words he was already inside and the door fell shut behind him.

The shower could be heard in the bedroom, and she waited for it to stop before standing up and taking a fresh pair of boxers out of the closet. She opened the door slowly, the steam escaping the room hitting her nonetheless. Daniel was drying himself off as she held out the clothing to him. He smiled at her and took it. "Thanks. Forgot those." A slightly amused sound left her mouth. "Wasn't the first time, won't be the last one." He shook his head. "Nah."

Silence fell between them as Daniel got ready, and she sat down on the side of the bathtub. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Daniel's attention was caught by something on the little rack next to the toilet. "You got your period?" She nodded. "Yesterday evening. Didn't want to tell you before the race." He turned around. "No problem, you tell me whatever, whenever." A slight smile painted his lips. She stood up again. "Bed?" The Aussie nodded. "Let's go to bed. I'm dead on my feet."

They turned off the lights and slipped under the cover. Normally they slept without touching, they cuddled to fall asleep but turned away during the night, needing space to move. This night, however, Daniel's arm remained wrapped around her belly as they both dreamed about the small little family they were going to create.

***

Morning had creeped in some time ago, and they had enjoyed a quiet breakfast. The end of the season had come faster than either of them anticipated, but they were happy nonetheless. A little free time for themselves before it all began again. Daniel had started doing the dishes. He enjoyed the mundane tasks without pressure or an event in his neck.

The bathroom door had been closed for some time when he finally walked by it. He had wanted to check on her before going out to work on one of the dirt bikes that was making trouble. He knocked lightly, his knuckles barely hitting the wood. "Come in." Her voice was meek and brittle. The door creaked just a bit while he pushed it open, he wanted to fix that this break too. She was sitting on the closed toilet lid when he entered. Her vision was blurry when she looked up at him, her eyes tearful and puffy. Her cheeks were red, and her lower lip wobbled. She held out the pregnancy test silently, Daniel did not need to look at it to know the result.

He kneeled down in front of her, laying the test next to his legs on the ground. He also felt like crying, but right now he needed to be there for her. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed her tears away. "It will come. I hate it too, but it takes time. We've been trying for over half a year, but a lot of children have taken longer. It is normal." The nod she gave was barely noticeable. He leaned up a bit, and took her into his arms. "It will come. I know that, and you know that, and the waiting is painful... fuck." His own vision was turning blurry. "But that'll make it so much sweeter when they're here, okay?" She nodded into his neck, even though she was hardly convinced. His words filled her heart with warmth nonetheless.

Her arms encircled his shoulders. "I love you and I just want to be pregnant. Just have them here." Daniel nodded. "I understand." She stroked his neck and hairline. "I know it's hard for you too. You'll talk to me about it, right?" He nodded again. "I will. I promise. It's hard for me, too." A watery giggle left her mouth. "We'll do this together." He leaned back enough to look into her face. "It'll be really hard for you to get pregnant alone, I would think." A lough bubbled out of her, and Daniel released a breath he had been holding. There was much to be talked about, but she was smiling again.

***

A baby shower was not something she wished to attend at the moment, but she pushed her own feelings to the back of her head and tried to be as happy as possible for her friend. Both her and Daniel had been invited. He, however, had a race coming up and was already halfway around the globe.

The night before leaving, laying behind her, with one hand splayed across her stomach, he had whispered that she did not need to go. Not alone and not ever if she did not want to. She had shaken her head. Their journey may be harder, but she still wished to enjoy the happiness of others.

Now she was tying a small bow around the present. She had abstained from using wrapping paper or glitter, only a few stickers and a bow. The aftermath of today's party would be enough to clean up, even without all the presents that had to be opened.

She looked over at the magnetic board that they used instead of a pinboard. There, next to a neat and minimalistic invitation, hung the small ultrasound picture that had come with it. She had caught Daniel the evening it arrived, sitting at the dining table and staring at the little one. She had swallowed and walked by, not knowing how to approach him at that moment. After she had finished emptying the dishwasher, and before going to sleep, she had done the same. While looking at it she had cried, as silently as she could muster, but she was sure he had heard her anyway.

They had lain in bed that night, a space where a lot of their conversation about children now happened. He had spooned her once more, neither being able to look into the other's face. Daniel had started with small stories from his childhood, about his parents and siblings, and she had listened and shared her own stories. They might need longer, but they would get there. At least, she hoped so.

***

Going to the baby shower had been a good idea, it was a nice evening, with a lot of heartfelt stories and most of her friends in one place, which did not happen often. Coming back was hard, however.

She went through the next few days on autopilot, waiting for Daniel to return, but not entirely sure what she would tell him when he would. They could hardly try harder. There was little they could do but wait. Hope, month after month, that her period would stop. She wouldn't even say no to morning sickness, even though she was very sure she would regret that statement at one point or another.

When Daniel came home, she was vacuuming. He had told her when he would be arriving, but she had lost sight of the time, trying to occupy herself. They hugged and kissed, Daniel started talking about the weekend and what he had gotten up to, next to what she could see on the screen, and she talked about what she had done. She pulled up pictures from the baby shower and, since she had kept it secret from him until now, told him that it would be a boy. He was delighted by that.

They didn't talk about children that evening, or the day after, or the day after that. She simply did not know how to approach the topic, how to express her thoughts. She herself could hardly make sense of them.

In the end, it was Daniel that sat them down on the couch. He was very sure about what had been running through her mind since he came back. He didn't know what to say either, but he had another idea. One that wouldn't solve their problem, but one that would maybe help them be a bit more positive again.

"So, um. I was thinking of emptying the small room. Everything that's inside could be placed somewhere else. It's not that much, and then we'd have a blank space." Not knowing what she would think of it, he looked at her expectantly. He would suggest painting the room already, but collecting a few ideas and having the space free might help them get a bit of their excitement back. He hated the dread he sometimes felt, and he hated even more that he didn't know how she felt.

She took his hand and started playing with his fingers. She didn't look at him, that was another thing that had started recently, and he hated it but, once again, didn't know a solution too. "That's a very nice idea." Her voice was meek, the enthusiasm he had hoped for was not to be found. "But?" He turned his hand, squeezing hers. At that, she looked up at him. "I don't want to look at an empty room, not knowing when it will be filled." Her face had that apathetic look, the one he knew to associate with deep sadness coming from her.

"Okay, I understand that." He thought of something else, anything else, and remembered something Max had shown him a while ago. Kelly had created a Pinterest to redesign her daughter's room. Something like that may work.

"How about we start collecting ideas for the room? I know we both bookmark Instagram posts but something more specific. So that we'll really have a concept when it comes down to it. I know it'll take some time for you to decide on all the furniture." She smiled softly. He knew she liked it when he showed that he knew her. "I have already collected a few." He nodded, that was what he wanted to hear. "Then let's look over it together, let's really get into it, yes?" Her smile was contagious.

This would not solve the problem, but it would bring them together once more. It would bring them joy that they were, at this point, severely lacking. It would also simply give them more time. Something to fill the gap between now and that fateful day they were waiting for.

***

The doctor's appointment had been in her calendar for some time. She had laid it precisely so that Daniel could come with her. A bit of dread filled her when thinking about it, but also hope. This could help them, after almost three years of trying.

Daniel had bought her flowers this morning on his jog, promised her they would get pastries on the way back. No matter what the doctor was going to find today, she would have her partner by her side and he would stay. No matter what outcome there'd be.

The conversation was nice, this was not her first appointment with this gynecologist and she trusted her. Most of the testing had been done in advance and, as they were going through every little thing that regarded her reproductive system, Daniel held her hand.

He had already been tested for everything under the sun that could pose a problem with his fertility, and Daniel's doctor had told them the same thing her doctor was telling them now. There was no problem. There was no reason that could be found as to why they shouldn't be able to naturally conceive.

They talked a bit more about different options before saying their goodbyes and leaving. The confirmation was a relief, and Daniel hugged her tight when they were standing alone in the corridor. They had both let themselves be checked out before starting to try for a baby in the first place, but this second search had been more thorough, had focused more on things that could cause fertility issues, and now they knew there were non.

After the promised breakfast and a quick stroll along the harbour they found themselves back in their apartment. Daniel had sat down on the couch, and she had found herself a place on his lap. She had laid her head in the crook of his neck.

They were both contemplating what this meant. They could have children together, it was simply taking a long time. So they'd continue as they had before, trying and waiting. A game they were both sick off.

"You know what Lando said the other day?" His voice was filled with humour, not as enthusiastic as normally, a little bit dry. She rolled her eyes. "Do I even want to know?" Daniel shrugged, turning his head to give her a kiss on the hairline. "'This would all be so much easier if you were teenagers.'" She sat back a bit to look at his face, an incredulous look on her face. "Seriously? That little fucker!" Her exclamation was one of disbelieve, but she fell into slight laughter afterwards. "If one of you would have been a teen parent, it would have been Lando!" Daniel smiled too, the topic would be one that they couldn't sweep under the rug, but for today they'd had enough serious conversations. "I don't know, Pierre is also a contender." They fell into laughter once more. As they continued to bicker, one thing was clear. They'd do it together.

***

They had started talking more about it once again. Determined that they would grow on this journey. Even if it was hard. Their chat was filled with pictures of negative pregnancy tests, since Daniel wanted to know about every single one she took. Most of the time, even when he was in a completely different timezone, he facetimed her so they could talk during the wait.

She was very sure she could, at this point, estimate the time it took for the test to show a result by heart. There had been a time when she hadn't even bought pregnancy tests anymore, discouraged by their year-long trial. The simple motion of taking one from time to time was, however, showing her that it was still part of their life and that it would happen someday.

On the magnetic board in the kitchen hung a leaflet. It was folded and consisted of a few pages of content. It had hung there for quite some time. She had put it in her purse without much thinking, after seeing it laying on a side table at the doctors. There were descriptions in it of different ways of conception except the natural one, and a short introduction to the adoption process.

Daniel had asked her about it, and she had answered that she wanted to know the options they had. Now it was more of an eyesore to her. The options that were presented were valid and good ones, but not the ones she wished to take at this point in life. That's how she found herself walking over to it, in the middle of making dinner, and taking it down. She opened the bin and dropped it inside.

Later, after having had dinner, Daniel nodded towards the empty spot. "You took it down?" She nodded, laying down her cutlery. "I threw it out." He nodded in response, but his expression was questioning. "Why? It was a good pamphlet, I read through. I even, um, looked some of it up. Pretty informative and they presented different options." She leaned back, relaxing in her chair. Talking about it had become easier. "I know, I read it too. But it was not really what we were planing on, right? If we ever do consider it, we can get another one, but right now we're still trying... how did you say it? 'The old-fashioned way'!" Daniel smiled, bright and intoxicating. Once more, she thought about the love she harbored for him. "Yes, that's understandable."

He drank a bit and a comfortable silence settled over them, neither wanting to stand up just yet. "Would you consider other options?" His voice was low. She looked back at him, her gaze having drifted off to another point in the kitchen. "Yeah, we have talked about it before. We'd have to talk about it a lot more, of course, but I am open to something like IVF, or even adoption. I know that's a topic you have looked into a bit deeper." Daniel nodded and cleared his throat before he answered. "I think it's something important, and I would like to look into it even after you get pregnant." He searched for eye contact, gouging her reaction.

This was not a new conversation, something like this had come up multiple times before. The conversation had, however, never been this serious. They had talked about the process a bit and how they felt about it, but that he considered it this seriously was new to her. "Okay, I'm open to that. Do you want to talk more about it right now?" He drank some more water, apparently a bit nervous. "It's always something I have thought about. It is complicated and comes with more problems than I can probably think of, but every child deserves loving parents. They'd not be ours biologically, but I don't think that is the most important thing."

She thought about it for a few moments and nodded. "Yes. We'll have to talk about it a lot more, but I understand where you are coming from, and we want more than one child, so it is something to consider." Daniel smiled at her. "We don't have to plan it out now. We still have at least one child planned before that." He looked at her stomach before continuing, "There are seminars and stuff like that about it, so we could maybe look at that." She nodded once more. "I think that is a good idea."

***

Over the years they had been approached by different people with different attitudes. Sometimes it had been when they were together, but that had been more so in the beginning. The more time that passed without her getting pregnant, the more of their friends approached them individually.

When they had told their families, they had gotten a lot of heartfelt good wishes and a few snarky remarks from the younger members of the families. Daniel's mother had made a remark about becoming a grandmother in every second conversation for the remainder of the time they had spent there. His sister had talked about parenthood, the highs and lows of it. Painting a happy, but also quite difficult picture. They had, while talking about it after returning home, noticed that she had taken each of them aside to talk about the pregnancy and the first few months after it. She had told them about the hardships and that it could be a horrendous time. Giving both of them advice, catered to their role in it. They had both been quite touched by it and thanked her the next time she had called.

Sebastian had talked to Daniel during the phase where he was constantly worrying. She may not be pregnant, but he was already considering all the things he could do wrong as a new father. Seb, who had his own family, reassured him. He had told Daniel that he'd be a good father and that he would learn a lot. Parenting had aspects that were more natural than others, but as long as they'd do it as a couple, there shouldn't be anything important going wrong. After a few more frenzied interactions, he had cornered Daniel once more and had, as Lando would later call it, used 'dad jokes' to help. Which meant more reassurance, that a wrongly wrapped diaper would not make him a horrible father.

For her there had been a lot of advice regarding the pregnancy, some better than other, but all given with good intent. There came, however, a time when she was more than sick of hearing it. After one misguided comment from someone, she had, however, decided that any pregnancy advice was better than advice on how to conceive successfully.

There was a little confusion at the first race she visited after they decided they were ready to try. There had been quite a few people that had started conversations about pregnancy and children. She had not considered it public knowledge that they were trying for a child, but it seemed to be just that. After asking around a bit, she had found the source, and she couldn't even be mad about it. It seemed Daniel had talked so much about pregnancy and kids that it was just assumed that they were trying, and there had been a few incidents where people had discreetly asked him if she was indeed pregnant. Daniel was a bit embarrassed when she confronted him about it, but there was a bright smile on his face. He was not able to mask his excitement at the idea of being a parent with her.

The questions and the people giving advice had become less and less with time. When it came to the time when they really needed people to ask them how they were doing, there were few friends left that did.

She had been approached by one of her friends, concerned about her wellbeing, asking her how she was feeling about the prospect of pregnancy. After some reluctance, she had practically poured out her heart, which had been desperately needed. There had been people that had tried a lot longer than they had, but it did not make it easier. The pain was there, and even though Daniel was always at her side, sometimes the self-doubt simply wormed itself in. Was she the problem? Why couldn't her body do what she so desperately wanted from it?

Daniel's mental state at that time wasn't much better. Max took him aside at a race weekend and asked him about it, trying to help as best as he could. Daniel was not ready to talk about it, however. Deflecting and thanking him for the concern, but not opening up.

In the end, Blake was the person that came through to him. Not through one single conversation but through multiple small ones. He showed concern and support, through little gestures and conversations. It helped Daniel to realise that they had both been so absorbed in the grief of things that did not happen, that they had lost sight of the fact that they were in it together. That they had each other to lean on and that they needed to support each other.

They started to talk more again, they hadn't stopped, but there had been more silence and a lot of repetitive and meaningless conversations. The pregnancy wouldn't just happen, but there was more they could do, and so they started to work on it.

At the five-year mark of trying, they had decided to paint the walls of the nursery. Daniel had not removed his things yet, and it was still somewhere between an office and a storage room, but they had wanted to try out colours and motives so afterwards the walls were a bit mismatched and fun. When asked if the change in wallpaper meant anything, they shook their heads. There were hardships to be overcome, but life was good.

***

She was leaning against the doorframe of the living room. Daniel was sitting on the couch, his back turned towards her, and he was engrossed with his tablet. He hadn't noticed her presence yet. These little domestic moments filled her with a lot of happiness and a small smile formed on her face.

"Daniel?" Her voice was serious. He turned towards her. "Full first name. What can I do for you, love?" She smiled a bit more, loving the way he tried to immediately make her more comfortable with humour, without undermining whatever she was going to say. "My period's late. Like, late late." His face went through multiple emotions in the span of a moment, confusion, surprise, disbelief and delight. "Have you, you know?" He nodded in the direction of the bathroom. She shook her head, raising the pregnancy test in her hand. "I wanted you to be there. Just in case." There was a smile on her face, in anticipation for the thing they had waited almost six years for. The implication was double-edged nonetheless. In case she wasn't pregnant, so that she wouldn't be alone for another negative test.

Daniel smiled, reassuringly, and filled with more excitement than he had felt in a long time. "Let's go then." The way to the bathroom was the same she had taken often over the last few years, with a similar test in hand, but this time was different. There was a hope that hadn't been there before.

The procedure was the same as it had been the countless times before, but this time the waiting was different. They sat down on the edge of the bathtub, but after the first few minutes, she shook her head and stood up. She took a piece of toilet paper, dried off the test, and took Daniel's hand. Shortly afterwards they were sitting on their bed. He had his legs crossed, and she was leaning against him.

Daniel put an arm around her, stroking along hers. "It's gonna be positive. And if not, we're going to continue." She nodded, trying to calm herself down. If she had to pinpoint an emotion she was feeling right now, she would not be able to do it. There was too much going on in her head. She turned her head and looked at Daniel's profile. His gaze was focused on the test. "We'll have to decide on a name then, won't we?" His head turned towards her. "We already decided on that, and you know it." There was mock affront in his voice, and he put on an offended frown. She smiled and took his hand. "Yeah, I know."

The first few moments after Daniel's alarm went off neither of them moved, then he leaned forwards, picked up the test and held it out to her. Her hands were shaking lightly when she took it. Turning it around took more mental strength than she had ever thought possible for such a simple action.

Her vision was blurry, but the result was still visible to her. She looked at Daniel, but his face was already simply a blur, but he was also crying. She knew that. He took her into his arm, kissing the crown of her head before leaning down and placing his forehead against hers. "You're pregnant." His voice was shaky, and she knew that, if she would look at him, he would have the biggest smile on his face she had ever seen. "Yes, we're going to have a child." She looked down, looking at her stomach incredulously.

They simply sat together in silence, enjoying the feeling, the closeness and each other. There were doctor's appointments that needed to be made and a lot of things needed organising. This moment, however, was theirs to enjoy. Pregnancy would be no easy journey, it involved risks and challenges, as would parenthood, but they were in it together.

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genshinluvr · 2 years ago

Text

Final Moments

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You're somewhere alone, bleeding, and on the verge of death. Everyone is scrambling to reach out to you, but you're not picking up your phone, and no one knows where you are. Not even Nanook knows your whereabouts. You didn't think you could die in a universe you didn't belong to, but you were wrong. At least you were able to hear their voices in your final moments, right?

Note: I haven't written angst in so long. This is probably not the best angst I've written. This is an answer to an ask I received not long ago. I'm not sure how I feel about this mini-fic, but I think something sad happening for once is somewhat good for a fanfic one-shot series. To be really honest, it doesn't feel like angst to me. Idk if it's because I wrote it or if it's because it's not sad enough. Who knows. I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Major character death, blood, probably my worst angst

Word Count: 3.9k

Your connection with Nanook has been severed. Whenever you sleep, you and Nanook communicate while you’re asleep. When you’re unconscious due to being knocked out by a flying prosthetic arm, Nanook is there— while you’re physically unconscious. You and Nanook have always been connected through body and mind since your arrival to their— Nanook, your Astral Express, Stellaron Hunter, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI companions— universe. However, this is the first time you realize you and Nanook are no longer connected to each other.

In the state of unconsciousness, you’re in the void. Only this void is different from the one where Nanook is covering the sun and sky. This abyss you’re in is pitch black, and you’re the only living being in the endless darkness. There’s no sky, no sun, no stars to light a path along the way in the void. At first, you’re uncertain whether you’re physically in this void or if you’re just unconscious.

That is until you hear ringing in your ears, and light starts flooding in. You gasp aloud as if you finally made it to the surface after being underwater for more than you can handle. Your lungs hurt, and so does your head. As a matter of fact, now that you have regained consciousness, your entire body aches, and you’re tired. So tired. Your eyelids threaten to shut, but you’re trying your best not to lose consciousness again.

Where are you?

What happened?

You push yourself upward and slump against the wall, choking out a gasp and breathing heavily. Your heart hurts— you didn’t think it was possible for you to feel your heart hurting to the point where you want to cry. Your vision is blurry, and you try to rub your eyes, but you can’t feel your arms. Exhaustion soon overtakes your body, and you fall unconscious.

Meanwhile, on the Astral Express, everyone is crowding around on the Parlor Car, their phones facing upward on the table. Everyone has been trying to call you, only for them to get a voicemail, or the call would fail to go through. The monotonous beep haunts their minds as everyone frantically tries to reach out to you.

“Are you sure the signal is good? Maybe we can’t call them because of the awful signal on the Astral Express,” Caelus comments, chewing on his nails.

March ignores Caelus’ comment. She presses her phone against her ears, listening to the ringing. If the signal was terrible, then how come the phone call was going through for her? The ringing stopped briefly, making March gasp, startling everyone on the Astral Express.

“Hi, this is [Y/N]! Sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now—”

March groans, ending the call. “Never mind. I thought they answered my call, but I was wrong,” March sighs in defeat, sliding her phone on the table.

The lights on the Astral Express flicker, and the door slams open. Nanook steps into the Parlor Car, his gold eyes scanning the Parlor Car, searching for your face. Nanook sighs and stays close to the entrance, running his hands through his hair. Just as Nanook feared: you’re not on the Astral Express either.

Welt furrows his eyebrows at the Aeon of Destruction. “Nanook. Your presence is sudden,” says Welt.

“Where is [Y/N]? Are they not on the Astral Express?” Nanook asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Unfortunately, they’re not on the Astral Express. We,” Jing Yuan gestures to him, Blade, Luocha, Luka, Sampo, and Gepard, “were contacted by the Astral Express in hopes that [Y/N] is on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI. To everyone’s disappointment, they are nowhere to be found.”

After hearing Jing Yuan’s explanation, Nanook starts to visibly panic. The Aeon of Destruction paces back and forth, taking deep breaths and muttering something under his breath. Everyone on the Astral Express gazes at Nanook worriedly. This is the first time they see him act this way. Nanook has always had this cool, calm, and collected exterior. Nothing can phase him, and only you can get a reaction out of him.

Sampo raises a finger. “Hold up. Why are you asking us where [Y/N] is? Aren’t you the one who can communicate with [Y/N] inside their dreams?” Sampo asks, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows at the Aeon.

“Nanook, have you been able to contact them by any chance? We’ve been hitting countless dead ends, and we’re really worried about them,” Gepard says, looking at Nanook pleadingly.

Nanook sighs and stops pacing. He looks at the people on the Astral Express with a deep frown. While Sampo is correct about him being able to communicate with you through your dreams, the people on the Astral Express, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI aren’t the only ones whose struggling to get into contact with you.

Nanook wasn’t able to contact you through your dreams prior to your disappearance. When Nanook brought you into this universe, Nanook made sure to form this connection with you— this unbreakable bond between you and him. But despite creating this unbreakable bond, it somehow severed, and he can no longer contact you through your dreams and unconscious state.

This bond is supposed to be a way for him to track you anywhere in this universe. No matter how out of reach you are from him. Whether you’re in the Astral Express, on Jarilo-VI, the Xianzhou Luofu, the void, etc., Nanook should be able to feel your presence somewhere throughout the universe. Nanook mutters something, closing his eyes and pulling at the roots of his hair with frustration.

“What’s Nanook saying?” Himeko whispers, not taking her eyes off the anguish Aeon.

Luka whispers, “He’s muttering something about [Y/N] and the bond between them. I can’t hear what Nanook is saying, but those are the things I can pick out.”

Dan Heng stares at his phone intently, staring at your contact picture while listening to the monotonous ring. This is the fourth attempt. The fourth time he’s tried to call you, only for there to be a voicemail or just constant beeping that’s shaking him to his core. You can be anywhere in the universe, and finding your precise location without you telling them where you’re at will be the most challenging thing they deal with.

“Are they still not answering their phone, Dan Heng?” Luocha asks, approaching the black-haired man.

Dan Heng sighs, ending the call when he hears your voicemail through the speakers. “No,” Dan Heng mutters, shaking his head.

Blade stares at the panicking Nanook, frowning deeply. Blade sighs, rubbing his temples with shaky hands. As much as Blade wishes he was mishearing the things Nanook was muttering to himself, the more Blade thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Nanook is the one that brought you into this universe— he should know your exact location no matter what planet and fleet you’re on. Nanook should be able to communicate with you through your dreams or unconscious state, and because Nanook is visibly panicking and stressing out over your whereabouts, Blade concludes that—

“Your connection with [Y/N] has been severed, isn’t it?” Blade asks, breaking the tense silence in the Astral Express and bringing Nanook out of his thoughts.

Nanook clenches his jaws, nodding. “It has been severed, unfortunately. I do not know how it happened, and I’m sure [Y/N] isn’t the one that severed it. There’s no way for them to sever the connection,” Nanook replies.

Everyone stares at Nanook in horror. If Nanook is unable to contact you, then it’s very unlikely they’ll be able to find you sooner. You, [Y/N]. The same person not from their universe, the same precious star everyone holds dear to their hearts— whether as a best friend, little sibling, or a small crush that developed into something bigger— the same star that shines the brightest in the universe. You’re somewhere out there in the universe, exposed to dangers you’re not used to handling. Heck, everyone didn’t plan on letting you be exposed to any hazards that exist in this universe, but now?

“So, you’re saying there’s no way for any of us to contact [Y/N]?” Welt asks, raising his eyebrows at Nanook.

While Welt looks calm on the outside, the man is freaking out internally. How did this happen in the first place? You were supposed to be safe and sound under his watch, but you suddenly disappeared without a trace, and no one was able to reach out to you or track you down. Not even the Aeon of Destruction is able to track you down, and the Aeon has connections with you— well, had a connection with you.

“What are we going to do now, Mr. Yang? Searching for [Y/N] seems impossible at this point,” Caelus says, plopping down on the chair and running his hands through his hair.

Jing Yuan shakes his head. “I’ll have Yanqing lead the Cloud Knights to search throughout the Xianzhou Luofu,” Jing Yuan says, taking his phone from the table and sending rapid texts to his blond retainer.

Gepard nods. “And I will have the Silvermane Guards patrol the Overworld and the Underworld. If they see [Y/N], their duty is to detain [Y/N] until we arrive to get them,” says Gepard as he grabs his phone to message Dunn.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Detain [Y/N]? As in, keep them in cuffs and behind bars?!” Sampo exclaims, propping his hands on his hips, and looks at Gepard with disbelief.

Gepard, Welt, Nanook, and Dan Heng sigh simultaneously, rubbing their temples and pinching the bridge of their noses after hearing Sampo’s question. March snorts, rolling her eyes. The door to the Parlor Car opens. Pom-Pom waddles into the room, his eyes scanning the Parlor Car for a familiar face other than the ones that are present.

Pom-Pom sighs with disappointment. “I see that none of you have found [Y/N],” Pom-Pom says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Himeko gives Pom-Pom a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Pom-Pom, but we still haven’t found them. They’re not answering our texts or phone calls, and not even Nanook can contact them,” Himeko replies.

Pom-Pom sighs and waddles to the Phonograph, pressing his forehead against the machine. A dark stormy cloud looms over Pom-Pom’s head as he lets out a string of whimpers and sniffles. Everyone on the Astral Express nearly forgot about how close you and Pom-Pom are. The closeness between you two is adorable, and Pom-Pom treats you like his favorite passenger on the Astral Express. Well, you are his favorite passenger. There’s no denying it. Sometimes, when everyone is asleep, you would keep Pom-Pom company and spoil him with his favorite snacks.

Of course, that was before Nanook became a passenger on the Express. Now you would keep Pom-Pom company on the nights you can’t sleep or when Nanook isn’t on the Astral Express due to his duty as the Aeon of Destruction.

“Pom-Pom?” March asks softly.

Pom-Pom turns to face them, his eyes blurred with tears. “How could all of you fail to protect someone that protected me!?” Pom-Pom wails, tears cascading down his cheeks. “What if we never see them again? They could be in danger!”

Everyone looks away, their shoulders slumping. Pom-Pom’s right. They did fail to protect you— this is the second time they failed to protect you, and they wish they could turn back time and prevent it from happening.

“There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll find [Y/N] and bring [Y/N] back to the Astral Express, alright?” Luka says, kneeling in front of Pom-Pom and patting the conductor’s head.

Pom-Pom whimpers. “But what if they’re injured?” Pom-Pom whispers.

“Then I will do everything in my power to heal them,” Luocha answers.

You’re rudely awoken by the sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You gasp and sit up, letting out a strained gasp and whimper. You look down at your body, now realizing the state you’re in. You don’t remember what exactly happened, but the more you look at your surroundings, the more you start piecing things together. You were attacked by the Mara-struck. It happened so fast that you weren’t able to comprehend what happened before it was too late.

And now you’re here, on Cloudford, bleeding out, going in and out of consciousness, with no cell signal to call or text your traveling companions. You can’t even contact Nanook due to the severed connection between you and the Aeon of Destruction. No matter how many times you lose consciousness, Nanook isn’t there— even if you scream his name, bloody murder. You will always be in the void, alone and searching for the Aeon that brought you into his universe.

You sprawl out on the ground, digging your phone from your pockets. Your vision blurs every few minutes, making it hard for you to do your task. You turn your phone on, attempting to call the first person on your contact list. Blade.

You tried to call Blade, but the call didn’t go through. You tried calling every person on your contact list, but the call continues not to go through. You push yourself off the ground, nearly slipping on the pool of blood beneath you. It’s a miracle that you manage to hold on for so long. The question is: how much longer can you hold on? Black dots dotting your vision, you’re extremely tired, your eyelids are threatening to close, and your legs and arms are tingling.

“I can do this, I can do this,” you chanted, limping as far away as you can. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure if giving yourself a false sense of hope is going to do any better. Still, it’s better to do that than lay in your puddle of blood, watching the time tick away and your life slipping from your fingers. With each step you take, you feel your strength slipping away. You’re exhausted, and everything hurts. The Mara-struck did not go easy on you until they assumed you were dead.

As much as you wanted to blame yourself for not being careful enough, there’s no one else to blame. Not even yourself. People will blame you for not being careful and watching your surroundings, but is it really your fault? The Mara-struck are ruthless, and they’ll attack anyone and anything that is alive and not Mara-struck like them.

You’re brought out of your thoughts and self-pity when your foot gets caught over the other, sending you to the ground with a loud thump. You let out a screech of pain and remain on the ground as every part of your body is stinging and throbbing with pain. The small cuts on your body reopen as fresh blood oozes from the wounds, spilling to the ground.

“Please, just end my misery,” you whisper, tears rolling down your bloodstained cheeks as you slowly drift in and out of consciousness.

The faint sound of buzzing coming from your phone wakes you up. You gingerly turn your head to see the screen of your phone lighting up and vibrating. You reach for your phone and roll over on your side to see Blade calling you. You swipe to the green button and hear a faint scream and frantic voices coming from the other end of the call.

“Blade?” You croak, wincing when you feel how dry your throat feels.

Blade sighs in relief on the other side of the call. “Thank the Aeons, you’re okay. Where are you? Are you safe?” Blade asks.

You chuckle bitterly, close your eyes and continue to lie on the ground. At least you’ll be able to hear their voices one last time, right? It’s better to listen to their voice before…. Someone calls your name, grabbing your attention.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t catch onto what you were saying,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut and fighting back a whimper that’s crawling up your throat.

“[Y/N], please tell us where you are. We’re very worried about you,” Dan Heng says.

You sniffle. The pain is beginning to feel unbearable. Everything hurts so much, and you want someone or something to end your pain and suffering already. You shouldn’t have played dead when the Mara-struck attacked you for who knows how long. You should’ve let them end you right then and there so you wouldn’t have to continue to suffer like how you are right now.

“[Y/N]? Are you still with us?” Caelus asks, his voice crackling through the speakers.

Fuck. Is the connection starting to act up?

“Yeah, yeah. I’m still here,” you reply, black dots dotting your vision. Is it normal to see a small burst of stars in your eyes each time you blink? “Sorry, I’m not feeling well right now.”

The other end of the call falls silent after hearing your response. As of now, Jing Yuan and Gepard haven’t received any reports from the Silvermane Guards and Cloud Knights about finding you.

The General of the Xianzhou Luofu and the Captain of the Silvermane Gaurds text their trusted companions regarding the search, only for Dunn and Yanqing to reply that they have yet to find out despite the number of Cloud Knights and Silvermane Guards scrambling to find you.

Mr. Yang walks over to Blade and takes the phone from his hands. “Sweetheart, can you look at your surroundings and tell us where you are? Even if you don’t know the precise location, do you know whether you’re on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI?” Mr. Yang asks.

“I’m on, uh, the Xianzhou Luofu. The Mara-struck…” you trail off, closing your eyes. Your hands are shaking— you don’t think you can hold your phone up any longer. Your arms feel awfully weak, and your phone feels heavy.

Jing Yuan’s voice crackles over the speakers. “What happened with the Mara-struck?”

Jing Yuan sounds frantic.

You shrug, completely forgetting that the others can’t see you. “They attacked me out of nowhere. They left me for dead, and there’s blood. So much blood,” you whisper, cracking your eyes open and looking at your surrounding.

“[Y/N], can you turn on the video call so we can see where you are?” Gepard asks, his voice crackling in the speakers.

You sigh, gritting your teeth as you turn on the video call. Your face appears on the screen— if you weren’t bleeding out and losing consciousness every few minutes, you would be gasping in horror at the sight of your reflection. Dear Aeons, you look horrendous. You blindly show your surroundings for the men to see where you’re at, but you don’t think you’re doing it correctly. Your arm soon grew tired, and your arms collapsed beside you.

“I’m really sleepy, guys,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. You nearly gagged when you tasted a mouthful of blood. You don’t know how much more you can hold on until they find you.

“Does anyone recognize that area? We’re not from the Xianzhou Luofu— nothing looks familiar for us,” Sampo mutters, gazing at the others worriedly.

Luocha steps forward and takes Blade’s phone from Mr. Yang’s grasp. “I know this is going to be complicated for you, but do not fall asleep, alright? Keep your eyes open and try to stop the bleeding. We’ll be right there soon,” Luocha instructs.

The men hear and see nothing coming from Blade’s phone. The camera is pointed to the sky of the Xianzhou Luofu— they see the color of your hair peeking in the corner. You rub your eyes and press your hands against the deep gash on your abdomen. You lift your head to see various cuts on your body. All are bleeding.

You whisper, “Which ones do I cover? There’s too many,” you mumble, gazing at the gashes with bleary eyes.

You let your head fall back on the ground, attempting to cover up as many as you can. How much longer are you going to hold on? You can hear a commotion coming through Blade’s phone as you lie on the ground, your phone lying beside your head. You didn’t think you could die in a universe you didn’t belong to.

“Stay on the phone with us, alright? We’ll be there soon, we promise,” you hear Blade say through the phone.

You can’t tell if Blade is panicking or not. He sounds so far away, no matter how close your phone is to your ears. How could this have happened anyway? It was all your fault, wasn’t it? Were you reckless like last time? No, no. Last time, the Astral Express was under attack. But this time, you left the Astral Express and ended up getting attacked by the Mara-struck. And now look at you, bleeding out on the Xianzhou Luofu while trying to stay conscious.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” You whisper, staring at the clear blue sky above you.

Luka grunts. “We’re not mad at you, [Y/N]. We’re very worried about you,” Luka replies.

Luka is trying his best to remain calm, but his heart is racing against his chest to the point he fears it might burst.

You close your eyes, feeling nausea hitting you. “Is Nanook mad at me?” you ask weakly.

Dan Heng looks at Nanook from the corner of his eyes as they run through Cloudford, searching for you. It’s just them racing against the clock to get to where you are— racing against the clock to save you. But will they make it on time before you lose consciousness?

Dan Heng shakes his head. “I’m sure he’s not mad at you, [Y/N]. Why do you think that?”

You crack a smile. “I… Nanook and I aren’t connected with each other anymore. Did I do something wrong for him to sever that tie between us?” You whisper, tears blurring your vision. “If I did something to upset him, please let him know that I’m sorry for whatever it is that I have done to upset him.”

Nanook snatches the phone and gazes into the camera, his gold eyes searching for your face. “I’m not mad at you, little one. However, if you lose consciousness, I will be upset with you,” Nanook states.

You laugh weakly, tears rolling down the side of your face. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry for not being strong enough,” you whisper.

Just when you lose consciousness, you feel someone cradle you in their arms. Your vision slowly turns black as the voices around you fade away— almost sounding like you’re underwater, sinking deeper into the depths.

“No, no, no, no! Please don’t leave me,” Nanook whispers, pressing you against his chest.

Your head lolls back, laying limp in his arms as blood continues to pour out of your wounds. Luocha kneels before you and Nanook, frantically trying to heal the cuts and deep gashes on your body. Sampo, March, and Himeko look nauseous at the sight of the pool of blood below you and Nanook.

March looked away, closing her eyes as a stray tear made its way down her cheeks. “Please tell me [Y/N]’s going to be okay, please,” March pleads.

Nanook presses his index and middle finger against the side of your neck, frantically searching for a pulse. Nanook buries his face into your neck, his body wracking with sobs as he holds onto you tighter. You can’t be gone. Please, please, please, please. Luocha’s hands fall to his side, and he looks away.

“Well?” Dan Heng demands, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Luocha shakes his head, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. Luocha grabs your cold hand and presses a kiss on your knuckles. Maybe in another lifetime, you will meet them again. But for now, stars don’t live on forever.

Note: Just because this is angst with death doesn't mean it impacts the overall HSR isekai series. This is a mini-fic, and to make it up to all of you, I will make a Nanook smut for this upcoming week! Yes, smut is finally here! Nanook got the majority of votes. Therefore Nanook is the first HSR male character to be getting smut! As I have stated in my Genshin Isekai fics, the fics in the series are like my multi-verse. Anything can happen in these fics, but it will not significantly impact the overall series. So, even if something traumatic happened to the reader in one fic, the next fic, it never happened to the reader. Some things will impact the story, but others won't be mentioned in other fics. For those who want to be on the taglist, here is the [Google Form]. For those who want to join the Discord server but weren't able to, here is the new temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]! Please make sure to read the server rules— you can lurk, chat and hang out on the server if you'd like! If you don't vibe with the server, you can leave whenever you want ^^ To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR one-shot series: @mompt2, @elegantnightblaze, @lunavixia, @jadedist, @reversearrowhead, @pinksaiyans, @aurelia-xyt, @lilliansstuff, @ssunset0, @starrry-angel, @kaoyamamegami, @kodzuvk, @for3very0urs, @a-cosmicdawn, @g3n0dtt, @theblades, @raaawwwr, @immahuman, @irisxiel, @siaracarroll, @crazydreamcat, @sagekun, @orichalcumthief, @dyingsweetmackerel, @rosiesareblue, @ichikanu, @hispasian-otaku, @asoulsreverie (Accounts that I was unable to tag are not tagged in this fic. Those who do not want to be tagged in a specific fic are not tagged. Remember to check your settings to see if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Honkai Star Rail x reader #Honkai Star Rail imagine #Honkai Star rail fanfiction #Honkai Star Rail fanfic #HSR x reader #HSR imagine #HSR fanfiction #HSR fanfic #Dan Heng x reader #Gepard Landau x reader #Sampo Koski x reader #Welt Yang x reader #Blade x reader #Jing Yuan x reader #Luocha x reader #Caelus x reader #Nanook x reader #Luka x reader #genshinluvr

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campingwiththecharmings · 2 months ago

Text

Good Neighbors (7)

PART 6

AN: Hello lovely people. I'm so unbelievably sorry that this took OVER A YEAR to get out. Ugh. I'm so annoyed with myself. If you're still here, thank you so much for sticking with me, I know I've been pretty MIA recently. That being said, without further ado, here is the seventh smutlet in a series set after the events of Night Moves. I hope it's worth the wait lol.

Why should you care if Santi had someone over? What’s it matter that it was (apparently) an attractive woman? It doesn’t, it shouldn’t. You and Santi are just friends. Sure, you get naked together sometimes but there’s nothing else there, he doesn’t owe you anything, he’s not yours— And you’re not his.

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 2,077 (can i still call them 'smutlets' if they're the length of a normal fic lmao) Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, kissing, ~*feelings*~ (ugh), a dash of angst, jealousy, neighbors with benefits AO3

——————

You can’t sleep, and much like all those months ago, it’s your stupid neighbor’s fault.

Your stupidly gorgeous, funny, sweet, wonderful neighbor, Santiago Garcia.

Sadly, the issue this time is not him playing his music too loud in the middle of the night. No. Instead the issue is something that shouldn’t even be an issue.

Ugh. How did you even get here?

Right. 3A. Yeah, this was all that bitch’s fault. If she’d just kept what she’d seen to herself, you’d be sleeping like a baby right now. But no, she’d had to go and open her big, fat mouth.

Why should you careif Santi had someone over? What’s it matter that it was (apparently) an attractive woman? It doesn’t, it shouldn’t. You and Santi are just friends. Sure, you get naked together sometimes but there’s nothing else there, he doesn’t owe you anything, he’s not yours—

And you’re not his.

A weight settles on your chest at the thought and you sigh. You turn on your side, looking at the clock on your bedside table; the glaring, red numbers feel like they’re burning a hole into your retinas.

Almost 3 a.m. Just like the night you first met.

The longer you think about it, the worse you feel—was he fucking her too? Are you just one in a long line of women he has at his beck and call? Did you even mean anything to him or were you just the most convenient?

Stop it, you tell yourself, you have no right to be jealous. Enough.

You scoff after a moment, shaking your head at your own thoughts. Jealous? Please, you weren’t jealous. That’d be stupid, right? Completely and utterly ridiculous.

You will yourself to sleep, closing your eyes and trying every technique you know to try and clear your mind.

After ten minutes, you throw your covers off with a frustrated groan and sit up, legs hanging off the side of your bed.

If there’s any hope of you getting any sleep tonight, you have to talk to him.

You shuffle quickly through your living room, out the front door, and into the hall. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you knock on his door, the sound echoing loudly down the empty hall. For a moment, you pray that he doesn’t answer, that he’s already fast asleep but you’re realistic enough to know that’s probably not what’s going to happen. You hear the drag and click of the door being unlocked and you tense slightly as it slowly swings inward.

Santiago squints out into the hall, a soft smile spreading on his lips when he sees it’s you.

“Evening, hermosa,” he rasps, running a hand over his face. “Or, I guess I should say morning.”

“I can’t sleep,” you blurt, wincing slightly as you briefly avert your gaze. “Can we talk?”

You watch as his face shifts, his brow furrowing, head cocked slightly to the left as the smile melts away. He nods, stepping back to give you enough room to come in.

Your eyes sweep the room as you step over the threshold, searching for someone you know isn’t there (not anymore, anyway). He wouldn’t have let you in if she was.

“Everything okay?” he asks, gently touching your shoulder.

You don’t answer him right away, unsure how to even broach this topic. Santi doesn’t owe you anything, not even an explanation, really. He’s never made you any promises, never said you were the only one he was messing around with…never said he loves you.

Something sharp lodges in your chest at the thought and you close your eyes, breathing slowly in an effort to quell the panic rising in your throat.

He says your name, his voice soft, and the sharpness in your chest turns to an ache, an ache you’ve become all too familiar with recently. You push the feeling away, trying to focus on why you’d come here.

The other woman. Right.

With a steadying breath, you turn to him, crossing your arms over your chest protectively.

“I heard you had a visitor today,” you say nonchalantly, as if this is a completely normal conversation to be having in the middle of the night.

His brow furrows again, this time in confusion. “A visitor?”

You nod in response, your jaw tight. For a moment he just stares at you, waiting for you to elaborate, but then his eyes light in realization.

“Are you talking about Ana?”

You avert your gaze to the floor, the sharpness in your chest returning. Then a warm, low chuckle reaches your ears, the sound making your insides melt. God, do you love his laugh.

He steps closer, his fingers brushing against the underside of your chin, trying to return your eyes to his; the gentleness of his touch makes your chest ache.

“She’s just a friend, hermosa,” he explains, his voice low and soft.

Unfortunately, his words do nothing to alleviate your concerns.

“‘Just a friend’ like me?” you ask, your voice breaking despite the control you’re fighting so hard to maintain over yourself.

His eyes soften and a piece of you crumbles inside. You watch as his jaw clenches, his hands moving to cup your cheeks, holding you in place so you can’t look away from him again.

“No,” he whispers, shaking his head slightly, “Not like you.”

He holds your gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity you’ve never seen before. It makes your heart skip, your lips parting slightly at the insinuation. You want to believe it, want to believe that this thing between you is more than just sex, more even than friendship. You want to believe it, so you do…if only for tonight.

He must see whatever he’s searching for in your eyes because suddenly he’s kissing you, his lips gentle but sure as he pours everything he is and feels into it, into you. It’s different from the other times somehow, more intense, more serious, as though he’s trying to prove something. You cling to him, fingers twisting in his shirt as he slips his tongue between your lips. He steps closer, his left hand sliding down your neck and torso to settle on your hip. You sigh at the press of his body against yours, warm and solid, familiar.

Without breaking the kiss, Santi guides you backwards, slowly steering you both in the direction of his couch. You pause when the backs of your knees touch the soft, cool leather, letting yourself get lost in the feel of him again. You slide your hands down his chest, slipping them beneath the hem of his shirt to his warm, soft skin. The coolness of your fingers makes him jump a little in surprise and you can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips. He smiles back, you can feel it as he kisses you, as he angles your head and licks into your mouth again, and it makes that now ever-present ache in your chest throb.

When you finally part, it’s for air, your foreheads pressed together as you pant, trying to catch your breaths. He’s too far, you think. You want—no you need—to have him closer, need to feel his skin against yours, need his lips, his eyes, his hands, his everything. You need him.

Your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt before slowly pushing it up his torso and then pulling it over his head. Santi’s eyes are glued to you, like he’s afraid to look away, afraid you’ll disappear if he does. You lean in, pressing a kiss against the hollow of his throat. Santi inhales shakily as you explore, slowly kissing a line down to his chest. He hisses when you flick your tongue over his nipples, his fingers clenching at your hip.

You wish you could live here, in this moment, this moment where there’s nothing else but you and him together.

After a moment, he pulls you back, pulls your mouth back to his, humming contentedly when you reconnect, as if you’ve been parted for years instead of just a few seconds. Santiago’s hands slip beneath the waistband of your pajama bottoms and panties, the warm, rough pads of his fingers scratching delightfully against your skin. Slowly, he pushes them down, dragging the fabric over your ass and hips before letting them fall at your feet. Unimpeded by your clothing, he cups your backside, gently kneading your cheeks with his strong fingers as he pulls your body against his.

Slowly, you undress each other, hands lingering, reverently caressing every inch of skin revealed. Once you’re bared to each other, Santi lays you down against the cushions of his couch. The cool leather makes you shiver, goosebumps breaking out and spreading over your body. He watches you for a moment, his eyes somewhat unreadable in the darkness of the room. You can feel his gaze on you, as he drags it slowly down your body, as if committing every bit of you to memory. Before you can say anything, he leans in, reclaiming your mouth as he situates his body over yours.

He’s so warm, the weight of him comforting, familiar, as he settles between your legs. You moan softly as his hard cock brushes against your core, the sound muffled by his mouth on yours. He groans, slowly grinding against you, each brush of him sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. It feels like you’re on fire, like you’re about to burn up from the inside out. You need him, need him to fill you, to consume you. He seems to sense your need, shifting so the head of his cock is pressed against your entrance.

He breaks your kiss as he sinks inside you, his swollen lips parting in a silent groan as your body welcomes him home. For a moment, he doesn’t move, content just to bask in the warmth of you. He finds your lips again, his kiss languid and deep, as if he can’t get enough of you, as if he wants to swallow you whole. When he finally starts to move, it’s slow, his thrusts shallow but no less pleasurable. He keeps kissing you, stealing your breath, his hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, stoking the fire inside you. The moment feels endless, a blur of hands and lips and breathy moans.

There’s something different about this time, something different in the air, in the energy between you both. Perhaps it's the pace, your usual frantic neediness traded for something so unhurried, yet still so passionate. It feels unreal, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It feels like love, though, you know it isn’t.

It’s easy to forget, though, consumed by him as you are. He’s everything, he’s everywhere, all you can see, all you can feel, hear, smell, taste—

You shake as the tension twists in your gut, breathy moans escaping you with every push of his hips. He’s no better, jaw slack, eyes blown wide and dark, looking almost drunk as he so easily unravels you bit by bit. You’re so close, feeling as though you’ve been on the precipice for ages, ready to tumble over with the slightest nudge. He keeps you there, the steady push and pull of his hips drawing out your pleasure. Briefly you wonder if it’s possible to die from this, because you feel like you might. There are worse ways to go, you suppose.

Something in his eyes shifts as he moves over you, as if he’s made some important decision. He leans in, claiming your mouth once more, his kiss deep and filled with so much longing it takes your breath away. He finds your hands, splayed limply beside you on the couch, his fingers lacing with yours. He’s done it before, but somehow now it feels different, like it means more. You tell yourself you’re reading too much into it, into everything—he doesn’t feel the way you want him to, he doesn’t love you.

Your hands are still clasped when you come, his fingers gripping yours like a vice. He presses his forehead to yours as the euphoria washes over you like a tidal wave, the warmth of his breath gliding pleasantly over your skin. Then he kisses you, so gentle and sweet it makes your heart ache in your chest.

You know it’s not love, but maybe, just this once, it’s okay to pretend.

So you do.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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PART 8 (coming soon)

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x you #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #santiago garcia smut #santiago pope garcia smut #my fic

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