#i am filled with angst and it needs to go somewhere

[mereelskirata]

Me, at myself: What if I made Ei have a unrequited crush on Keitaro in the AU? 

[dyaz-stories]

JUJUTSU BOYS + POST SHIBUYA HURT/COMFORT

following Shibuya, the Jujutsu boys are in dire need of some comfort

featuring: nanami, yuuji, megumi, maki, inumaki, yuta, gojo

word count: 4.7k (600-700 words per character)

cw: canon divergence for nanami and gojo, season 2 spoilers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of injuries, everyone needs a hug, some fluff ig, established relationships, not proofread

NANAMI

“He woke up,” Shoko informs you, closing the room to Kento’s door behind her. She doesn’t bother with small talk, gives only the necessary information since Shibuya. You don’t blame her. You understand why she would choose to keep her energy for what she thinks is essential. So when she approaches you, hands buried in her pockets, you know there is something she believes is that important to tell you.

“Is he— Has he said anything?”

“He thanked me — you know how he is. But, um— he’s lost an eye, and he’s badly burned. There’s nothing I can do about that. I’m sorry.”

She sounds genuinely dejected, but you shake your head.

“It doesn’t matter. Without you, he wouldn’t be alive. Can I—”

She gives you a faint smile.

“Sure. You can go in.”

You don’t wait for her to have finished her sentence to open the door. Kento looks up at you, and you take him in for a second. An eye patch covers his left eye, and that whole side of his body is burnt, badly, with fresh bandages covering it. It doesn’t stop you from launching himself into his arms, and he catches you without missing a beat.

“You’re alive,” is all you can say, repeating it like a mantra.

“I am,” he answers. “I apologize for worrying you.”

So very like him, apologizing while he’s lying on a hospital bed after suffering from horrific injuries.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” you whisper into his neck, tears rolling freely from your cheeks. “I don’t— I don’t—” I don’t know how I would have kept living without you.

His eye is filled with fondness and love, when he looks at you.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask, gesturing at his left side.

“It does not,” he answers. “Shoko’s abilities are quite remarkable for that. I am healed. The bandages are mostly to stop the skin from becoming too dry — due to the size of the area, she couldn’t do it all herself.”

“Then… can I kiss you?”

He swallows around the lump in his throat. If he is honest, when Shoko talked to him after he woke up, one of his greatest fears was that you would be disgusted by him. He knows you find him handsome — found him handsome, at least. He knows that this was thinking far too little of you, and yet relief washes over him at your question.

“You can always kiss me.”

You’re cautious when you do, don’t want to risk hurting him, despite what he’s just told you. Your lips feel like coming home, and he loses himself in you, if only for a moment. All too soon, he feels the need to pull away for air. Even with Shoko’s miracle work, he feels weak, a sensation he finds himself hating with his entire being. He likes being strong, likes being your rock, likes supporting you in any situation. He despises the fact that that has been taken away from him.

“I think it would be for the best if I spent the night here,” he tells you. “The chair isn’t very comfortable, so if you wish to go home, I wouldn’t—”

You shake your head immediately.

“I’m not leaving you anytime soon. I’m spending the night here. I’m sure I can find a pillow and a blanket somewhere, and I will be just fine with that.”

Aren’t you just adorable when you’ve made up your mind?

“If that is okay with you, that’s fine with me,” he nods. “But, first…” He opens his arm on the right side. “Would you join me?”

There isn’t much space in the bed for the two of you, but you make it fit, leaning against the wall so he can have his head against your chest. Even though he wants nothing more than to revel in the moment, he feels his eyes closing, lulled by the beating of your heart and your fingers carding through his hair.

He loves taking care of you but he supposes that, for the time being, it won’t be too bad if he’s the one being taken care of.

YUUJI

Finding Yuuji following the Shibuya Incident requires you to venture into the belly of Tokyo, making your way through curse after curse, stepping over the bodies of sorcerers and humans alike, never taking the time to stop. At least Megumi had warned you that he was likely to keep moving, so you hadn’t given up hope yet, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t afraid for him. Not physically, no, you didn’t think there was anything left here that could actually hurt him, but, based on what Megumi had told you, his head hung low, you can only imagine how devastated he must be.

You spot him when he finishes off a curse, on a rooftop near you. It isn’t long before you land there yourself, and there he is.

“Yuuji!”

He freezes when you call out his name, and turns towards you oh so slowly. When he looks at you, you could almost cry with relief. There he is, your Yuuji. A little worse for wear, but alright. You take a step towards him, ready to run into his arms, when he takes a step back.

A tall man wearing a kimono, his hair tied into two buns, lands in front of him, between the two of you.

“Who is that?” he asks Yuuji. “Do you want me to take care of it?”

There is quiet resolution in his voice. He doesn’t sound like he wants to kill you, but you don’t think he would hesitate to do it.

“N-no,” Yuji says, his voice hoarse. “No, it’s alright, Choso. Would you mind…?”

The man nods, still not showing any emotions.

“Of course. I’ll give the two of you some space.”

He throws you a threatening glance — as if you could ever be a threat to Yuuji — before jumping off the building.

You take another step forward. This time, Yuuji doesn’t move, but he refuses to meet your eyes.

“Don’t,” he says. He sounds weak.

Another step.

“Why not?”

He closes his eyes.

“I’ve killed—” A deep, shuddering breath. “—so many people.”

Step.

“That wasn’t you.”

You say it softly, gently, but you’re not sure that he can hear you, as he is now.

“It’s still my fault.”

His voice is no stronger than a whisper.

“It was Sukuna’s doing.” Step. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Step.

You’re close to him now, close enough to see his hands balled up into fists, his lower lip trembling, how he scrunches his face so he doesn’t cry.

“Yuji,” you call, and in your mouth, his name sounds like a term of endearment. “It’s not your fault.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t have anything more to say. He wants so, so badly to believe you, but his heart, his mind, and Sukuna’s voice in the back of his head are all whispering that you’re lying. When you reach him, your hands go up to his face, cradle it like it’s a precious porcelain. You trace the scar on his forehead, stroke the one on his lip with your thumb, and then you press your lips against it with great care.

And he falls apart.

Your arms are around him as he lets himself fall to the ground, and you let him bury his head in the crook of your neck as he sobs, let him hold on to you like a drowning man to a lifeline. You stroke the back of his head gently. The motion is soothing. Soft. Loving.

“I’m a monster,” he chokes, and tears fill your eyes.

“You’re not,” you promise, voice breaking. “You’re not. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He gasps like he’s breathing for the first time in days, and you keep him there, in your arms. He’s not okay yet — won’t be for a long time. But he’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s moving forward, one small step at a time.

You will be here to support him until he can stand on his own again.

No matter how long it takes.

MEGUMI

Megumi has always been the quiet type. He keeps his feelings close to his chest, lets people in on his thoughts only in spare, carefully chosen sentences. He turns away if emotions overwhelm in, deals with the worst of it privately, would never let anything spill out if he could help him. Emotions are his problems, and he cannot bear the thought of them hurting someone other than him.

Still, you’ve always been able to read him. The softness in his eyes when he looks at Yuuji and Nobara, the smile he doesn’t quite allow to make its way to his lips when Gojo decides to spoil him, the way he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest so he can hide his face in your neck, even if you can spot his ears turning red. The way the corner of his lips turn down, too, when his mind drifts towards Tsumiki, the twitch in his jaw when someone brings up his father, the clench of his fists when he feels hopeless.

You can read him like a book.

He is even quieter when he comes back from Shibuya, and his emotions are expressed even more minutely, blink and you’ll miss it.

You can only watch from the audience in one of the numerous meetings that follow his return. Him and a number of other sorcerers testify, and you have to hear him recounting the same details over and over. You’re here to see, helpless, how he lowers his gaze when several sorcerers recommend Yuuji’s execution, and how his eyes dull when his sentencing is pronounced.

But he never comes to you. At first, you assume he can’t — there are a number of physicals for him to clear. You reason that he must be exhausted, must want his space for now, and resolve to give it to him. It’s on the day of the last council, when he averts his eyes to avoid meeting yours, that you realize what was happening.

He’s been avoiding you.

It’s a half-hearted attempt, one that comes to an end when you knock against the open door to his room. He doesn’t look up at you when he answers.

“Come in.”

His room is almost bare, but you know he keeps pictures from the two of you in his drawers.

You sit on the bed next to him, let your knee brush against his. He doesn’t move away.

“I haven’t seen you since you came back,” you say. You know better than to broach the subject directly, wouldn’t want to spook him.

“I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. I just came to check in on you.”

He’s quiet for longer than he should be.

“…I have to go back out there. I have to talk to Itadori.”

You read between the lines. You know that he would give you more than that if he felt he could, understand that he is trying to make this as painless for you as he can.

You reach for his hands and squeeze it.

“Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“…you sure?”

You know that’s not the question he’s asking. You know he wants you to feel able to yell at him, protest, scream until there’s nothing left of the two of you, all so that you will feel better, even if he leaves unloved and a little more shattered than he was when he arrived.

“I’m sure.”

The sigh of relief he lets out sounds more like a sob. Next thing you know, he’s letting his head drop onto your shoulder, black hair tickling your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry. Can I— Can I just stay like this a little longer? Please?”

You keep yourself still, reach up to cup his cheek, stroke it softly.

“As long as you need.”

He moves his head so he can press a kiss to your cheek, lets his lips linger there longer than he needs to. When he turns around, you see he’s turned crimson.

The outside world might have turned into hell, but this room hasn’t yet.

In here, the two of you can hope that simpler, happier times will come again some day.

MAKI

Maki supposes that there are worse ways to wake up than with her head in your lap. By the time she comes to, Reverse Cursed Technique has done its job — mostly. If she could muster it, she would be glad that she wasn’t awake to feel it processing. It’s always felt foreign to her, and she hates feeling it on her body.

What she hates more, though, is the tingling of the burns on her face and body.

“Isn’t there anything to be done about that?” you’re asking Shoko when her eyes flutter open. You’re mindlessly running your fingers over the scarred skin, and it feels fresh and soothing.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko says, sounding exhausted but always taking the time to answer students’ concerns. “RCT can’t fix burns. Non-sorcerers have done some progress in that domain, I think. Maybe she’ll want to look into it.”

“I hope she won’t care,” you mumble.

“Why,” Maki asks, and you look down at her in shock, “is it that bad?”

She pushes herself up, looking around for her glasses, but stops when she realizes both you and Shoko are staring at her, mouth gaping.

“You’re something else,” Shoko finally comments, a tired grin forming on her lips. “Thought you’d be asleep for at least another day. Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in the next room, alright?”

She leaves with a wave of her hand, some of the weight of the past week taken off her shoulders, now that she’s done her work.

When Maki turns to look back at you, you already have her glasses in your hand. You’re careful when you pass the branches over her ears to put them on her, and she lets you do it, studying your expression. Your eyes are red from crying, and you look tired, too, but at least she cannot see any injuries on you.

“So?” she raises an eyebrow at you, and her skin stretches uncomfortably. “Do I really look that terrible?”

You shake your head and smile at her, reaching up to cup her cheek.

“You’re as stunning as always. I’d just hate it if you thought otherwise.”

She leans into your touch, closing her eyes. Her whole body aches. She cannot pinpoint any real physical pain, but there is an overall soreness  that she wants to stretch out. She would, if she could bear the thought of losing your touch, if only for a second.

“What about my hair?” she asks, trying to add a playful inflexion to her tone. “Don’t tell me you let them do whatever they wanted with it.”

You shake your head, mirroring her expression.

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” you say with a fake eyeroll. “I’ll have you know it looks super stylish.”

She nods, then turns her head to kiss the inside of your palm. She likes the way it flusters you, how you bite your lip and glance away to hide it from her.

“Do you— do you want to hear about what else has happened?”

Her smile dims, and she shakes her head.

“Can I get a minute of this first?” Her voice comes out hoarser than she would like. “Y-you can tell me afterwards. I just— I just need a minute.”

“Of course,” you reply, softly.

When you open your arms, she doesn’t hesitate a second to plunge in. She rests her cheek against your chest, and you wrap her in a tight hug that she returns without missing a beat. You’re warm and soft, as you always are.

She’ll get back to fighting, to throwing her whole body in the line of fire soon enough, that is a promise. She’ll mourn the dead, she’ll shed tears.

But first, she gets a minute of respite, in the arms of the only person that can give it to her.

INUMAKI

You rush through the emergency room, unbridled fear in your veins. The place is a morgue. There are more dead than living in here, and you’d be horrified if your mind wasn’t focused on one person and one person only — one that you cannot find. Cursed energy is no use right now, not with the place being such a mess.

“Ieiri!” you finally call when you see her passing by, pale as a corpse, not examining a body for more than handful of seconds before moving on to the next. “Where— Where is Toge?”

She looks straight through you. The dark circles under her eyes are even deeper than usual.

“Alive. That way.”

She point vaguely in a direction and then she’s gone, but it’s all you need. You find yourself running, unceremoniously opening and closing doors in your desperate search for him. When you find him, you could almost cry in relief.

“Toge,” you call, and you’re afraid your legs will give in underneath you.

He looks at you with wide eyes — eyes that you love so much, because they always say everything his lips can’t. Despite everything that’s happened tonight, they’re full of life, and that is the sight you’d been hoping for the most.

It’s only after looking inside that you realize what’s happened to his arm.

You walk over to him, sit on the chair next to his bed. He holds his hand out for you to take, and when you do, he squeezes it between his fingers, three times. His own, silent way of saying ‘I love you’. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the bed and hanging your head low.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whisper. “I was so scared.”

You feel his lips on the top of your head, and you cannot help but smile. It feels selfish, smiling in such circumstances, when so many people have lost their lives and their loved ones. But you’re reunited with him, and it is the only reaction that feels appropriate. You look up at him. Without his usual clothes, the seal on his mouth is on full display.

“Do you want a scarf?” you ask, gesturing at your bag. You always carry one, as well as cough syrup, just in case.

Fondness flashes in his eyes, but he shakes his head. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand to tap on his phone. The movements are clumsy, and a knot forms in your throat, watching him do it, but you can’t think of anything to do to help him.

‘No need,’ the phone reads when he turns it back towards you. And then, after a line break ‘Sukuna attacked.’

You’d hear about that. You… had just hoped it wasn’t true.

“So, Itadori…?”

“Bonito flakes,” he answers, shaking his head. Silence falls on the room.

You usually like silence with him. It feels comfortable, like an old friend you’re happy to welcome. Tonight, though, you feel the need to blurt out “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

His lips turn downward, and he gestures at his arm dejectedly, but you shake your head, and you stand up so you can sit on the bed, by his legs. You grab his hand in both of yours.

“I would take anything as long as it means you’re back here with me. I know— I know it’s selfish, but I just— You’re everything.”

Toge presses his forehead against yours when you start crying. Gently, he frees his hand so he can wipe the tears running down your cheeks. He doesn’t get to express his emotions freely, so you do it for the two of you, that’s how it’s always been between you. That doesn’t stop him from tilting your chin so he can press his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and gentle.

“I love you,” you say for the both of you.

He wishes he could tell you that he hasn’t felt like he’d truly made it back from Shibuya until he saw you walking through the door.

When he kisses you again, he thinks you’re aware of it.

YUTA

“They agreed to entrust me with Itadori’s execution,” Yuta tells you when he finds you, anxiously waiting for him to come out of his meeting with the higher-ups. “I had to take a binding vow, but that won’t be a problem.”

He says it so casually, and you can’t help but sigh. Immediately, his eyes fill with worry.

“Is something wrong?”

You can feel his eyes scanning you, looking for an injury, and that brings a faint smile out of you. As if anything could hurt you here, in one of the last jujutsu strong place in Japan.

“I just wish you wouldn’t have to do that,” you admit with a shrug. “I wish there was another solution.” I wish you didn’t think the weight of the world is yours to take now that Gojo isn’t here to bear it.

“Oh!” He lights up, and you hate that he feels relief, because to him, it is inconsequential as long as it’s happening to him. “That’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Well, someone has to, since he won’t do it himself. You reach for his hand, fiddling with his fingers, and you can’t help but smile when you feel him freeze. You can’t believe he still reacts to your touch that way, no matter how many times you do it.

“Breathe,” you say, glancing up at him.

He flushes when he realizes he was, indeed, holding his breath.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He doesn’t have to apologize, but he always does.

“Then I’ll go and keep an eye on Toge and Maki,” you decide. “I heard Maki’s recovering well, but I’ll see if there’s anything more they need. Maybe I’ll help Toge get back to his family.”

Yuta hesitates.

“You don’t— You don’t have to do that for me, you know?”

Ha. Guilty as charged. You’re just trying to take some of the weight off his shoulders so he won’t have to carry it all alone. You wrap your arms around his neck, smile when he turns even redder. He doesn’t move away from you though, and, after hesitating, he even closes his hands on your waist. The touch is feather-light, and you think he’d take them off if you breathed a little too hard. But it’s there, and he’s come a long way, truly.

“I know. I just want to.”

He’s crimson, but his eyes still soften at your words. With a sigh, he leans his forehead against yours.

“What have I done to get this lucky?” he marvels, and he sounds so loving you think you might just melt in your spot.

“You deserve the world,” you answer truthfully.

He lets out an embarrassed laugh that you interrupt with a kiss. His lips are soft and cautious against yours, and he is nothing but tender. You know he’s doing his best to restrain himself, both because you’re in a public space where someone could walk by and because it takes a lot more to get him out of his shell.

“Wh-what was that for?” he asks when you pull away, a pout in his voice.

“For luck,” you hum in reply. “You better come back to me.”

His fingers tighten on your waist. He doesn’t want to let go. If he could shut the whole world out and live only in your arms, he thinks he would do it in a heartbeat. But there are people out there who need saving, and you know even you can’t stop him from going to help them.

“I’ll keep your friends safe until then, okay?”

No matter what you tell him, he still doesn’t think he’s done anything to deserve you. That means he should let go of you, be on his way and wish you well on yours. Instead, in an impulsive move, he wraps his arms tighter around your waist to pull you flush against his chest in a tight hug.

You laugh in surprise and hug him back, and in that moment, he is absolutely certain that there is nothing that could stop him from coming back to you.

GOJO

“Guess who’s back!” Satoru calls when he walks into your home as if nothing’s happened, as if you haven’t spent hours on the phone with various sorcerers, trying to understand what on earth was happening and if he was even still alive.

You turn to look at him with daggers in your eyes, and you want to scream, but you don’t find the words when you take in the sight of him. There’s blood on his face that he hasn’t bothered to wipe off, his clothes are torn, the blindfold he’s holding in his hand is in an even sorrier state, and despite the smile on his face, you don’t think there is a muscle to his body that isn’t in a state a tension.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He shrugs, walks across the room to grab a towel that he vigorously rubs against his face.

“I’m always okay.”

The sentence sounds empty, and you’re about to go up to him when he drops the towel to move towards the bathroom with a groan.

“It’s not coming off,” he says before splashing his face with water.

You follow him and watch as he repeatedly rinses his face. The blood has long come off, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with it. He pours generous amounts of soap on his hands, but there is nothing more to take off there. You wait a few seconds more before joining him. You still his hand with a pressure of his wrist, clean off the remaining soap, and cut off the water. He lets you do it, just as he lets you guide him back to the bed to sit down.

“What happened?” you urge him, keeping his hands in yours. He feels so far away, even if he’s sitting inches from you, and you’re desperate to bring him back to you.

Long seconds go by before he answers you.

“I made a mistake,” he finally says, words pulled out like teeth. “That’s what happened.”

You would tell him that everyone makes mistakes, but you know what’s prompting this. He isn’t everyone. He doesn’t make mistakes. He is Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the one in charge of preserving the balance of the world after he’s irremediably altered it simply from being born.

Your hands come up to his face, and you trace his jaw with careful fingers. He closes his eyes. Lets you ground him. He can’t think of anything else he needs more right now.

“You’ve done so much,” you whisper. “I’ve been talking to Shoko — she says that without you, human losses would be much worse.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle.

“That is always true.”

Coming from someone else, it would sound like bragging, but you know that Satoru is only stating a fact. He always saves the day, which makes this so, so much worse. You climb on the bed behind him, start massaging his shoulders. Despite himself, he can’t help but relax into your touch. He doesn’t feel like he deserves that, deserves the comfort you’re bringing to him, and yet, as always, he’s powerless against you.

“But wasn’t the point always that your students would be able to take over?” you ask, softly. “And they did. They saved you. Sounds to me like you did well, Satoru.”

Did he? Sure doesn’t feel like it.

“Hm, I guess Yuji and Megumi did real well tonight,” he admits, and he lets himself lean back into your arms fully. “Just wish… Just wish it hadn’t turned out like that.”

You press a kiss to his temple, and he sighs. He doesn’t think he will be okay again tonight. Probably not tomorrow, either — maybe not before a long time.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’d be nice.”

His eyes follow as you walk back into the bathroom.

“You’ll join me?”

A smile flashes on your face.

“Sure.”

He won’t be okay any time soon, but with you by his side, he thinks he can at least try to get there again someday.

thank you for reading! as a note, gojo's piece is written under the hypothesis that he was unsealed but unsealed before the end of the night. I hope you enjoyed these pieces, please consider reblogging and/or letting me know your thoughts in a comment, interactions are the best way of supporting me and of keeping me writing ^-^

more jujutsu kaisen x reader here (primarily gojo x reader)

[teamred]

obvious

✩‌ merchant!qimir x acolyte!reader | fluff | angst | humor | 2.3k

SUMMARY | during an evening of drinking with qimir, he strangely asks if you've ever thought about dating your master.

WARNINGS | kissing, drinking, implications of a spicy time post-story

RATING | teen+

NOTES | again this is probably outside of canon but all i can say is ilq (i love qimir)

///

In the lower level of Qimir’s newest target of a store invasion, several drunken bottles of alcohol and used shot glasses clutter the front counter. You sit across from him on a high stool, as if you were a customer to his bartending. 

Which wasn’t quite far off, since he was the one who poured and bought everything for you tonight. Qimir had called for a celebration; you had successfully raided a small village nearby, seizing all valuable goods and leaving no witnesses behind. You did it for yourself, but also for your anonymous master–the same one Qimir serves. 

While you are your master’s dedicated pupil, Qimir’s tasked with being your resourceful guide. He follows you across the galaxy, always having anything you need at your disposal and knowing where to go, who to find, and how to concoct everything from anything.

Sure, he may be clumsy and occasionally overly inquisitive, but you’ve grown to like him. 

So much that you're retelling the time when a female Gungan tried to fight you in a cantina on Tatooine.

“And so, it turned out they thought I was the one who stole her ex-boyfriend, but it was the human at the table next to mine!”

Qimir breaks into a smile and nearly spits out the lomin ale in his mouth. After a fit of coughing and swallowing his drink, he shakes his head fondly. He seems truly amused and fully relaxed, though perhaps mostly due to the alcohol.

A few beats pass. It's a comfortable silence at first. 

But then he starts playing with the stem of his bottle, and the air slowly begins to shift. It shifts entirely when he asks the next question–

“Why aren't you like this around him?” 

Him referring to your shared master. 

The mixture of spicebrew, lomin ale, Corellian wine, and whatever else you had has lowered your filter completely. You answer frankly, folding out your fingers to list the reasons. 

“Firstly, he needs to get me drunk. Secondly, he’s not you, Qimir. And third, disregarding everything I just said: how do you know I'm not?”

“Am I wrong?” he presses, his eyes fixed on you as he raises an eyebrow and takes another swig of his drink.

“I mean, if he eventually shows his face to me, maybe I could. But until then…” 

Nonchalantly, you lift a shoulder and down the rest of what’s in your cup. After finishing, you lean back onto the counter, resting your chin in your upturned palm, and wait for him to fill your cup again. 

And so he does, but Qimir becomes uncharacteristically pensive. Eyes focused on serving you, rather than on you. After pouring your drink, his playfulness with the bottle turns into a tight-fisted grip. Maybe drunk Qimir was more somber. Quiet.

“Maybe…” His voice drops to a lower, deeper register than you’re used to, his eyes avoiding yours as his mouth tightens. An index finger rhythmically taps against his bottle, like a dooming countdown. “Maybe he’s not sure if you’re loyal enough to see his face.” 

The sudden slamming of your cup against the counter breaks his demeanor, and he’s back to being his usual, easily-startled self. 

“Well, that frustrates the shit out of me because I respect him!” you cry, almost yelling at him. 

Qimir’s gaze sharpens, giving you his entire attention, and you stare back resolutely. Readying yourself, as if confiding in him might reach your master’s ears, wherever he may be. Hell, he probably was listening with a device somewhere on Qimir, on you, or within the store.  

“I obey him. I've killed for him. I’d do anything for him,” your voice slightly wavers, but you push on. “I am literally devoted to him with every breath in my body.” 

There’s a sting in your eyes, but you refuse to let yourself show weakness, even if it’s just Qimir in front of you. Bringing the cup to your mouth, you let the burn scald your throat, drowning any trace of sadness or frustration. 

You chug for some time. After a while, Qimir lifts a hand, but you abruptly stop drinking and interject with a tired chuckle and small smile; he awkwardly drops his hand. 

The serious moment passes swiftly with a twinkle in your eye. You silently thank the alcohol for that.

“Although, maybe that's half a lie.”

In the corner of your vision, you catch the intrigued quirk in Qimir’s eyebrow, along with a flicker of anger. Barely noticeable, but it’s there, and you wonder why he would be angry.

You waggle a finger. “Keep this between us, but”—you lean in closer and drop your voice to a whisper—“I'm probably more devoted to you than to him.”

You exchange a glance, and the expression on his face shifts from seriousness to amusement, the flicker of anger completely dissipated. He mirrors your earlier stance, resting his chin in his palm. 

“That's only because I help you all the time,” he says, granting you a soft smile that reaches his eyes. 

This is a rare moment from Qimir, so you try your best to commit it to memory. Remembering his warm glow, the crinkles around his eyes, and how close he is to you. So close that the hint of the alcohol in his breath brushes your face, but it’s not as strong as you thought it would be.

“Well, there's that…” you admit, nodding, and you break eye contact as you say–

“But you're also my friend, Qimir.”

You barely breathe the last few words out in a whisper, almost as if you were ashamed to say it. But you aren’t–worry merely runs rampant as you fear rejection or something of a similar shade, despite it being just a platonic confession. 

“I am?” 

His reaction causes you to peer back at him. He draws his head back with a tilt, and you’ve never seen him so puzzled before. There’s a brief pause as he gives it some thought, his eyebrows furrowing in contemplation.

Then, he nods his head and his lips curl into a crooked, almost cocky, grin. 

“Huh. I guess I am.”

You clutch your chest in jest and muster your best puppy-eyed frown. “Ouch, if I knew this relationship was that one-sided, I would’ve asked him for another one of his followers to replace you.” 

The glimmer in his eyes reads as good-natured, but the blatant flexing of his grip against the edge of the counter says otherwise. 

“You wouldn't.”   

You push back, jutting out your chin and getting close to him again with a flash of a smirk. 

“Oh, I absolutely would.”

You stare at each other, holding your ground. 

But then he breaks the little game when he slightly drags his lower lip between his teeth, followed by a fleeting glance towards your mouth.

Your breathing hitches. 

In an instant, the moment shatters when Qimir clears his throat and pulls back.  

“Do you…” Qimir begins hesitantly, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing a random spot on the counter. He inhales deeply, almost as if he’s steeling himself, then continues, “Have you ever thought you and him could be, like, something more?”

“You mean…” You squint, searching for the right words. “...have I ever thought about dating my master?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

You raise an eyebrow and stare blankly at him. 

“You've met him, right? We’re talking about the same guy?”

Before he answers, he sips again from his bottle. You become entranced by Qimir’s Adam’s apple as it bobs with each glug. Maybe these thoughts were being filtered through beer goggles, but if Qimir wanted to know about your current ranked dating choices, he'd probably be at the top of your list. 

A soft pop sounds as his lips detach from it. The word kissable flashes through your mind. 

“I mean, I know he's not really the talkative type but–”

“But what if he's butt-ass ugly?” you blurt out in a screech, pressing your hands into your cheeks in your drunken state.

“He is not butt-ass ugly,” Qimir cuts in, more defensively than you expect. 

You drop your hands and chortle loudly, so much that it echoes throughout the store. In disbelief, you grin ear to ear. 

“I thought you said you haven't seen him before!” you say, holding out an arm. 

“I—I didn't. Haven't! I haven’t,” he stammers, raising a hand and shaking his head. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “But why must you assume he's ugly?”

You groan, shaking closed fists and tapping them to your forehead. “Why else wouldn’t he take off that stupid mask?” 

You glance up, seeing Qimir’s nostrils flare as he opens his mouth, but you quickly cut him off. 

“And why would I like him that way anyway? All he does is just bark orders and share wise, yet oddly cryptic, phrases.” 

“Hey, so do I,” Qimir retorts, flicking the tip of your nose with his finger. The force he uses makes your nose sting a bit, but you’re sure he didn’t mean to flick you that roughly. In response, you ruffle your nose petulantly. 

You could definitely get used to being like this with Qimir more often. 

“Yeah, but you’re not as cryptic,” you point out, “and he’d be lucky if he was half as handsome as you, Qimir.”

You lightly touch his arm, expecting him to bask in your compliment, but he catches you off guard with a chuckle instead. 

“Why are you laughing at my compliment?” you ask, somewhat hurt.

“I'm just enjoying your company, my”—he hesitates for a second, as if catching himself from saying something else, before meeting your gaze—“my friend.” 

The way he says friend hangs in the air, carrying an unspoken weight. He shakes his head, as if brushing off a thought, and laughs awkwardly. “I’ve gotta get used to that.”

Surprisingly, he continues to dwell on the subject of you and your master. “I mean, if you really think about it, the guy's probably lonely. Probably also likes you a lot more than he lets on and–”

“Okay, stop.” You hold both hands out. “Why are you trying to set me up with him?” You gasp, “Oh, my god–is he your brother?” 

“Wow, time flies by so fast!” Qimir exclaims dramatically, quickly getting up from his stool and practically tripping on his own feet. “It’s getting late, and I’m gonna head to bed. Good night!” 

In the blink of an eye, he’s already darting upstairs to his temporary bedroom. 

“Qimir, answer me!” you call out. “Is he a distant cousin? You must’ve seen him before if he’s related to you.” 

“Good night, my friend!” he hollers back.

“Qimir, get back here!”

“Sweet dreams! And drink some water before you go to bed!” 

Even in moments like these, Qimir still manages to have the final say, his words always laced with the utmost care for you.

///

A few hours go by, the moonlight shining strongly in the night sky. In the comfort of your makeshift bed nestled in one of the corners of the store, you toss and turn aimlessly. Your mind replays everything with Qimir from the last few hours.

And then realization hits you like a sack of duracrete bricks.

You bolt upright up from the bed and switch between muffling a scream in your pillow and smacking it against your face. 

How could you have been so blind to how obvious it all was?

Throwing aside your covers, you carefully and quietly tiptoe upstairs. 

At the top of the stairs, with the help of a few burning candles nearby, you peek at the sight of Qimir snoring softly on his side, arms flopped in different directions; it warms your heart.

You approach and take a seat on the empty side of his bed, summoning courage to gently trace the contours of his face, following the sharp lines of his jaw. He stirs awake moments later, turning to face you directly. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Qimir mumbles groggily. He rubs his eyes. “Everything all right?” 

“Qimir, can you pass a message onto my master?” you ask urgently. 

“Right now?” he groans in annoyance, sitting up. “Can't it wait until morning?” 

“No, I'm sure you can pass it on now. It’s a pretty simple message.” 

You lean in. It’s a quick kiss as your hand rests on his arm. It has to be quick, or else you might change your mind. 

Plush lips press against yours. It’s still and tense for a beat, and then he replies with a slight kiss back. He’s the one who breaks away first, but he leans his forehead against yours.

“Uh, I… You want me to kiss him?” he asks in confusion. 

You slide your hands to the nape of his neck.

“If you mean kissing yourself, then yes, Master.” 

Like flipping a switch, Qimir’s demeanor transforms into something entirely else. His presence intensifies, exuding confidence and strength you’re unused to. His eyes darken, locking onto yours with a gaze that can penetrate your soul. 

His rich, deep voice returns from before, now tinged with authority.

“Took you long enough, my acolyte.”  

This Qimir—your master—moves swiftly with urgency. His grip on your body is firm, almost possessive. His kisses are passionate, his tongue exploring your mouth with fervor. 

“Told you I'm not ‘butt-ass ugly,’” he mumbles, almost growling, between kisses. You giggle, but your giggle quickly turns into a moan as he presses his body firmly into yours.  

“And my mask isn’t stupid. I'll have you know it saved me so many–”

You silence your master with another kiss, focusing on the present and pushing aside debates that could be saved for later.

For now, all you want is to remain in the comfort of his bed, letting the night truly begin, marking the beginning of what your master and you have unknowingly long awaited for. 

[chosok-amo]

hi I see you want a request! hb some angst to comfort !drunkgojoxreader where he always shows up drunk confessing his feelings but then acts normal when he’s sobered up. Reader is tired of mixed signals and ends up going on a date with someone when gojo happens to visit sobered up

you can do whatever you want if u happen to be inspired! Hope this helps you get out of your funk

“OH, MY LOVER IS DRUNK” : GOJO SATORU

you and him, you were supposed to be best friends— supposed to. but neither you nor gojo can't keep the feeling of falling. he tries to deny the feeling so hard that he has to drown himself with alcohol, the thing he loves the least, just to forget the feeling, only to come back to you every time he is drunk.

w/c 4.5k

warning : drunk! gojo satoru, non-sorcerer gojo!, angst.

p.s thank you for giving me a chance to write you something, and I'm sorry it took me long enough to write this :'), but i hope you enjoy it! (i don't think i make this angst enough for my liking)

fanart credit to the owner.

it was a tranquil night, the moon casting a soft, ethereal glow through your apartment windows, bathing the room in a gentle light. though the clock read 3:00 AM, sleep eluded you, your mind too restless to find peace. lying on your cold bed, you stared at the ceiling, each pattern and shadow playing tricks on your eyes in the dim light. the blanket was draped neatly up to your stomach, its weight a comforting presence against the chill of the night.

your hands lay flat on top of the blanket, fingers nervously tapping the back of the other hand in a slow, rhythmic cadence. the silence of the night seemed to amplify every tiny sound: the soft rustle of the sheets, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the apartment, the almost imperceptible hum of the city outside. despite the stillness, a storm of thoughts churned within you, each one keeping you wide awake and alert, as if anticipating something just beyond the horizon.

you were anticipating something, no— more likely, someone. that someone, neither your boyfriend nor your anything, he just likely is a more sinister thing, disguised as a best friend, unfortunately. sinister thing, you describe him, where a silver thread lies between you and him— a bright and bold, tale of your love, gojo satoru.

he is, my sinister thing’ you thought.

you were adrift, suspended in the air, with no destination, no specific place to call home. you existed in a state of limbo, neither firmly standing nor lying down, hovering in a liminal space. your presence was neither filled with love nor marked by the experience of being in love.

you were perpetually caught in a paradox, always existing in a state of “neither,” but never fully reaching a place of clarity or resolution. your existence was defined by an absence of definitive states or emotions, perpetually undefined and drifting, forever caught between the edges of presence and absence.

it was always waiting, waiting, and waiting.

just like how the night before, and before, and right now, waiting in your bed for him to knock— and when he does, you, mindlessly, like you're in ecstasy running a little by little in the middle of the night to open your door, without realizing there's another door you open— your heart.

stumbling, drowning in a sea of alcohol he hates, gojo satoru walks in. and you, like the idiot you are, guide him to your barely-fits-for-his-over-six-feet -ass couch, comfortably lying him there.

“careful,” you whisper through the night.

your warm hands meet with his cold ones, gripping you as if he's holding on for his dear life. you drape his body with a blanket, big enough for you to shield not only his physical form but also the emotions he holds for you, hidden beneath the warmth, hide his love for you, not that you need to know. gojo‘s blue eyes are warm, and dull as they indulge softly in the moonlight and gentle glow from your little lamp on the cover of your living room, appear soft and subdued.

you find yourself seated on the cold, hard floor, while gojo stretches out on your couch, facing you with a look of serene contentment. his handsome face is illuminated by a crooked yet mesmerizing smile, a testament to his charm even in his inebriated state. his hands, chilled and seeking, grip yours with a familiar desperation, yearning for the warmth you effortlessly provide.

this nightly ritual has become a part of your routine—gojo, drinking away his soul, stumbles through your door, his steps wavering yet purposeful. he collapses onto the couch, and you remain on the floor, the quiet observer of his vulnerable confessions. as he speaks of his love for you with a fervor that seems to swell with each passing moment, it’s as if he fears losing you with the break of dawn.

he loves like you’re the very essence of his existence, the heartbeat of his every moment. his affection is a force that shapes his world, a flame that burns eternally in his soul. to him, you are the embodiment of all his dreams and desires, the one who makes every day brighter and every night more meaningful. his love for you is not just a feeling but a profound truth that defines his very being.

when the alcohol fades and his clarity returns, he resumes his usual demeanor, leaving behind only the tender echo of his heartfelt declarations and the gentle imprint of his touch on your hands. he pretends, gojo satoru likes to pretend.

“always so beautiful,” he whispered, his smile fading as his eyes wandered over every contour of your face. he traced the delicate path of each freckle, every mole, and the subtle lines that marked the passage of time, memorizing every exquisite detail in his heart. his cold hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a chill across your skin that mingled with the warmth of his gaze, as if he were imprinting the essence of your beauty into his soul.

he draws your entwined hands closer to his chest, where his heart, in truth, has always belonged to you. from the very first moment you met, it was never his alone; it has been yours from the start. as your palm rests against his chest, you can feel the soft, steady beat of his yours heart, buried beneath his flesh—an intimate rhythm that pulses with calm and a tender, unselfish devotion.

a small smile graces your lips as you rest your chin on the couch, gazing deeply into his eyes and letting yourself be enveloped by their depth. “i’m in love with you,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with intoxicated. “so in love that i can’t remember a time when i wasn’t, as if my soul has adored you since the dawn of everything,” you listen to his heartfelt confession, witnessing the gradual collapse of his defenses, and your eyes shimmer, heart-shaped.

gojo chuckled softly, his voice thick with intoxication. “do you recall the first and last time we made love? your lips on my neck, since that day, your mouth has been nothing but heaven,” his words tumbled out in a drowsy, slurred cadence.

you, too, remember that day with crystal clarity; it is etched deeply in your mind, an indelible memory that clings to your thoughts like a cherished, haunting presence. each detail, every sensation, has become a permanent part of you, woven into the very fabric of your being. the memory of his touch and the sweetness of his kiss linger, a profound and enduring echo that remains with you always.

you still can feel his touch on your skin.

“of course you don’t know,” he whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of intoxication, as his thumb traced gentle patterns across your cheek. “and i’ll gladly take the blame for that,” he continued, his words slurred with inebriation, “i-i kissed your hair while you slept in the morning,” his giggle, light and childlike, bubbled up with a carefree delight. “i wonder if you ever knew.”

you shake your head gently, a small, small smile touching your lips, just a little. you wouldn't dare to open your mouth, oh, you wouldn't dare. to speak would risk breaking the spell of his drunken state, causing him to sober up and retract the love he has so freely and vulnerably shared. the thought of him withdrawing those tender confessions and retreating into the safety of his guarded heart is a fear too profound to bear. because at that time, it's all you have, his drunkenly confession.

so you remain silent, savoring the warmth of his affection as it envelops you, clinging to this fleeting intimacy as if it were a precious secret. afraid that when the dawn’s approach looms, threatening to sweep away the ephemeral beauty of his heartfelt revelations, leaving only the ghost of his love behind.

it's a frightening, haunting, spine-chilling sensation that grips you, filling you with an aching dread, so you remain silent. because maybe, in those three am confessions are your only salvation. just like a dark mirror to cinderella’s tale, your reality is sinking down from the ceiling, swallowing you whole when he sobers up when the sun hits your cheeks warm.

“oh, god, i love you so much. . .” he whispered, his voice laden with vulnerability as he clutched your hand tightly, pressing it against his chest. “this love i feel—it terrifies me. i'm scared for the love i have for you, it seems so powerful, like it could burn me alive or utterly ruin me. even so, i know that i’ll let it be, but fuck. . . i'm so scared.” his breath was uneven and strained, each gasp revealing the depth of his fear.

his eyes, gleaming with the weight of his emotions, flickered with a poignant brilliance before finally closing. as he drifted into unconsciousness, the full embrace of the alcohol took hold, and the tender confessions of his heart were swallowed by the enveloping darkness.

you remain in quiet contemplation, letting his heartfelt words gently seep into your thoughts. you extend your arm along the edge of the couch, laying your cheek softly against it as you gaze at gojo’s tranquil, slumbering face. his lips, tender and slightly swollen, and his cheeks, flushed a soft, rosy hue reminiscent of crushed cherries from the effects of the alcohol, form a serene portrait of vulnerability.

in the gentle light, his features are softened by the peacefulness of sleep, creating a stark contrast to the emotional intensity of his earlier confessions. the calmness of his face, so vulnerable and exposed in repose, contrasts beautifully with the passionate turmoil of his words.

as you watch him, the room seems to hold its breath, enveloping you both in a tender silence that honors the depth of the moment. the delicate interplay of light and shadow highlights the serene beauty of his sleep, allowing you to cherish the profound intimacy of this quiet, shared space.

when the morning comes, he'll sober up, and the alcohol will have faded from his system, washed away by the sunlight along with his love for you. he'll blame the alcohol in case he said anything foolish, and you? oh, you would find yourself blaming the moon, even the sun, because it's breath away the day for night to come, for casting hope into your soul, into your heart, and also crushing it at the same time in the harsh light of dawn. leaving you to grapple with the fragile hope that was both a blessing and a burden.

it was cruel, worse than cannibalism. you could have borne the agony of having your flesh consumed, but not the ravaging of your soul and heart, oh please, not my heart’ you would plead into the darkness as night falls. you were scared too, not because of loving gojo satoru, loving him is as natural as breathing, but because of the depth of your devotion— you are scared your devotion would turn violent. your devotion would make you believe him like a god, and he'll betray you like a man.

yet, despite the pain, you find yourself eternally awaiting the arrival of night, longing for those confessions whispered at 3:00 AM, even knowing they will leave you shattered by morning’s light. each dawn brings the same heartache, and today is no different.

you awaken to the insistent chime of your notification, your eyes fluttering open to the stark emptiness of your apartment. the couch where gojo once lay is now vacant, the space where he slept cold and unwelcoming. the blanket he used before now wrapped around you, carries no trace of his warmth. the comfort it once offered has dissipated, leaving behind only a hollow chill and the echo of his absence.

your grip tightens on your phone, the pressure biting into your hands, but it’s a mere shadow of the pain coursing through your heart. suddenly, the dam within you gives way, and a torrent of tears spills down your cheeks, cascading like a relentless river. the exhaustion of navigating gojo’s endless emotional games weighs heavily upon you, a suffocating burden that leaves you breathless.

you don't want anything, the only thing you want can't be bought with money. if i ask for your heart will you give it to me?’ you mock yourself. what a fucking loser.

“oh god. . .” you whisper, forehead touching the floor as you wailing in silence.

you feel foolish for clinging to the hope that, perhaps this time, he might remember, that he might repeat the tender words of the night before. yet, as each morning dawns with the same emptiness, your heart aches with the weary realization that your hopes have been in vain, leaving you to grapple with the sorrow of unfulfilled dreams.

the evening was settling into a serene quiet, your apartment softly illuminated by the warm glow of your lights. you were almost ready for your date, anticipation mingling with a sense of hope as you made final adjustments to your outfit. watching yourself in the mirror, you realize how dull your eyes are, losing their spark. after everything, you decided to bury your feelings beneath your flesh until only you know your love for gojo satoru.

a knock at the door disrupted your preparations, and when you opened it, gojo stood there, sober and uncharacteristically subdued. his eyes, usually brimming with playful energy, now reflected a deep, almost mournful sadness.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer just like always. he glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the subtle details of your evening preparations—the carefully chosen attire, the delicate scent of perfume, and your eyes, those bright, beautiful eyes.

you moved through your bedroom, selecting accessories and adjusting your outfit, each motion a quiet ritual in the evening’s anticipation. gojo watched from the doorway, his gaze fixed on you with a deep, almost reverent intensity. his silence spoke volumes, a contrast to the usual banter that characterized your interactions.

gojo’s voice, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability, broke the silence. “where are you going?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of concern and hurt.

you hesitated, caught between the desire to protect both his feelings and the truth. his gaze, usually so playful and intense, now bore a raw, wounded quality. the gravity of the question hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the weight of the decision you had to make.

“i’m—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. you could see the hope flickering in his eyes, mingled with the pain of realization. you knew that this was more than just a casual question; it was a plea for understanding, for clarity amid his confusion.

he took a step closer, his usual nonchalance replaced by a genuine yearning to grasp the reality of the situation. “i just want to know,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “where you’re going. what’s tonight for you?”

you looked at him, your heart aching with the weight of his unspoken fears. the room felt charged with the intensity of the moment, every detail amplified by the quiet desperation in his voice.

“i’m going out with someone,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “tonight is… it’s meant for someone else.”

the words hung in the air, their impact palpable. gojo’s face fell, the light in his eyes dimming as he took in the truth of your plans. he nodded slowly, the understanding settling over him with a heavy sadness.

“i see,” he said quietly, a bitter edge to his tone as he took a step back, giving you space. “i didn’t realize…” the finality of his words and the desolate look on his face were almost too much to bear.

you hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but before you could answer, his gaze wandered over you with a mixture of admiration and sadness. “you look…” he started, his voice faltering slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “you look really beautiful tonight.”

his eyes roamed over your outfit, the careful details you had chosen, and the way the light caught in your hair. there was a softness in his gaze that spoke of more than just physical appreciation— it was as though he was trying to hold onto every fleeting moment, every detail of this evening as if to etch it into his memory.

“you always look beautiful,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “but tonight. . .. tonight it’s different. you’re. . . breathtaking.” the sincerity in his words was palpable, mingling with the unspoken sadness in his eyes. he didn’t move, didn’t retreat from the moment. instead, he stood there, quietly observing, letting his admiration and affection fill the space between you.

“i didn’t mean to intrude,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving you. “i just wanted to see you one more time. before you go.”

the room felt heavy with the weight of his gaze, the emotional intensity of his words. you could feel the ache in his eyes, a mixture of admiration and longing, as he took in every detail of your appearance. the compliment, so genuine and heartfelt, seemed to hang in the air, a poignant reminder of the affection he still held for you.

“it's okay,” you nodded softly, gazing at him from your mirror with a little smile, kissing your lips. the date was meant to be an escape, a chance to move forward, but it felt like an endurance exercise.

your date was polite and engaged in conversation, but there was an undeniable disconnect. every word spoken seemed to drift past you, a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts that consumed your mind. the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the casual chatter all felt hollow, lacking the vibrancy you had hoped for.

as the evening progressed, the sparkle of the city lights and the charm of the venue did little to lift the weight on your shoulders. the conversations felt superficial, the moments fleeting and unremarkable. you smiled and nodded in response, but your thoughts were miles away, tangled in the memories and the lingering presence of gojo.

you couldn’t help but replay the images of that earlier moment—gojo’s earnest eyes, the softness of his compliments, and the way his gaze had followed you with such unspoken longing. his presence had imprinted on your heart so deeply that everything else seemed to fade in comparison. the way he had watched you, the tenderness in his voice, and the painful silence after he had left all resurfaced in your mind, casting a shadow over every interaction of the evening.

the date dragged on, each passing minute feeling like an eternity. you forced yourself to remain engaged, but the thought of gojo’s unspoken words and the gentle way he had looked at you overshadowed everything. you were caught in a cycle of longing and regret, unable to escape the grip of your own emotions.

as you stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the evening. your mind was still heavy with the weight of the date's emptiness, and the city lights seemed dimmer as you walked towards your car.

just outside, by the entrance of the restaurant, you noticed a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost. gojo stood there, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the crowd with a determined focus. as your gaze met his, his face softened, revealing a mix of relief and something deeper.

there you are, beautiful, mellow you. walking alone looking pretty in that silk dress that you should be wearing for him, not the other man, him. seeing you so breathtakingly beautiful makes gojo satoru want to crash into every piece of you, and fuck, he swears to god, that's how stars are born.

“hey,” he said softly, pushing himself off the lamppost and walking towards you. the usually playful tone in his voice was replaced by a sincere warmth. “i thought i might catch you before you left.” you stopped in your tracks, a flutter of surprise and emotion rising within you. “satoru, what are you doing here?”

you're in front of him, eyes glimmering under the lamppost and the moon. gojo wants to run, to bury himself under the ground, or just tell you to stop looking at him with those eyes. stop touching me with your eyes’ he thought.

“i-i. . .”

even so, his eyes never leave yours, shaken as he tries to swim into your orbs. how its color slightly changes under the lamppost makes it even harder for gojo to speak as if the ground is a new language for him, and suddenly, he forgets everything he knows about gravity.

“please love me. .” he whispered, throat dry.

for a brief, electrifying moment, your eyes widened in astonishment. your heart is pounded with a frantic rhythm, faster than the fall of distant stars, yearning to escape its confines and find its way into gojo’s hands. it ached with a longing so intense that it felt almost unbearable.

the pain of desiring something so profoundly—something you’ve never truly known—made you question why your heart should yearn for a home it has never experienced. yet, despite never having been there, it cried out with an ineffable need to be held by him.

it was always his and never been yours since day one, but he already holds onto your soul with an unrelenting grip and your heart— your only refuge, is all you ever had to keep living. you can't live your life if all you ever had is just merely flesh and bone.

“satoru, are you drunk?”

“no—” he shook his head, fast enough to hold both your hands and bring them closer against his chest, where his heart was beating faster, also begging to be handed to you. “i'm in love with you, y/n. i'm sorry i always pretend like i don't remember in the morning, but please. . . i don't dare to, maybe if i love you less it would be easier for me to talk, but fuck—”

he paused for a moment, and in that suspended breath, your only fear was the possibility of him retracting his heartfelt confession. the weight of his unspoken words hung in the air, and you found yourself dreading the loss of such a precious revelation. the thought of him pulling back, of his feelings fading into silence, was the only shadow that cast fear over your heart.

so you shook your head, “no, don't stop,” you plea.

gojo swallows his pride, he feels pathetic. but he would bear the life long of feeling pathetic if it is meant to have your eyes on him, to have your skins and bones knit with his then so be it. “i love you—oh god, i fucking love you, in the purest, chaste, most victorian sense,” he says, laughing softly. “even a mere glimpse of your ankle might be enough to drive me mad.” you can’t help but chuckle along with him.

his hands enveloped yours with a desperate intensity, holding them as if they were the very essence of his longing. “i love you,” he breathed softly, his voice mingling with the whisper of the night breeze. “i want every single one of your tomorrows.”

he guided your hands closer to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to your wrist, his touch both tender and reverent. his eyes locked with yours, revealing a depth of emotion that seemed to illuminate the darkness around you. the moment his lips left your skin, the faintest trace of coldness lingered, as if the warmth of his affection had left an indelible mark.

with a gentle but purposeful motion, his hands slid to your waist, drawing you nearer. his touch was both firm and delicate as he turned you around, guiding you until your back was nearly pressed against the lamppost. the soft glow of the streetlight bathed you both in a halo of light, casting long shadows and highlighting the closeness of your bodies.

in this intimate cocoon, the world seemed to fade away. the chill of the night, the warmth of his breath, and the quiet intensity of his gaze created a fragile moment of connection. his presence enveloped you, a promise whispered in the night air, as if he were claiming every future moment with you, even as the night deepened around you.

“please. . ..” he beg.

he leaned in, his face inches from yours, until his lips lightly brushed against your own. “please, love me,” he whispered once more, his voice tender and pleading. his warm breath caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

the proximity of his lips, the softness of his words, and the gentle warmth of his breath all combined to create a moment of intimate vulnerability. his plea hung in the air, laden with the depth of his emotions, as he sought to bridge the gap between your hearts.

as the world around you seemed to slow, gojo’s gaze lingered on your lips with an intensity that made your heart race. his fingers, still resting on your waist, drew you even closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. the soft glow of the streetlight cast a gentle halo around the two of you, accentuating the intimacy of the moment.

with a deliberate tenderness, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation built like a quiet storm as his lips inched closer, brushing against yours with a delicate, almost reverent touch. the kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration that spoke of deep longing and unspoken desires.

his lips moved with a slow, deliberate grace as if savoring every second of the connection. the initial softness gave way to a deeper intensity, his kiss growing more passionate as he pulled you even closer. the world outside seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his lips pressed firmly against yours. his hands cradled your face, his touch gentle yet insistent, guiding the kiss with a blend of affection and need.

the warmth of his kiss seemed to infuse every part of you, a melding of hearts and souls that transcended words. when he finally pulled away, his eyes still locked onto yours, there was a look of profound contentment and vulnerability. the kiss lingered in the air between you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the fragile, beautiful connection that bound you together.

as you slowly pull away from the kiss, your lips linger near his, you meet his gaze with a fierce resolve. “if you ever mock me or play with me,” you say, your voice steady yet charged with intensity, “i swear to god, satoru, i’ll fucking hunt you down.” the words hang between you, your breath mingling with his, a silent promise of the depth of your commitment.

gojo’s eyes spark with a playful glint as he hears your words. with a mischievous smile, he leans in, giving your lips a series of soft, teasing pecks. “i won’t,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, but with an undercurrent of sincerity. “i promise.” his playful demeanor contrasts with the intensity of your threat, yet his gentle touches and warm gaze convey a deeper assurance.

[godsfavdarling]

waiting for the day to end

my masterlist, part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You and Spencer come back to his apartment, and your boyfriend’s drunken state brings old wounds to the surface. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, panic attack, drunk Spencer, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic, no y/n a/n: I'm imagining later seasons Spence but I am not gonna yuck anybody's yum!

You smoothly place the keys in the lock of his apartment and quickly turn them twice to unlock the door. The dark room abruptly brightens when you flick the light switch on.

Spencer, who has been leaning against the wall near you, stumbles into the room right behind you.

The door slams shut behind him, the thud reverberating through the room.

You flinch, spinning around at the jarring sound.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, a bit unsteady.

He throws himself onto the armchair with a heavy sigh, his head lolling back as he closes his eyes.

You murmur under your breath, “I’ll get you some water,” and head toward the kitchen, your heels clacking against the floor. 

In the quiet, you take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before filling two glasses of water. 

When you bring them back, you hand one to Spencer, urging him to drink. He gulps it down immediately, nearly draining the glass in one go.

You’ve never really seen him like this.

Spencer rarely—almost never—drinks. But tonight, it’s obvious just how far gone he is. He’s coherent enough to hold himself up, and his words still make sense, but you can tell he isn’t fully present. 

He was already fading hours ago, just an hour into dinner at Rossi's when his team had convinced him to relax and celebrate Garcia’s birthday with a few drinks.

Now, he’s staring off into space, eyes glassy, a faint smile still lingering from whatever joke had last drifted through his mind. You swallow, feeling the anxiety tug at you.

You felt it early on. But you tried to ignore it.

Spencer was different. 

He was responsible and careful. He liked being sober and in control. He was someone who avoided excess.

He was not a drunk. 

You knew all this and tried to stay rational. 

After his third drink, though, all that rationality flew out the window. With the last gulp of his third drink, you decided to excuse yourself, claiming you weren't feeling well, and spent most of the evening outside. The poker game was so intense that no one really questioned you or bothered to check on you.

You had thought, knowing Spencer’s sharp observation skills, that he would come find you shortly and ask what was wrong. He always did. He could always tell when something was off and always wanted to know. But tonight, he didn’t.

You waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, hoping he’d realize and come find you, that he’d be his usual self. But as the laughter and clinking glasses carried on from inside, you realized he was somewhere you couldn’t reach him tonight.

As you watched him now, slouched in the armchair with you far away from him sitting on the edge of the couch, your heart ached. 

This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. He was lost in his thoughts, barely acknowledging your presence. You handed him your glass of water, and he took it with a mumbled "thanks", sipping it more slowly this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit clearer but still distant. “Yeah, just... tired,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, but the anxiety still sat inside you.

Stop!

Spencer is not him! 

He is nothing like him!

You keep staring at him, fidgeting with your fingers and the hem of your black velvet dress, feeling helpless as you try to guess what he wants. 

Is he going to stay here for a while? Does he need more water? Is he going to shower, or maybe just head to bed?

Finally, Spencer glances up, his gaze focusing on you as if for the first time tonight. His brows knit together as he notices the anxious look in your eyes. 

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.

You swallow, feeling a rush of emotions you’ve been holding back all evening. He’s looking at you now, really looking, like he usually does, but something about his unsteady, drunken state makes you hesitate. 

He’s here, yet somehow not fully here, and you’re not sure how to answer.

You force a smile, shrugging as if it’s nothing, but your heart pounds. "Just… tired, I guess."

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you know he sees through your answer, even in his state. 

Now he sees. 

He’s silent, watching you with a slight frown like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You glance away, twisting the hem of your dress tighter. 

"Maybe you should get some rest," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. You try to keep the tremor out, but it’s there. A lot of it.

He’s never seen you like this—not this vulnerable, this close to tears. You’ve not been dating that long. A lot of things are still unknown, unsaid, unshared and the toxic, drunk but highly functioning, unpredictable boyfriends have not yet come out in any conversation.

"I’ll be fine," Spencer mutters, rubbing his face with one hand as he sinks further into the chair.

His words are gentle, but they’re not the reassurance you’re aching for. 

You wish he’d tell you he’d never do this again, that he understands why this is hard for you. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, distant and hazy.

A lump forms in your throat as the silence presses down on you. You stand up, needing some distance, and force a tight smile. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll go… take a walk or something."

As you turn to leave, Spencer reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but unsteady. "It’s like 2 AM. You’re not going anywhere alone."

You stop, frozen, a tightness forming in your chest. You want to say it’s fine, that you just need space, but the words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. Instead, he continues, unaware of how badly his presence is affecting you right now.

“Let’s take a walk together. It’ll help,” he offers, his voice tinged with concern, though still a little slurred.

You turn sharply, frustration and something darker bubbling up in your chest. “No!” you snap, louder than you intended, the word echoing in the quiet room. You instantly regret it, but the hurt is too raw, too overwhelming. You try to swallow the sudden surge of emotion, but it’s too much.

You finally realize that his hand in on your arm, and the realization hits like a cold wave. You feel an intense rush of discomfort. You don’t want him near you right now. 

The feeling of his fingers on your skin, even though they’re meant to comfort, feels wrong.

You can’t breathe. You can’t handle his touch, not like this, not after everything that’s happened. You jerk away, backing up, your heart hammering.

Without a word, you turn and storm toward the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and lean against it for a second, trying to steady your breath. 

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the anger and fear swirling inside you until you can hardly tell the difference between the two.

It’s not his fault, you think, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside your chest.

He’s just drunk, he’ll be sober soon, but... why does it still feel so wrong?

You press your hands to your face, feeling the tears already starting to form.

I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to let this take me back. I can’t let it.

Your thoughts race, but you force yourself to focus, turning the shower on. The sound of the water helps. 

You quickly but clumsily step out of the dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the tiles. 

You step under the hot spray, closing your eyes, letting the warmth soothe the tension in your muscles.

Just wash it off, just wash it off, you tell yourself as if the water could cleanse more than just your skin.

You’re lost in the sensation of the water for long minutes when there’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door. 

You freeze. Your heart skipping a beat.

“Hey… uh… I really need to pee,” Spencer calls out, his voice even softer than before.

You swallow, fighting the panic rising in your throat, and quickly shut off the water. You wrap a towel around your body and open the door just enough for you to slip past him. Without a word, you go into the bedroom and gracelessly put on one of the shirts you left in his drawer.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be fine, you think, climbing into bed, curling up under the covers. 

You just want this day to end. You need it to end.

Then it hits you—you’re in his bed.

You stand up and then sit again on the edge.

You should go home. You should be in your own bed. You want to get up, gather your things, get dressed, and leave, but you're paralyzed. You're overwhelmed. You can’t breathe. You can’t move.

Then Spencer walks into the room, his gaze landing on you. As if he can read the turmoil in your mind, he says softly, "It's late. Stay here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll take the couch."

You don’t say anything, unable to find the words.

He pauses, watching you for a moment, before quietly pulling his pajamas from the closet and heading into the bathroom.

You just need to sleep. You’ll sleep it off, and when you wake up, things will make sense again. Maybe Spencer will apologize. 

Apologize for what?

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’ll be sober. Everything will go back to normal.

But sleep doesn’t come. The bed feels cold, and the silence in the room is suffocating. You can’t shake the thoughts in your head.

What if he doesn’t remember?

What if he won’t leave it and you’ll have to explain and he’ll be angry?

Why are you angry?

Why are you upset?

Just as you're about to give up on sleep altogether, you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Spencer slips into the room quietly, his footsteps hesitant. He walks to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying anything at first.

"Are you asleep?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle, almost too careful. You feel his gaze on you, even though you’re facing the window, your back to him.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t want to talk to him right now. You don’t want to explain why everything feels broken. You don’t want him to ask.

But you can feel him there, his presence. 

Finally, he speaks again, his voice low but steady. “Please... can we talk? I don't wanna go to bed with you upset and angry.”

You don’t move, staring into the dark. You wish you could say the right thing. You wish you could fix it, but all you feel is a dull ache in your chest, and the thought that maybe nothing will ever be the same again.

Spencer’s hand reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he hesitates for a moment before gently moving toward you. "Hey, I—" His voice cracks, and you can hear the sorrow in it, the regret, the helplessness.

But as his arms come closer, something inside you recoils. You can’t have him near you right now. Not like this. Not when everything feels so wrong.

You flinch, turning away from him instinctively, the words coming out before you even have a chance to stop them. “Please don’t touch me.”

The words hang between you like a heavyweight. 

Spencer freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air, and for a second, everything is still. You can hear his breathing — shallow, uneven — as if he’s trying to understand, trying to process what just happened.

You don’t want him to feel hurt, but you can’t help it. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve, and his touch, even if it's meant to comfort, feels suffocating.

“Okay,” Spencer finally says, his voice small, resigned. He pulls his hand back slowly, as though giving you space to breathe. 

You don’t look at him. You can’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice distant now, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I just... I’m not sure what happened. I know hurt you. I don’t know how but I’m sorry.”

The silence lingers, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping itself around both of you. Spencer hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say next. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t lift yours. 

Finally, he clears his throat softly.

“I’ll... I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, his voice gentle and careful like he’s trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

“It’s okay. If you want to talk... or anything... just come and tell me. I’ll be here.”

You don’t say anything. You still don’t look at him. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the aching honesty of it.

If only his words, his willingness to be there even when you’ve pushed him away could make things better.

But you don’t answer him, because you don’t have the strength to. You don’t know what to say.

Spencer sighs quietly, almost like a final surrender, and then you hear his footsteps moving away from you.

The door opens and closes softly behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence of the room once more.

Spencer’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t bring comfort. Not yet. 

[icbgwy]

not strong enough ꕥ kwon jae-sung x fem!reader

synopsis : with the seikai teikai only allowing six participants from each dojo to join, you start to reconsider the role karate might play in your life, much to your boyfriend’s dismay.

genre : angst

warning(s) : shouting, micommunication, ambiguous ending.

It was midnight, and the two of you should’ve been in bed resting to get up early for training at dawn, but Kwon had decided to take it upon himself to sneak out with you and celebrate his upcoming departure to Barcelona for the Seikai Teikai. 

The moon cast a glow on the mountain tops, a place you both had discovered together, somewhere to escape the watchful eyes of others. 

You sat next to Kwon, admiring his features while simultaneously debating on whether to tell him of your future plans. His face was loaded with excitement as he talked lively about the upcoming tournament. 

You felt guilty for what you were about to do knowing how it would ruin the sweet moment between the two of you, but keeping it in any longer felt like torture. You couldn’t keep lying to him.

“Kwon, I need to tell you something… I’m quitting the dojang and moving back to Seoul,” you said, your voice trembling. You cringed at the words leaving your mouth, making the decision in your head all too real. There’s no turning back now. 

It took him a while to register what you’d said. He looked at you with confusion written all over his face. “Wait, why!? You want to leave the dojang?” he asked in bewilderment.

You reached for his hand, your thumb tracing over his knuckles riddled with scars from the intensive training that Sensei Kim had no problem giving out. She was one of the many reasons on your mental list for wanting to leave. 

“I know we said we’d do this together, but I—” you tried to explain to him, but he cut you off, pushing your hands away as he stood up abruptly. 

His anger was getting the best of him. He couldn’t understand where this was coming from. Everything was going so well. Why would you want to leave him the dojang?

“But you what? Huh? Tell me why!” he demanded, his voice rising with each word, echoing in the quiet night. 

“I don’t have a future in karate, not in the same way you do at least. I’m not strong or passionate enough for it,” you embarrassingly admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“But you are strong! I‘ve seen it myself.” He tried to reassure you hoping it would make you stay.

“You’re only saying that because you’re my boyfriend. I’m weak. Sensei Kim and Sensei Kreese know it too, even if they don’t say it. If I was as strong as you say I am, I would be going to Barcelona with you, but I’m not.” You looked down as you fidgeted with your hands, scared that if you didn’t, you’d start crying.

Kwon’s jaw clenched in frustration, pacing back and forth trying to regulate his anger with some breathing technique you had taught him when you first started dating. The memories of those early days together flooded back in his mind making him all too vulnerable to his own tears.

After some time, he sat down next to you, and in a low, exasperated tone asked, “Why couldn’t you wait until after the tournament to quit or at least tell me? Why does it have to be now?” He looked into your eyes, his filled with desperation and yours filled with guilt. The reality of the moment pressed down on you, making it hard to think.

“I can’t keep lying to you Kwon, it’s not fair the both of us. I can’t waste any more time chasing a future that isn’t plausible. I’m fine with not being the strongest, but I need to move back to Seoul and start getting ready for the suneung.” A sense of ease washed over you as you finally spoke the truth, but it was quickly replaced by the ache of seeing Kwon’s reaction. His eyes were glossy, and his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration making sure his tears didn’t spill.

Kwon let out a heavy sigh. “We’ve come so far together. Why can’t we keep going?”

“I need to find my own path, even if it means leaving you and the dojang behind,” you replied.

He sat in silence for a while, his mind racing as he tried to process your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely audible. “I’ll miss you.”

“I know you will, but just know I’ll be cheering you on. No matter where you are. I’ll miss you too,” you replied, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him. He looked at you, his eyes searching for something, anything, that could change your mind. But deep down, he knew this was something you had thought long and hard about. The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.

© icbgwy all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platforms

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 4.5

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: porn with some plot kinda, this yoongi is very horny and is a very methodical masturbator (?) in the way he set the mood for himself (could be canon, amirite), let’s fix that boner you left him with, and let’s soothe your weary minds from that Dispatch article, POV switch after the article headline, idk if you know that one video of yoongi in d-day during the piano break in life goes on he does this thing with his tongue… it’s written in here somewhere

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.5k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: December 15, 2024

✎ ˎˊ˗ A/N: Surprise! I kid you not, this was written within a span of like 8 hours? So if it sucks, that’s probably why, lol. Lucky for y’all I am too impatient to wait for notes milestones before I upload the next part, so here you go. 🎁 Also, @glossdebut, you know what you did. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |  Masterlist

“Fuck me…” Yoongi sighs, leaning further back into the computer chair. He runs both hands through his hair as the preliminary pinpricks of pleasure makes his cock spring to life under his sweatpants.

His phone is now propped on his half-empty coffee mug, of which the screen—maxed out in its brightness settings—is projecting the photo you sent through its 2x dynamic galaxy amoled display—of which his dick would personally like to thank his Samsung sponsors.

He is so horny he might just die if he doesn’t get off in the next five minutes. 

It’s your fault. Of course, it is.

God you’re so fucking sexy, do you even know that? Do you even realize what you do to him? He is literally about to masturbate in his multi-million won worth studio to the pitiful pixels you have afforded him with.

He stands up, curses you under his breath as he pulls his pants down to pool around his ankles. He drops to his chair, about to slip a clammy hand inside his boxers when he decides to adjust the view juuuust a little, zooming the photo closer…closer…  and that’s it.

Just the view he needs. (Sue him for having astigmatism.)

He grabs the aircon remote and adjusts the temp to a balmy 24 ‘cause it’d be hella annoying if he can’t get hard because his studio is an igloo.

Some velvety track with soft percussions filter out from his speakers.

A pump of lube from his hidden drawer, wet wipes at the ready for the inevitable clean up, and he’s off to the fuckin’ races. 

His fist wraps the base of his cock, coating his entire shaft with the gel. It's cold, but it immediately warms up to his body temperature as his palm slides up and down his semi. 

Greedy eyes rake your body on his phone screen. Your tits. They’re a vision. He can see just the ghost of your nipples, peaking in the slightest way against your silky top and suddenly his mouth is dry. What would they look like if they’re not hiding from him? For sure they’re puffy. Pretty jet-puffed marshmallows that he’s gonna be putting in his mouth and sucking until you’re falling apart and creaming with just that. He smirks. Yeah, he could do that.

He tugs at his cock faster, licking his bottom lip as he imagines the texture of your pebbled nipples against his tongue. He shivers, increasing the pace of his ministrations, cock now fully hard.

Back to the photo.

Huh. You knew what you were doing—squeezing your breast with your hand. The way the mound of flesh is about to spill over, and your areola is just kissing the edge of the fabric is actually killing him. It’s diabolical. Pure torture.

Had you been here, he’s scooping out that breast, the one you’re holding out to him, so it’s hanging generously from your top, wobbling as he bounces you on his fat dick. 

He feels his eyes crossing, caught in the spell of the hypnotic movements playing out in his mind. He moves his hand faster, cock throbbing and aching for release.

But he’s not there yet.

Closing his eyes, Yoongi lets himself sink back into the memory, rewinding the moments from just hours ago. The sensation of your weight against him is the first thing he recalls—the way your ass fits so perfectly in his lap, warm and soft, like you were made to be there. The way your body had melted into his touch, so pliant, so eager, grinding slightly like you were inviting him to ruin you, and he was more than willing to oblige.

Your lips—he can still taste them if he focuses hard enough—sweet, intoxicating, like the lingering memory of his favorite whisky. And your neck, the way it arched so perfectly for him, leaving him no choice but to press his mouth against it, the faint hint of your skin still ghosting on his lips even now.

If he concentrates, he can almost smell you again, that sweet, delicate perfume that drove him insane. It’s like you’ve imprinted yourself on him. Or maybe it’s the faint traces of your scent that linger on his hoodie, the one you pressed yourself into while straddling him and he could feel the perfect ass against his crotch. 

The thought is enough to send his pulse ticking faster, his head leaning back against the chair as a low, frustrated groan escapes him. He needs you. Fervently. Urgently. Needs you like he has never needed another person ever. 

Jaw slack, tongue dangling from the corner of his mouth, he imagines licking your nipples from side to side and his mouth stretches into a smile. He can almost hear you moan oh yoongi and wow what an ego boost to have you unraveling for him when in reality it’s he who is actually unraveling in his own damn hands. His cock is getting heavier, balls tighter at his impending demise. He tugs and tugs, collecting some of the lube that gathered on the base and pushing it back towards his angry tip, concentrating his movements there.

You’re not in the room but you might as well be with the way your name keeps tumbling from his lips. He is whining like a little bitch in heat, but he doesn’t give a shit. He hasn’t had a satisfying jerk-off like this in a while. He can’t even remember sex being this good. Nothing remotely like the way this fog of lust has him ascending to another plane of existence right now, because you’re so fucking sexy and so good to him and he likes you so damn much and suddenly he’s coming, warm spurts of cum oozes from his throbbing cock decorating his fingers like the rings he used to wear to the knuckle, and fuck he’s still going, there’s so much and god dammit his boxers are soaked but it feels phenomenal.

Chest heaving as if he ran a marathon, he stares at his ceiling, waiting for his heart rate to slow down.

Not long after, he laughs at his stupidity, pulling a wipe from the packet and proceeds to clean up. He sobers up from his horny thoughts, but not by a whole lot. Not when the photo that started it all is still bright and beautiful from his phone. Shit. He cannot wait to fuck you for real. 

Little did he know, something was gonna fuck him up come morning.

AllKpop Scoop:

Confirmed: SUGA of BTS Dating Actress Lee Sung Kyung

Eagle-eyed fans are convinced the duo has been hiding their relationship in plain sight, pointing to their undeniable chemistry during a past Suchwita episode, where sparks were reportedly flying between the two.

The story was everywhere. News sites, entertainment shows, gossip columns, social media—each one milking it for all it was worth. 

Darling of the press, K-drama royalty, multi-awarded thespian Lee Sung Kyung, had resurfaced from her mysterious hiatus, and of course, the headlines couldn’t resist pairing her name with “infamous idol Min Yoongi.” You roll your eyes so far back your head they almost didn’t come back.

The South Korean media was having an absolute field day.

And as much as it hurt to see it, your first instinct wasn’t to dwell on the sting of the rumors. It was to scan every word, every post, every thread, checking if Haneul had been dragged into the mess.

Thankfully, he hadn’t been. You’d be devastated if your little sarang had been implicated in any of these stories. You don’t know the first thing about how to protect the poor baby from these trolls, but you will be damned if you don’t try.

The photo that sparked the frenzy was everywhere—a shot of Sung Kyung leaving Yoongi’s Hannam apartment. That was it. No Yoongi, no Haneul, not even a hint of context. Never mind that the building housed countless tenants or that there was zero proof they were together. It was enough to send the internet spiraling into speculation.

You were scrolling through the comments under one of the reposts, your stomach churning at the sheer creativity of the assumptions being thrown around, when your screen suddenly switched to an incoming call.

Yoongi.

You didn’t hesitate, swiping to pick up almost immediately.

“Sarang,” he starts, his voice soft and familiar, like he already knows he needs to tread lightly. Bro’s really starting with the buttering up.

“Where’s Han?” Was your first question.

“My parents drove him up to Daegu this morning. It’s better if he’s there for now.”

You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your temple as you sit back. “Just answer one question, Yoongi: is it true or not?”

“It’s a big fuckin’ lie,” he says without missing a beat, his voice steady and firm. “None of it is true.”

“So it’s all bullshit?”

“YES.” he replies emphatically.

The tension in your shoulders eases slightly, and you exhale, nodding to yourself. This is fine for now. “Okay.”

“Okay?” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice, like he wasn’t expecting you to let it go so easily.

“Yes. Just get your ass here by 7 and not a minute later.” You say, firm.

A pause. Then, with the faintest hint of a chuckle, he replies, “Yes, ma’am.”

A/N: So???? I don't know what that first part was. It just took a life of its own. Anyway, as per ush, please let me know what you thought about the chapter. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you so much for reading this, you lovely, beautiful human xo

See you in the next half! :)

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[lamemaster]

Made of Sugar

Request: Hi! Hope this finds you well, mind if i req for a Thranduil x reader where they're like telling legolas how they met, maybe they met during the war of the last alliance? anyways love ur work especially the angst but now i need some not angst? cus im actually going to cry lmao

Pairing: Thranduil x Wife Reader

Genre: Fluff

AN: This has been due a long time! I'm sorry for the delay but this writer suffers from smooth brain 98% of the time.

“Legolas Thranduilion!” Your voice rings out loud, breaking his thoughts. For once, he wishes his father's presence was there. “Have I not made it clear that you are not to go to the wine cellars?” You pinch your nose blinking furiously as was your habit when agitated. 

Legolas hasn’t known love stronger than the one he has felt for you, his eme. Your stories, your songs, the little stars you paint on the roof of his room– Legolas absorbs them with the wide-eyed devotion of a sunflower turning its face to the first rays of the sun.  

But all that love does not diminish the distress of your anger. You, the one who laughed most easily, whose smile could chase away any shadow, were now a storm cloud gathered over his head.

The familiar scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke that clung to you did little to soothe the storm brewing in your eyes. Legolas flinched – he knew the terrifying, steely glint that hardened your gaze when truly angered. It was a sight rarer than a dust storm in Greenwood, but all the more impactful when it came. 

 At barely 80 years old, facing your wrath felt far more daunting than any monstrous spider lurking in the Greenwood.

"You are too young," you said, your voice tight. "Just you wait until I tell Thranduil." You paced around the room, pinching the bridge of your nose, a telltale sign of your agitation. "Maybe he will listen and move the wine cellars away from the main palace."

Staring at the untouched cakes, Legolas yearned for nothing more than for this tension to pass. He longed to see your easy smile return.  The sight of untouched cakes, usually a source of joy, only emphasized the heavy weight of your displeasure. He longed for the days when your laughter filled the room, chasing away any shadow.

“Beloved queen of mine,” Thranduil sauntered in, his footsteps barely a whisper on the polished floor. The scent of pine needles and leather, a familiar trail, announced his presence even before he entered. “The cellar unfortunately cannot be moved.” Thranduil is already in the process of taking off his heavy robes while detangling his hair from the crown's tiny branches.

Legolas watched with a flicker of worry as your eyes narrowed in annoyance before you gave up to help his ada. "He went in there today," your gaze felt heavy on him even as you busied yourself helping Thranduil detangle the crown. "What if he drank your wine? That thing is disgusting and Legolas is too young. You must move the wine somewhere else." You placed the crown on the table.

Thranduil threw him an amused grin as your back remained turned to them as you instructed the staff to bring fresh snacks and tea. "What if I didn't get there in time…good thing Feren was kind enough to inform me."

"I am disappointed Legolas," Thranduil looked at him without an ounce of anger, and your glare at the king of Greenwood told him that this did not go unnoticed by you. "But I am sorry, my love," He looked up at you with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, "The cellars must remain untouched. I would never in a million ages, change the place of our first meeting."

Legolas' breath hitched in his throat. You frowned. And Thranduil snickered in delight.

"You cannot be serious!" You replied indignantly.

"You met in the wine cellars?!" Legolas asked at the same time.

"We did, ion," Thranduil adds before you can cover his lips with your palm. Thranduil throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the room. A weird sight to see you this flustered, this agitated.

"We did not!"

"We absolutely did!"

"Well, I was 120," you say, a blush creeping up your cheeks. "You were not  princeling."

The servants gawk at the term of endearment that slips past your lips. Some almost drop the trays of food as they put them in front of you. But both you and Thranduil are too taken by the task of bickering like decade-old elflings. "Oh yeah, I too was of age," Thranduil counters with a twinkle in his eye. "Almost of age. Only 4 years shy of it."

Thranduil straightens up, taking a playful bite into a fruit cake. "Four years too young, my love," you smirk, the topic of Legolas' transgression long forgotten. The steel of your rage softened into its original inky warmth.

"I acquiesce, my respected elder," Thranduil bows dramatically, sending another wave of laughter through the room. Legolas watched in amusement, a flicker of relief washing over him as the conversation shifted. Your voices rose in a playful argument.

Legolas, eyeing the untouched cakes, finally understood. Your gentle nature thrived beside his father, much like the sweetness of a cake is best appreciated with a pinch of salt.

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 019 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst, running away, illegal activities, theft, suggestive, unedited

notes. one more chapter before the end of dtd!! you guys, thank you so much!! ik the last chapter was kinda controversial but that was the last lore drop hehe, there will be no more backstories mentioned here. everything just goes forward from here on. as always thank you so much for the love in dtd <3

wc. 10.7k

series masterlist 

[ NINETEEN ] I’ll be on a boat, you’re on a plane going somewhere sane… you were the best but you were the worst. as sick as it sounds, I loved you first

The landscape blurred past your window, a seemingly endless stretch of darkness punctuated by the occasional flash of headlights from passing cars. The night was deep, the kind that felt like it would never end. Rintaro was behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he gripped the steering wheel.

He hadn’t stopped driving since you’d left the city, the tires humming smoothly beneath you as the car cut through the night. Hours had passed – you’d lost count of how many – and it felt like an eternity. His face was set in a rigid expression, his eyes shadowed by exhaustion yet still sharp, still focused. You could see the strain in the tightness of his jaw, the way his knuckles turned white with every frantic turn he made.

You shifted in your seat, stealing glances at him when you thought he wouldn’t notice.

Every so often, his eyes would flicker, a brief blink, signaling that fatigue was setting in, but he pushed on as if stopping would mean surrendering. You fought the urge to reach out, to place a hand on his arm and tell him to pull over and rest, but would he listen?

“Rin,” you tried, keeping your voice small and soft. “We should stop for the night.”

He glanced at you briefly, his lips turning down in a frown. “We can’t. They could be sending more people after us for all we know.”

“I know, but… At least me drive for now. You’ve been driving for hours. You need to rest.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “I’m fine. I can keep going.”

You leaned back against your seat, your fingers clenching the fabric of your dress as you watched the road stretch endlessly before you. The headlights illuminated the asphalt in a narrow beam, the world outside reduced to a tunnel of light and darkness.

Every bump, every curve in the road made your heart hump. The silence that filled the car was uncomfortable. The clock on the dashboard blinked in the dim light, each passing minute a reminder of how long you’d been on the run. You wanted nothing more but a small reprieve, a chance to catch your breath and get some sleep. But you couldn’t – you felt awake now more than ever, pushed with the need to watch over Rintaro, even if there was so little you could do.

The miles slipped by, and Rintaro kept pushing.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You hated seeing him like this, hated the toll it was taking on him. “Rin.” His name sounded like a plea.

Your husband sighed, knowing full well what you wanted him to do. “We don’t have anywhere else to go, Y/N. If I stop now… I don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

“You should be more worried about yourself. You have no idea what the Queen will do to you.”

“She’s not the Queen anymore, she can’t touch me,” he reminded you, “But you’ve deliberately made yourself an enemy of both the Royal Family and the Government. You’re a much bigger target for them than I am. I don’t know what they’ll do to you, but I’m not risking it to find out.”

Finally, you reached out, tugging on his sleeves as you watched the hard lines on his face soften momentarily. “Rin. Just for one night, please? You and I both need to rest.”

It didn’t take much for Rintaro to surrender. Pursing his lips, the car slowed to an eventual stop. “Fine,” he gave in, weary hands falling to his lap. “Where are we anyway?”

You looked around you, swathed in nothing but darkness and eerie silence. “I don’t know, but we should be far enough from the crash for them to locate us.”

You followed your husband as you stepped out of the car, your footsteps echoing eerily in the desolate alley. The air was thick with the scent of mold and decay, and you shivered – not from the cold but from the unsettling quiet that surrounded you both. Ahead of you stood an abandoned building, its windows shattered and walls scarred by years of neglect. The entrance was barely visible from where it stood, obscured by overgrown vines and the remnants of a rustled metal gate that hung precariously from one hinge.

You and Rintaro exchanged a brief glance, the both of you hesitant but knowing you had no other choice left. Motels and drive-in’s were out of the question. One look at your clothes and your faces, and you would be immediately reported to the officials.

With a soft push, Rintaro eased the door open, the creaking of the hinges loud in the oppressive silence. Inside, the air felt stale, heavy with the dust of forgotten years. The remnants of what seemed to be an old office greeted you – desks overturned, chairs broken, and papers scattered across the floor, yellowed with age. The only light that came from the faint glow of the city outside, seeping through the cracked windows.

As you ventured deeper into the building, your footsteps stirred up the dust, sending small clouds swirling around you. Rintaro paused, spotting a storage cabinet that had remained relatively untouched. He tugged it open, and to your surprise, inside were a few unopened water bottles, half-buried beneath old, discolored documents. He quickly grabbed them, handing one to you as you his gaze lingered on you with each long sip. The cool water was a small comfort, soothing your parched throat and calming your nerves, if only slightly.

Rintaro didn’t stop there.

He found a few tattered, discarded rags and used them to wipe down a section of the floor, pushing aside debris and layers of dust until the spot became relatively clean. You watched him work, the focused way in which he moved, touched by the determination to carve out some semblance of safety in a place that felt anything but. When he was done, he motioned for you to sit, and you lowered yourself to the floor, the coldness of the concrete seeping through your clothes.

You sat shoulder to shoulder, the weight of the world pressing down on you as you took in your surroundings.

The building was a far cry from the luxuries you were accustomed to – it was cold, dark, and filled with the fragments of a life long gone. But it was a refuge, however temporary – a place where you could finally catch your breath and gather your thoughts.

For a moment, you let yourself lean into Rintaro, drawing strength from the solidness of his presence beside you, reminding you that he was real, and he was still here. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in – how far you’d fallen, how much you’d both lost. You turned your head slightly, your eyes finding his hazel ones. In the dim light, his features softened, yet you could still see the lines of exhaustion etched on his face, the lingering shadows of fear and regret in his eyes. I’m sorry, they seemed to say, but you couldn’t quite put a finger on what he was sorry for.

Whatever choices you made had been your own. He didn’t have anything to apologize about.

He met your gaze, and you simply stared at each other. “Why did you come after me?” he spoke after a while, his voice low and softer than you’d ever heard him speak. “I never told you where I was going.”

You blinked up at him, unsure if you should tell the whole truth. There was a tinge of hope he’d failed in concealing from his eyes. The truth was that you never expected running after him would lead to this – to losing Kiyoomi, to becoming labeled as a fugitive and being forced to be in hiding. A few hours ago, you’d expected to bring Rintaro back to the Palace, and return to Kiyoomi’s arms in Belleview Manor. Had you known it’d lead to you being stuck in this dusty, abandoned place… you shook your head. No. You couldn’t think about that now. You were not going to regret running after Rintaro.

“Because,” you started, licking your lips to give them some moisture, “I was worried for you.”

“Why?”

You stared back at him, your lips settling into a frown. “What do you mean, why? Iris just got deposed, the woman you’ve thought to be your Mother was taken away by the Police, and you lost everything within the span of a few days. Of course I was worried about you.”

Rintaro’s eyes widened, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “You’re worried… even though I’m a nobody.”

You bumped your shoulders with his. “I told you to stop saying that already. You aren’t a nobody.”

“I’m not a Prince.”

Leaning your head against the wall, you sighed, reaching over to intertwine your hand with his. Rintaro lets you, allows you to rest your conjoined hands above his knee – your wedding rings glinting under the moonlight. “You don’t have to be one for me to care about you. I told you already, Rintaro. I liked you much better when you weren’t trying so hard to be perfect.”

A small laugh bubbled out of chest. “Do you still like me now? I don’t even know where I’m going to take you.”

“We’ll figure it out together.”

That seemed to be enough to placate him. For the next few minutes, the two of you sat like that, in silence and ruminating over everything. But the silence never lasted, just as the time kept on ticking by. Brushing his thumb over your knuckle, Rintaro sighed. “I broke your phone. We can’t possibly reach out to anyone.”

Your mind raced with possibilities, and your thoughts kept circling back to the one place the Government wouldn’t dare get near – the borders. One of your estates was near there, secluded and far from the prying eyes of the Kingdom. “Wait,” your back straightened, turning to Rintaro with hope glimmering in your eyes. “We have a private estate near the border. We don’t go there often, so there’s less security, but if we could reach it, we might be able to use one of the old smuggling routes my family used back then.”

Rintaro hummed in thought, seriously considering the idea. “About that… I’m not sure we can take the car. You used a private vehicle, but still. They could easily track it now that they’ve seen the plate.”

“Let’s steal one, then.”

“Look at you,” he smirked, making his handsome face look younger. “From Princess to a criminal in less than a day.”

You giggled, your heart racing as the plan formed in your mind. Determined, you quickly scrambled to your feet, and your heels wobbled on the dusty floor. You teetered for a moment, arms flailing around you as you almost lost your balance when Rintaro’s arms were suddenly around you, catching you before you could fall. He pulled you to his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into you. He was close enough that you could feel his heartbeat against your own, the rhythm steady and lulling you into a calmer state.

You stood like that for a few heartbeats, refusing to let the other go.

Faces inches apart, your eyes locked in a silent exchange. The intensity of everything you’d been through the past few hours lingered between you, but in that moment, it all melted away into nothingness. A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and he responded with a quiet laugh of his own, your shared amusement breaking through the tension. You both looked away, embarrassed by the sudden lightness – the moment passed, leaving behind a fleeting sense of normalcy amidst the dangers you faced.

Still holding hands, you ventured out into the dark night, your fingers intertwined as you walked through the desolate streets. The shadows stretched long, the night wrapping around you both like a shroud, but you kept moving, driven by the need to escape. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of your footsteps and the occasional distant noise, making the night feel even more ominous.

After what felt like an eternity of searching, you spotted a car – a plain, nondescript sedan, parked in the shadows at the edge of the street.

It was perfect, blending in with its surroundings and unlikely to draw any attention. Rintaro was the first to move, glancing around to ensure you were alone before gesturing at you to give him your gun. With a swift, decisive motion, he raised his hand to smash the gun against the car’s window.

“Wait! That might sound the alarm.”

Rintaro’s arm hovered over in the air. “But how else can I open it?” he gestured to the lock car, and you shrugged, his eyes flitting to your head. “Do you have pins on your hair?”

“No… Besides, do you even know how to pick a lock?”

“No…”

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine. Let’s smash it.”

Glancing at you one last time for approval, Rintaro smashed the car’s window. The glass shattered, the sound echoing in the empty street, and you winced.

He reached inside and unlocked the door, opening it for you before climbing in himself. You both knew hotwiring the car was beyond your skills, and for a moment, you doubted the effectiveness of your plan. Should you just abandon the car and find another solution? But then, as if by some miracle, Rintaro found a spare key tucked above the visor.

“Would you look at that,” he chuckled at the key in disbelief, “Seems like luck’s on our side tonight.”

Relief washed over you as he turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Without a word, you both settled into the car, the tension returning as you prepared to drive into the unknown.

“We do have one problem, though,” you grimaced, and Rintaro raised his brows in question. “Since your window is broken, anyone could easily see you…”

Your husband cursed under his breath.

Rintaro sped through the darkened roads, his eyes not once straying from it. The broken window made it impossible for him to relax, and every time a car passed by, he instinctively ducked lower, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. The cold wind whipped through the cabin, stinging your faces, and you could see the strain in his eyes, the exhaustion from driving for hours without rest evident.

You switched positions periodically, a silent agreement between you.

When it was your turn to drive, Rintaro leant back in his seat, closing his eyes as he tried to snatch a few moments of sleep to himself. But even in slumber, his face remained tight, worry lines etched deeply into his skin. You focused on the road, determined to give him a break – even for a little while.

The night stretched on endlessly.

Finally, as dawn began to break, the faintest light creeping over the horizon, you realized the gas gauge was running dangerously low. You gnawed at your bottom lip, knowing you couldn’t afford to be stranded. You needed to refuel, and soon.

The gas station you pulled into was small and nearly desolate, the kind that might be overlooked by passing travelers. It was still early, the world around you cloaked in the soft, dim light of dawn. The convenience store attached to the station was the only sign of life in the stillness, its neon lights flickering in the pale morning haze.

You angled your body toward Rintaro, his disheveled appearance not nearly enough to disguise the regal air that clung to him. He was a Prince, and no matter how worn down he looked, there was a certain refinement to him that was hard to hide. You reached over and ran your fingers gently through his hair, mussing it up further. He stirred awake, and blinked up at you in confusion, but you offered him a small smile, a way of reassuring him that you had a plan.

You tugged at his shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked neatly into his pants, and then ran your hands over the fabric, wrinkling it deliberately. Slowly, you raised your hands to unbutton his shirt further, stopping when Rintaro clutched at your wrist. He was now breathing hard, his pupils dilated as he adjusted himself in his pants. “W-Wait,” he panted, his eyes blown wide. “We’re seriously doing this here? I mean, do you need me now?”

His voice was laced with shyness and disbelief. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and when it finally made sense, your mouth fell open, slapping his hands away from your wrist. “What are you thinking about?!” you lightly punched him in the chest, and Rintaro cradled his hand with a pout. “You’re so… dirty! I wasn’t even thinking of that!”

“Well, you can’t blame me!” he snapped back, the tips of his ears red all the way down to his neck. “You woke me up and pulled my shirt out of my pants, and I thought you were taking my shirt off! How was I supposed to think otherwise that you weren’t trying to sleep with me?”

“I was trying to make you look less like a Prince so you could go inside and get us what we need!” you pointed to the convenience store, and his gaze followed. The neon signs of it glared back at him, his lips forming an ‘o’ shape in realization.

“Oh,” he coughed out awkwardly, “Okay. You could’ve just said that. You didn’t need to feel me up.”

“I wasn’t feeling you up,” you glared at him, and he snorted.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you pushed your husband out of the car, gesturing towards the convenience store as you pointed to the rack of cheap sunglasses displayed near the entrance. It was a small thing, but it might help conceal your identities for the rest of the ride. You needed to blend in, to look like you were just another pair of weary travelers on the road. He walked into the store, his posture slightly slouched, trying to appear as ordinary as possible, while you waited by the car, scanning the horizon anxiously.

The minutes stretched on, your heart thudding in your chest. Every noise, every flicker of movement in the distance set you on edge.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how this mundane act of filling up your tank felt like walking on a tightrope – one wrong step and you could be caught. But you had no choice; you had to keep going, and reach your parents’ estate before it was too late. The sun was beginning to rise, its long shadows stretching across the empty lot like an ominous reminded that you didn’t have much time left.

“I got the burner phone.” You looked up from where you spaced out, Rintaro’s body sliding into the driver’s seat next to you. He’d bought snacks, water bottles, a pair of shades and hats for the both of you. There were some chocolate bars, too, the ones he knew you liked. You raised your brow at him, but took it gratefully, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite as you dialed the number you knew by heart – your Mother’s.

“Wait,” Rintaro’s hand shot out, and you paused, your fingers hovering over the call button. “Won’t they… I mean. I think if you call them, I should head somewhere else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Won’t they notify the Police that I’m here?”

You watched as he scratched his ear, and you shook your head, gently unwrapping his fingers around your wrist. “And give away my location? As if they’d risk that.”

His face fell. “They won’t risk your safety, but they don’t like me.”

You took one more bite of the chocolate bar, handing it to him as you angled your body towards him. Rintaro was hesitant for a moment before he started eating, his eyes momentarily closing as he savored the sweet chocolate bursting in his mouth. “They care about my safety more than they despise you, Rintaro. Besides, we’re all what the other has now. They’re going to have to deal with it.” He continued eating, glancing back at you and the chocolate bar again, before deciding you should finish it. Reaching over the backseat where he’d kept the water bottles, he handed you one, then nodded at the phone in your hand.

Three rings later, and your Mother picked up. There was a slight shuffling sound from the background, and just like that, the tears you’d been holding back felt like a dam had opened. “Mother?”

“Oh! Oh, my darling, is that you?” she cooed, and you nodded, wiping the tears away from your cheeks when you realized she couldn’t see you. “Oh God, thank the Heavens you’re safe! Where are you? Are you safe? You’re not hurt, are you?”

You sniffled, turning to Rintaro as you blinked back the tears blurring your vision. He squeezed your thigh in reassurance, giving you a small smile before he pulled out of the gas station and headed back out onto the road. “Mother, I’m fine. We were able to run away from the Palace, but we never expected we’d be pushed out so far here,” you said, watching as your surroundings shifted to grassy fields and windmills. You couldn’t name the exact town you were in now, but you should be a two day’s drive away from the City.

“Where are you? Your father and I are heading there right now.”

With one hand, Rintaro shuffled for the glove compartment. He pulled out a map, glanced at it briefly, before pointing to where you were now located. Your eyes widened once you realized how far you’d driven off too. “We’re… near the border. Rintaro and I were planning to head to one of our estates here, use the old smuggling route to leave the country. Oh, and please be careful. I’m certain the government is expecting I’d make contact with you and keep an eye on your movements.”

Your mother stuttered from the other line. “No, dear, wait. Just – leaving the country? What are you talking about?”

You bit at your lip, recalling how heavy the gun felt in your hand before you fired it. “I’m a criminal, Mother. This country is not going to accept me. They’ll put me behind bars, or worse. If they caught us and exiled us, I don’t know where they’re going to throw us away.”

“You are no criminal! I know you’re innocent!”

“Mother… I shot a police car yesterday.”

“Oh, dear,” she gasped out, and you heard her fanning herself before her breathing stabilized. “Okay, okay. We’ll meet up at the estate and then we’ll… we’ll talk when we get there, okay? Hang tight.”

“Thank you.”

“Stay safe. I mean it.” Her voice was hard, stern. You felt like a little girl all over again, getting scolded by your Mother because you weren’t careful enough and scraped your knee. But now you were older, and your wounds ran deeper than just skin-surface cuts.

“You too, Mother,” you mumbled back, heart clenching as you feared this might be the last time you’d hear her voice through the phone. “I love you.”

Rolling the windows down, you threw out the burner phone, watching as it rolled and rolled until the phone cracked into pieces. The call had been quick enough for it to be traced, but you couldn’t risk involving any more of your loved ones in this game of cat and mouse between you and the country.

You reached the estate within hours.

The quiet, secluded grounds stretched before you, and the absence of security and house staff felt almost eerie, like the calm before a storm. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and earth, a scent you’d known almost all your life. You slipped through the gates unnoticed, the estate welcoming you with an almost unnatural stillness. The moment you reached inside, Rintaro dropped onto the couch with a weary sigh, tearing into the snacks he bought from the convenience store. He tossed an arm over his face, blocking out the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains.

You watched him for a moment, your heart tugging at the sight of him – disheveled, exhausted, yet still so undeniably… him. You smiled faintly, a bittersweet affection blooming through your chest before you turned away, leaving him be.

Upstairs, the familiarity of the hallway wrapped around you like your mother’s comforting embrace. This place was used more as a summer vacation home, every corner holding memories, an echo of a life that now felt like a lifetime away. You headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off the layers of dust and grime with the hot water. The steam rose around you, blurring the mirror and softening the harsh lines that settled within your face. For a few precious moments, you let yourself believe that nothing has change – that you’re just the same girl who spent every summer running in these halls, not the fugitive ex-princess fleeing from a life that flipped upside down too fast.

When you stepped out of the shower, you moved through your old room with purpose, gathering clothes and essentials. As you fold the fabric and tuck it into your bag, your movements slowed. You glanced around, taking in every detail – the antique dressed by the window, the framed photographs on the walls, the plush armchair in the corner where you used to curl up on the book. If Rintaro hadn’t bought the beach house, you would’ve loved to build a future here with him and your kids here – if that was even possible in this lifetime.

Everything was as it was, yet it felt like you were seeing it all for the last time. The nostalgia was almost overwhelming, leaving you with a deep, aching sense of loss for the life you were leaving behind.

You found yourself standing by the window, looking out at the sprawling grounds. The morning light filtered through the trees, the butterflies dancing across the greenery. You knew every inch of this estate – the hidden paths, the quiet corners where you escaped to think, the gardens where you spent countless of tea parties with your parents. This place had been a sanctuary, a constant in a world that was forever changing. And now, you were saying goodbye to it, possibly forever.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Rintaro standing there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway light.

He looked different here, in this place that had always felt safe to you. The sharp edges of his demeanor were softened by his quick nap, his usually confident stance now sagging under the weight of everything you’d both been through. His eyes met yours, and you stood there, gazing at each other across the room.

In his tired expression, you saw a reflection of your own emotions – a mix of relief, weariness, and the burden of the knowledge you were stepping into a future that was uncertain at best. This room, this house, this life – they were all a part of a past that you couldn’t return to. And yet, as you looked at him, you realized that whatever may lie ahead, you would face it. Together. That thought brought some comfort to you, and you knew that this place, this country, as much as you loved it, was no longer where you beloned.

“Hey,” you breathed out, opening your arms wide to beckon him closer. As if pulled by an invisible string, Rintaro crossed the room in a few steps, his heat blanketing you as he stood still. His eyes were droopy and tired, the color more green than it was brown as he stared at your palm. Sighing to himself, he closed his eyes, and let his cheek fall upon the curve of your hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m just exhausted,” he mumbled, burying himself into the comforting warmth your skin offered. You couldn’t help but smile, your thumb brushing across his cheek and the day old stubble that was beginning to show. Rintaro peeked his eyes open, just enough to see the bags prepared on your bed. “You’ve packed up.”

You nodded, and guided him at the edge of your bed to sit down. The mattress dipped down with your weight, with Rintaro practically sinking into it. “It’s not much, but I figured I could take some of my things with me to… wherever we’ll go.”

The dim light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across his face, deepening the furrow in his brow and the downward tilt of his lips. He looked almost distant, lost in thoughts that you could only guess at. You could sense the hesitation in him, the sadness rolling off of him in waves. The closer you got to leaving, the more Rintaro’s resolve seemed to waver, as if the finality of your escape pulled him apart from the inside. He wasn’t just thinking about the dangers ahead; he was mourning what you both were going to lose, had already lost – the life you had together, and the love you had for him that he feared would change once you crossed that line with him. The moment was tender, raw, and it made your heart tighten in your chest. You were both so close to the edge, and yet, in that moment of quiet, the two of you felt more fragile than ever.

“It’s not too late, you know,” he began, his eyes empty as he gazed up at you. “You can still stay. You don’t have to leave.”

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. ��Rin. I’ve already made up my mind. Where you go, I go.”

“But you don’t have to,” he insisted, and your ears pricked at how broken he sounded in that moment – like he was desperate, and down on his knees. “It’s been proven that I really am not the King’s son. Our marriage is no longer valid since it was never a genuine royal union. You’re no longer tied to me, don’t you see? You’re free. You can do as you please,” he extended his arms to gesture around your room, “You have a whole life here. Your family, your friends, Kiyoomi. Your world is beautiful. This isn’t something you just say goodbye to.”

Pursing your lips, you reached for his hand, squeezing it in hopes you could ground him back with you. “If I can do as I please, then I choose to stay with you.”

Rintaro’s jaw clenched. “You’re going to regret it if you do. The life you’ll have with me… it won’t be a good one. You’ll be miserable, Y/N,” he sounded convinced, and he shook his head to himself, the tendrils of his bangs falling to his face. “I take back what I said earlier about Kiyoomi. You were right. He can be trusted. I’m sure if we contact him, he’ll immediately come for you—”

“And then what?” you snapped, “What do you expect to happen when he comes for me, hm? That we’ll get married, when it hasn’t even been a week since his marriage was annulled? Let’s say that happens, did you really think the Kingdom would be accepting of it? They would call me a whore, paint me like I’d only been waiting for the right opportunity so I can make him mine. They would call me heartless for abandoning you the moment I found out you weren’t a Prince.”

Rintaro pulled his hand away from you. “Is that why you’re staying, then? Because you don’t want the people to mock you?”

“I’m staying because I choose you, Rintaro. I’m staying because I don’t have anyone else, and my home was taken away from me. You’re all I have, and I’m not letting you walk away from me,” you declared, your chest heaving up and down from how hard you were breathing. There was that image again – of a handsome Prince with a kind smile, of soft curls you could run your hands into forever. An image that was slowly becoming blurred in your memory. “I lost Kiyoomi from the moment I chose to run after you, Rin. He asked me to stay. He asked me to stay behind because it was dangerous, because there might’ve been a chance that I would never return. He knew that, and maybe I knew that, but don’t you get it? I’m choosing you.”

Rintaro scoffed, standing up to his feet as he raked a  hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to choose me.”

You mimicked his movements, padding your bare feet across the carpeted floor as Rintaro moved to walk out the door. “Why are you pushing me away, Rintaro? I – is everything I’ve done for you never enough?”

He groaned, the sound angry and reverberating across the empty hall. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you to not go with me! Because you’re going to regret it, and you’re going to keep looking back at what you could’ve had. You’re going to think about what you lost because you chose me. I mean, listen to what you’re saying. That’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”

What you were doing right now? You stood there, frozen, as you were faced with Rintaro’s back. “Is this… is this because I kissed Kiyoomi?”

Rintaro turned to face you, his lips pressed into a thin line as he placed his hand on his hip. He covered his lips with his fist, as if biting back the words threatening to leave his mouth. “You love him, Y/N. I’m not going to hold you back.”

A bitter laugh erupted from you. “I can’t love him, Rin. I can’t choose him. I can’t let him be stuck in one marriage to another.”

“And I don’t want you to regret me,” he bit back, pacing back and forth as his hands trembled. “I could never live with myself if you look at me one day and wonder if you made the right decision by not staying behind.”

“That won’t happen.”

“If it does?”

“It won’t.”

“Why won’t it happen?” he demanded, “Is it because you still love me?”

The words caught in your throat as you heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up into the driveway. Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, listening intently. The faint clacking of your mother’s heels echoed against the pavement, followed by your father’s voice, urging her to slow down and that she might trip if she rushed any faster.

Your eyes darted back to your husband, who stood still across from you, his expression vulnerable and raw.

He had just asked you if you still loved him, and the question lingered in the air heavily. The look in his eyes was one of desperate hope, but also fear – fear that her answer, whatever it might be, would shatter him completely.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The sound of your parents approaching drew closer, and you knew you had only moments before they reached the door. You wanted to say something, anything, to ease the tension, to reassure him – but the words never came.

“They’re here. You should shower and get some sleep before we leave.”

Rintaro’s eyes flickered with pain as he realized you wouldn’t answer, and you heard your heart shatter into a million pieces in the silence. The moment passed, slipping away as the door downstairs creaked open, and your mother’s hurried footsteps filled the house.

The chance to say what needed to be said was gone, leaving only the unspoken hanging in the space between you and him.

You descended the staircase, with Rintaro following behind you. The familiar creak of the wooden stairs, once comforting, now seemed like a countdown to an inevitable farewell. When you and Rintaro reached the bottom, the dam had broken. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were engulfed in your mother’s embrace. It was fierce, desperate, as if holding on to each other tighter might somehow stop time, stop you from leaving. Your mother’s body trembled against you, the sobs wracking through her with a force that made your own shake. Your father was just behind her, tears streaking his own face, though he tried to remain composed. He placed a gentle hand on his wife’s back, rubbing in slow circles as if it might calm the storm of her grief.

“Breathe, my love,” he reminded her, while your mother eagerly held on to you like you were her lifeline. “You’re going to pass out if you don’t breathe.”

Your mother sobbed harder. “No. Oh, god, my baby. It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. You can stay and we’ll figure something out. You didn’t do anything wrong, just please, please, don’t leave us.”

Your eyes stung as you held your mother, the sorrow seeping into your bones. “I can’t stay. I would just be putting you both in danger.”

Your mother’s hands gripped the back of your dress, the fabric twisting in her fists. It was as if she was trying to physically anchor you, her daughter, to this place, to this moment, to keep you from slipping away through her grasp. It didn’t matter that you were nearing your thirties now and you’d grown taller than her – you would always be your little girl. And your father, though quieter in his grief, was no less heartbroken. His gaze met yours over your mother’s shoulder, and then unspoken pain that he held in his fatherly smile made it almost impossible to leave.

“You think we care about our safety? You’re our daughter. We go wherever you are,” pulling away from you, your mother wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Your whole life, she’d always been classy and elegant, but right now, she cared less about manners as snot ran down her nose. Broken, that’s what she was.

But you couldn’t stay. Shaking your head, you planted your hands on her shoulder, giving her your brightest smile to reassure her it’d be okay – even if you didn’t quite believe it yourself. “You can’t come with us, Mother. Everything that our families built is here. Inarizaki is your home.”

“Is it a home if a father is without their child?” your father interrupted, donning just a plain shirt and slacks instead of his military uniform. He didn’t come here today as the Kingdom’s General; he was here as your father. “We can leave the country with you too. We’ll start over someplace new – like your mother said, we’ll figure something out. This can’t be how I lose my little girl.”

“Please don’t make it any harder than it has to be,” you begged, cupping your hands around your mouth to stifle the sobs. “You two are innocent. If you go with us… then they will never stop looking. We will live our lives always watching our backs, never knowing peace. You didn’t do anything wrong, Father, so you don’t have to do this.”

“I can’t,” your mother dropped to her knees, clutching your skirt as she began to stutter over her breaths. “I can’t let you go. You’re my only daughter, you can’t leave—” Behind her, Rintaro suddenly moved forward, helping your mother get back up to her knees. He whispered sweet nothing’s in her ear, calling her Ma like he always used to do. To everyone’s surprise, your mother cried harder, wrapping her arms around Rintaro’s larger frame as her tears soaked his shirt. “Please, my son. Don’t take her away from me.”

You glanced over at him, seeing the way his face fell. His presence was heavy in the room, as if unsure whether he truly belonged in this moment of familial sorrow.

“She’s made her mind, my love,” your father wiped his tears, gently prying your mother’s arms off of Rintaro. He pulled a handkerchief out from his pocket and dabbed at your mother’s ears, his touch tender as he helped her breathe. “Come on. We need to get the kids ready before we leave. We have to leave by sundown.”

Your heart swelled. This couldn’t have been easy on either of them, losing their only child as you were chased out of your country. But your father respected your decision, even if it broke your heart. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying now, jumping over to where he was, knowing he’d catch you in his arms even as he held your mother. And he did, the three of you embracing in your final moments, your cries desperate yet final.

“Thank you, Father.”

“If I really can’t stop you—” he kissed the top of your forehead before glancing at Rintaro, “—then your husband needs to promise me that he’s going to take care of you.”

At the mention of his name, Rintaro stiffened. “I promise, Sir.”

“Mark my words, boy. If you ever make my daughter cry again, I will personally drag you back here and let the officials have their way with you.”

“I won’t make her cry. I promise.”

Your father nodded, satisfied with Rintaro’s determination. He looked around, then glanced at his watch with a grim expression. “Let’s go.” Closing your eyes one last time, you buried your face in your mother’s shoulder, wishing for a moment that you could stay, that things could be different. But everyone in the room knew one thing couldn’t be changed – that you were all running out of time.

+

You walked between your parents, their hands clasped around yours like they had done when you were a child. Your father’s grip was firm but slightly trembling, while your mother’s touch was gentle, fingers brushing over your knuckles as if memorizing the feel of them. Every step towards the pier felt like it carried the weight of a finality that was too painful to acknowledge.

Rintaro followed behind, silently carrying the small bags you had prepared for the long journey ahead. You glanced back at him occasionally, watching the way his eyes scanned his surroundings, always alert, always protective. But when your gazes met, they would soften, quietly understanding the heaviness of the grief you carried. He’d taken on the burden of your escape so you could have these final moments with your parents, and you were grateful for his silent support.

As you approached the dock, the boat waited for you, bobbing gently on the dark waters. The sound of the waves lapping against the hull was the only noise in the quiet night, amplifying the heavy silence that hung between you. Your heart ached as you reached the edge of the dock, knowing that this was it – the moment you’d all been dreading.

The inevitable goodbye.

Your mother turned to you first, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She pulled you into a tight embrace, one that felt both desperate and full of love. Her arms wrapped around you, and you felt her heartbeat against your own, the rhythm steady but beating slow like her heart cried, too. It made reminisce of stories she used to tell you when you were little, how she’d place your cheek on her chest as a baby to help you fall asleep. You closed your eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, wanting to remember this moment, this feeling, for as long as you could. She felt the same way, too, holding on to you for a long time the way a mother wanted to shield her daughter from the daunting future that awaited you on the other side of the water.

When you finally pulled apart, your father was there, pressing a small bag into your hands. It was heavier than you expected.

Inside were the essentials needed for survival: cash, forged documents, and a few belongings that might help you once they were out of the country. He squeezed your hand as he handed it over, the pressure his silent way of saying I love you, take care. You felt a lump rise in your throat, but you swallowed it down, not wanting to break the fragile calm you’d managed to maintain.

As you stood there, the night fully settled in all around you, you looked at your parents, trying to memorize their faces in the dim light. There was a somber understanding hanging in the air, an unspoken agreement that this might be the last time you would see each other for a long time. You could see the pain in their eyes, the fear for your safety, but also the deep, abiding love that had always been there. The universe might’ve been cruel to you, but it gave you the best and most loving parents one could ask for.

“I love you. I love you so much. You’ve been so brave, so great,” your mother hiccupped, and your father rubbed soothing circles at her back. “Promise you’ll write to me every now and then?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“You better write,” your father warned, though his smile was harmless. “Don’t make us come after you.”

“Thank you, Father,” you chuckled, staring at them one last time. You would miss it – your father’s wrinkles, your mother’s smile lines. The sound of their giggles as they danced in the halls every Wednesday night with jazz playing in the background each time they thought you’d went to bed. The smell of homemade pancakes each Saturday when your Mother asked the cooks to rest, and also because she hadn’t used the kitchen since she’d married. You’d missed everything, and it hurt so much to leave them behind. “Take care, okay? I’m going to miss you both.”

Finally, it was time.

Rintaro stepped forward, his hand resting gently on your back as he guided you toward the boat. You turned back one last time, your eyes meeting your parents’ as you stood together on the dock. Your father’s arm was around your mother, holding her close as your mother stifled her cries against his shirt. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you quickly wiped it away, not wanting them to see you cry. You needed to be strong, for them, for yourself, for Rintaro.

As you stepped onto the boat, your mother’s voice echoed through the darkness, the words soft and filled with love. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond as the lump in your throat grew larger. You simply nodded, your hand gripping the small bag tightly as Rintaro helped you settle on the boat. It rocked gently beneath you as the boat moved, and you watched as your parents’ figures grew smaller and smaller in the distance until they were nothing but a silhouette against the night sky.

You felt the finality of it all crash over you.

You were leaving behind everything you’d ever known, walking into an uncertain future with only Rintaro beside you, and the memories of the life you used to live. You held Rintaro’s hand, your fingers gripping his as the boat sailed father away from the shore, farther away from the life you had once thought was yours to keep.

Kiyoomi’s hands gripped the steering wheel as he drove through the winding roads, his heart racing as a million thoughts raced in his head. He had been driving for hours, retracing every step you might have taken, following the last location you had given him. He could sense from the urgency in your voice that you’d expected him to come find you, and he wasn’t going to let you down now. Besides, it was supposed to be a simple meeting only – you’d promised to come back to him, to finally leave your broken marriage behind and start anew with him. But as he approached the place, a dingy nightclub that he’d never picture you being in, in a secluded area just outside the city, his heart sank.

Rintaro’s car was there, parked on the side of the road, abandoned.

The sight of it sent a jolt of panic through him. He didn’t know what was worse – your car being absent, or Rintaro’s car left behind. He pulled over and got out, the night air chilling his skin as he approached the vehicle. The closer he got, the more he noticed – his belongings were still there, and the car was empty. But there was something else, something that made his chest tighten with fear. There, on the ground, was your phone, broken and crushed like someone had stomped onto it.

His mind raced, thoughts crashing into one another. The last he’d heard of him, he disappeared around the same time as you did. But why was your phone here, and not your car? Were you with him? Had he come for you? Or worse… had he taken you away?

The idea twisted in his gut like a knife, the notion that you might have chosen Rintaro over him despite everything you’d been through. But no, he couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He had been so close – he had finally broken through your walls, you had finally loved him back, and for the first time, he had you in his arms. You wouldn’t betray him. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t be so cruel.

He searched the area frantically, looking for any sign of where you might have gone. Footprints in the dirt, discarded items, anything.

But there was nothing, just the silent trees and the cold wind that seemed to mock his desperation. He called your name, hoping that you’d magically emerge from the shadows and come running into his arms, tell him that this was all a misunderstanding. He imagined you stepping out from behind the building, your face soft with regret as you reassure him you wouldn’t have gone anywhere. He would have the warmth of your body in his arms, the feel of your breath against his neck, and find comfort in your voice as you did with him. But you didn’t appear, and the only answer he received was the echo of his own voice.

You did not appear.

His voice broke as he called your name again, weaker this time, as if he already knew that there would be no response. The emptiness around him seemed to swallow the sound, leaving him alone with the echo of his own voice, a ghostly reminder of how alone he truly was.

The agony of it was unbearable, a raw, searing pain that clawed at his insides. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, each beat a painful reminder that you weren’t there. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as the weight of his own helplessness settled over him. You were gone, and there was nothing he could do to bring you back. The realization hit him like a physical blow, doubling him over as he clutched at his chest, trying to steady himself.

He looked around wildly, his vision blurring as tears threatened to spill over. There had to be something he was missing, something he hadn’t seen. He couldn’t accept that this was it, that you had left him with nothing, not even a trace to follow. But no matter how hard he searched, there was nothing – just the silent trees standing like sentinels around him, witnesses to his despair.

The wind picked up again, rustling the leaves in a way that sounded almost like whispering, as if the forest itself was telling him to give up, to accept that you were gone. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He dropped to his knees, fingers digging into the cold earth as if he could somehow pull you back through sheer force of will. But the ground was cold and unyielding, offering no comfort, no answers. His body shook with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to break free, his teeth gritted against the overwhelming grief that surged through him.

He pressed his forehead to the ground, the rough earth scraping against his skin as he tried to catch his breath. You were gone. The truth of it settled over him like a shroud, suffocating him, drowning him in a sea of despair. He wanted to scream, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had taken her from him, but the sound caught in his throat, strangled by the overwhelming pain.

He had lost you.

And no matter how hard he searched, no matter how many times he called your name, you weren’t coming back.

+

Kiyoomi’s day passed by in a blur, each one more torturous than the last.

He barely slept, his mind replaying the last moments he’d shared with you, trying to find some clue, some indication that this wasn’t the end. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus on anything other than the gnawing fear that something terrible had happened to you. Or worse, that you really had chosen to leave him behind without a word. He’d gotten so desperate that he’d asked for the help of his brothers – Kita was to investigate on your last sightings, Tobio was to remain alert on any news regarding you and Rintaro, and Keiji had reached out to his civilian friends to report to him in case you’d decided to blend in with the common folk.

No news for the next few days, other than the national announcement that you and Rintaro were now officially missing persons. Kiyoomi quickly shut off the television after that, heading straight for his study where he spent countless nights hugging the sweater you’d left behind. Your scent was already fading, but he refused to wash it, afraid he’d completely lose the last thing he had to remind him of you.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn to block out the morning light. Papers and maps were strewn across the desk, a clear sign of his restless night. He paced the length of the room, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds as if expecting you to miraculously walk through it. His hand clenched around his phone, staring at the screen as if willing it to show a missed call or message from you, anything to break the suffocating silence that had consumed him since you disappeared.

The door creaked open, and Kita stepped inside, his expression grave. The prince barely looked up, his focus still on the phone. Kita took a deep breath, knowing the conversation ahead would be anything but easy. “We’ve found something,” he began, his voice measured and cautious.

Kiyoomi’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto Kita’s. “What did you find?” His voice was sharp, hopeful yet angry.

Kita hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Her phone wasn’t completely broken – but it’s been off since the night she disappeared. No pings, no signals. It’s as if she doesn’t want to be found. It’s also odd that her parents stopped calling her a day after the Police tried running after them.”

The prince shook his head, denial washing over him. “That doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be found.”

Kita nodded slowly, understanding the prince’s reluctance to accept the truth. “I considered that too, but then I found something else.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small evidence bag, inside which was a photograph of faint tire tracks leading away from the area where Rintaro’s car was found. “These tracks... they suggest a hurried departure. She left quickly. They left quickly, Kiyoomi. Some of the surviving cops stated that Rintaro was driving, and she was the one who shot at them.”

The prince’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his desk. “It doesn’t prove anything. Maybe she was forced to leave, maybe...” His voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Kita stepped closer, lowering his voice. “There’s more. I got a message from a contact in the royal circle. There was unusual activity at her family’s estate the night she disappeared. Some neighbors reported that cars were coming in despite the place being remote for years, and...” He hesitated before continuing, knowing the next words would be the hardest to hear. “A boat was seen leaving the estate after sundown. No one questioned it because apparently, the General liked to fish whenever he was stressed out, but the General never boarded the boat.”

Kiyoomi’s face twisted with a mix of anger and pain. “What are you saying, Kita? That she’s left me? That she’s gone without a word, just... vanished? She’s not that kind of person and you know it, too.”

Kita’s eyes softened with sympathy, but he held firm. “I don’t want to believe it either, but everything points to her leaving the country. The tracks, the boat, the silence... It all fits.”

Kiyoomi’s breathing grew heavier, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to shout, to curse, to deny everything Kita was saying, but deep down, he knew it was the truth. The signs were there; he just didn’t want to see them.

He slammed his fist down on the desk, sending papers flying. “No! She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave me without a word!”

Kita remained silent, allowing his brother’s anger to fill the room. He knew this wasn’t just about you leaving; it was about the betrayal, the fear that you had chosen someone else over him, that you had left him in the dark. The prince’s eyes burned with tears he refused to shed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “She loved me, Kita. She said she loved me. Why would she leave if she loved me? She… she said she didn’t care about him anymore.”

Kita took a cautious step forward. “Maybe she didn’t want to drag you into this, Kiyoomi. Maybe she thought she was protecting you.”

Kiyoomi shook his head violently, refusing to accept it. “No. She should have told me, she should have trusted me! She called out to me for help, Kita. She called me, gave me her location before I was met with radio silence. That means she wanted to be found, right? There’s no way she’d tell me where she was if she was going to run away.”

Kita sighed, his own heart heavy with the weight of the truth. “Sometimes, the people we love do things we can’t understand. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t care. It doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.”

The prince’s shoulders slumped, the weight of reality finally crashing down on him. He turned away from Kita, his gaze falling on the empty chair she used to sit in, the memories of their time together flooding his mind. The silence in the room was deafening, the truth too bitter to swallow.

Kita watched him, feeling his brother’s pain as if it were his own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing that no words could ease the prince’s agony.

Kiyoomi didn’t respond. All he knew in that moment was that you were gone, and you hadn’t even said goodbye. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling, unable to navigate his way in this sea of confusion and heartbreak. All he could do was stand there, staring at the place where you should have been.

His mind refused to accept it. His body, in defiance of reality, filled in the empty spaces with memories – illusions that brought no comfort, only pain. He swore he could still feel your touch, the delicate brush of your fingertips lingering on his face, ghostly and cold. The sensation was so vivid it sent a shiver down his spine, and his hand shot up to his cheek, desperate to hold onto the fleeting warmth that wasn’t really there.

The study was quiet, but to him, it was filled with echoes of you.

He heard your laughter, soft and melodious, reverberating through the empty room. It was the same laugh that used to light up his world, that made everything seem less daunting, less lonely. Now, it only amplified the emptiness, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. He turned his head, hoping against hope to see you standing there, your eyes sparkling with mischief, but the room was empty. The illusion shattered, leaving him hollower than before.

His knees felt weak, and he stumbled to the chair you used to sit in, clutching the armrest as if it could somehow bring you back. He could still hear your voice, teasing him gently, calling him by that name only you used, Omi, the one that made him feel human instead of royal. The sound of your voice was so real it hurt, like a knife twisting in his chest, and he pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block it out, but it was no use.

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

How could you leave me?

The thought crashed through his mind, a desperate plea that made his heart ache. He had been so sure, so convinced that what you had was real, that your love was strong enough to withstand anything. You had finally opened up to him, finally let him into your heart, and now... you were gone.

Was it all a lie?

The question tortured him, gnawed at his sanity. Had you ever really loved him, or was he just another pawn in whatever game you were playing?

But no... He shook his head, trying to silence the doubt, to cling to the truth he believed in. He knew you loved him. He had seen it in your eyes, felt it in your touch, tasted it in your kisses. You had given him everything, and he had given you his heart in return. You wouldn’t betray that. You couldn’t. Yet, here he was, alone, with nothing but memories and ghosts for company. He wanted to scream, to tear the room apart, to do anything to drown out the agony that was swallowing him whole. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All he could do was sit there, his body shaking, tears burning in his eyes as the full weight of your absence crushed him.

You promised me.

The words echoed in his mind, bitter and broken. You promised you wouldn’t leave him, that you would stay by his side. But now you were gone, and he didn’t even know why. The betrayal cut deep, deeper than any wound he had ever known. It wasn’t just that you had left – it was that you had left him without a word, without a trace, without a goodbye. Was he not worth even a proper farewell?

Why didn’t you say goodbye?

The question was a knife in his heart, twisting deeper with every beat. He had always imagined that if you ever had to leave, it would be with a tearful farewell, a last kiss, a promise to return. But this... this was nothing. Just emptiness, a void where you should have been, where you had always been.

The pain was unbearable, a crushing weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe, hard to think. He could feel himself unraveling, the carefully constructed walls he had built around his heart crumbling into dust. You were gone, and with you, you had taken everything that mattered, leaving him hollow, broken, and utterly alone.

Please, come back.

The thought was a whisper, a prayer to a god who wasn’t listening. He wanted to believe that you would come back, that this was all a mistake, a nightmare he would wake up from. But deep down, he knew the truth. You were gone, and you weren’t coming back.

Kiyoomi’s breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of it, but it was no use. The truth was inescapable, crushing him from all sides. You were gone, and he didn’t know if he would ever be whole again. All he had left was the echo of your voice, the ghost of your touch, and the unbearable weight of your absence.

[notleclerc]

I want to be appreciated

🖤Charles x Fem!reader

🖤summary: Charles reached his limit after his results at the Austin Grand Prix and needs his lover more than ever

🖤warnings: angst, fluff and a lil suggestive at the end ;) French sentences are translated

🖤a/n: this is my first fic so please have mercy on me. English is not my first language so i am happy for any feedback <3 ENJOY BABES

Charles was always a giver. His friends needed him to take them somewhere? Alright be ready in 5. His Team Principal called him last minute for a team meeting? Of course anything for Ferrari.

It never bothered Charles because that’s his way of showing care and appreciation to what he has. He loves seeing others being well and happy and him being the reason for that but what about his needs? Why is it so hard for people to appreciate him?

It hit him hard when he ended up in P6 and was later on disqualified at the US Austin Grand Prix. People rushed to him and tried to cheer him up but nothing worked and that’s when they realised, they‘ve got no clue on how to help the one that always WAS the helper himself. All Charles needed right now was the warmth of one person. You, (Y/n). His lovely girlfriend that somehow notices everything about him.

Charles enters his driver room and sees you already waiting for him with your arms wide open and a gentle smile on your face.

„Come here mon amour, laisse-toi aller, tu es en sécurité ici“ (my love, let it all out, you are safe here)

It‘s in that moment that Charles finally let‘s go and crashes in your arms with quiet sobs and a tight grip on your shirt. He keeps repeating „why me, why? what did i do?“ as he hides his face in your neck.

(Y/n) doesn‘t say anything and keeps softly caressing his back and scratching his head and let‘s him cry it all out. You remind him that he is safe here and that you‘ve got him. Charles slowly stopped and sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes.

„It‘s always like this ma cherrié, i just want to leave…peut-on retourner à l'hôtel s‘il tu plaît?“. (can we go back to the Hotel please?)

(Y/n) nods and grabs his bag that she already packed because she knew charles wouldn‘t want to be around anyone. (Y/n) messaged Joris and Andrea and let them know that they are leaving. You handed Charles his sunglasses and hat and grabbed his hand.

„Lets go Cha, just follow my lead okay baby?“

He only nodded and followed you like a lost puppy into his rented Ferrari. Fans, journalists and photographers tried to take pictures and ask questions but you shieled him and asked for distance and respect. Once at the car, you wanted to enter the passenger seat but got tugged back slightly by Charles.

„Can you please drive… i just… i just don‘t want to…“

With no hesitation, you let him sit and took the seat behind the steering wheel and drove the two of you back to the hotel. Once there, you helped Charles enter through the back door and you both immediatly made your way inside your room and let him lay down on the bed. Charles heard your footsteps and turned his face to look at you and saw you disappearing into the bathroom.

(Y/n) tied her hair up and started to run a warm bath for Charles with lavender scented bubbles, a scent to relax the mind. While the bathub was getting ready, (Y/n) went back to Charles and started to take off his shoes and his clothes.

„Let me take care of you my love okay? All you have to do is enjoy and relax and nothing else“

You kiss his forehead as he looked tiredly and hopeful at you. Charles nodded and let you guide him into the bathroom that is filled with the aroma of lavender which immediatly calms him down slowly. (Y/n) guides him into the bath and let’s him relax his tense muscles.

„Close your eyes mon amour and let me massage you and take care of you. Tell me if you need anything ma vie“ (my life)

You kiss his lips softly as he closes his eyes and sighs in content. You start to massage his head and move down towards his shoulders and arms. You make sure to massage the sore spots and gently start to also massage the rest of his body. Charles felt like he was on cloud nine as he could finally relax and only focus on you and your touch. Usually it’s a big havoc inside his brain when its a race weekend but with this? He never wants to go back.

After cleaning and massaging his whole body, (Y/n) also washed his hair and made him step out of the bathub once finished. He put the towel around himself and you gently took his hand and brought him back to the bedroom. You helped drying him and made sure to moisturize is body and face gently.

During the whole process you would give him soft kisses and tell him how proud you are of him and encourage him.

Charles watched you with nothing but loving eyes as he felt his whole body feel the warmth of your kind soul. Every touch and gaze from you made him feel loved, cared for and… and appreciated… finally…He almost teared up again at the thought of having you by his side and how blessed he was.

You lightly laugh at his teared up eyes and hold his face.

„I love you Charles, whatever goes inside of that incredible brain of yours just know that with me you will always be loved and appriciated.“

(Y/n) kisses him and Charles automatically wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him. You sit on his lap and keep admiring him with a soft smile.

„Merci mon amour, je t'aime du plus profond de mon cœur et de mon âme.“ (thank you my love, i love you from the deepest part of my heart and soul.)

You were about to stand up and grab some clothes for Charles but he held your wrist and gave you a pleading look.

„Mon amour… please…je veux que tu touches tout mon corps, qui brûle de désir pour toi.“ (I want your touch all over my body, its burning in desire for you)

You looked down and saw his bulge growing underneath the towel and Charles blushing red in need and want for you. His hold on your wrist gets tighter and his whines get into your head.

„Je serai un bon garçon pour toi, mon amour“ (I‘ll be a good boy for you my love)

There are definitely more ways of showing appreciation…

HOW YOU GUYS FEELING ABOUT THISSSSSS? This was hunting me all week long after seeing the results of the race :(

Reblogs, comments & feedback are very much appreciated!

[worldlxvlys]

OMG PART 2 of “one of the girls” PLS OMG maybe a more angsty to fluff between them

deeper (one of the girls pt 2)

fwb! chris x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of sex

a/n: you definitely asked for angst and fluff and i definitely only gave you angst

sorry 😬

but i swear on everything the next part will be fluffy, i just needed to lay the groundwork 🙏🏾

previous part

“look, it’s fine chris. you’re just shitty at aftercare.” she spoke from her spot across from me on her bed.

we somehow had managed to go from talking about how our days went to sex.

“what are you talking about?” i asked, confused.

“i mean, in what world is you fucking me and dipping to go fuck someone else considered taking care of me?” she pointed out.

my face dropped at her words, “i- i don’t do that every time though, it’s happened a few times, but-“ she cut me off with a scoff, “that’s the thing, you do it every time, without fail. you just- you finish, you make sure i finish, and you leave” she shrugged it off, but it obviously hurt her to say.

“i mean, what kind of a friend treats someone that way? it’s like, hey ok! i finished using you for what i needed, gotta go do the exact same thing to the next girl! you don’t see how fucked that is? you don’t get how that would completely fuck with my head ?” she asked.

“i mean at first, it wasn’t like that. i didn’t care, i thought maybe you’d stop at some point. but after months of you doing this shit, i can’t act like it doesn’t affect me anymore”

i blinked at her, only now realizing what i was doing to her.

“and it’s not like i caught feelings and am in love with you or something, you can be with other people, i don’t care. but- i mean, right after me? the second your dick gets soft you go somewhere else to get hard again? like, am i that bad, or…?”

no, no, no. there’s no way this is happening right now.

there’s no way i’ve managed to do this.

what the fuck was i thinking? what was wrong with me?

“hey, listen. this has nothing to do with you not being good enough, ok? i’m so sorry, i never meant to hurt you at all, i need you to know that. you deserve better than how i’ve treated you, i know. i guess i was just scared-”

“scared? scared of me?” she asked in a low voice, her face clearly showing how hurt she was.

my eyes widened at that, how the hell am i managing to make this worse?

“what?” i asked, desperately trying to think of how to calm her down.

“is this about the whole liking pain while we’re having sex thing? because if you can’t handle that-” i brought my hand up to her face to cup her cheek, making her stop talking and stare at me with wide eyes.

“it’s not that, ok? i told you i’d never judge you for that and i meant it. there’s nothing wrong with liking that stuff, i personally find it makes you even more attractive”

“so, if not that, then what? what are you running from?” she whispered to me.

my feelings for you.

the second i realized that i was beginning to care about her in a different way, i started seeing other people.

i tried desperately to distract myself from her, praying that being with someone else would help.

the first time, it worked. until the next time we had sex, and i remembered everything that i loved about her.

i was overwhelmed by her, everything about her drove me crazy.

her body, her soft skin, her scent, the way she tasted, the way she moaned and screamed under me.

my senses were filled with her.

i assumed it was just physical attraction, which is why i tried looking for someone who could replace that.

but who was i kidding? no one could replace her.

and even if they could, i realized that it was deeper than the sex as i was staring at her now.

it was that beautiful smile that i was missing now while i stared at the sad look that i put on her face.

it was that look she had on her face when she wanted to laugh, but was trying desperately to hold it in as i made faces at her from across the room.

it was the amount of passion and dedication she put into the things she cared at about.

it was the deep connection that we shared when i stared into her eyes, my fear of intimacy somehow leaving my body when it was with her.

it was her.

it was always her.

and me? i was royally fucked.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

not too much on chris he’s about to eat in the next part (literally)

i may or may not have already written the next part to this 🌚

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @mattsnymphette @leah-loves-lilies @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 19

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: It's time. Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: angst; Miguel crying; mention of injuries; mention of death; mention of someone sacrificing their life; use of sedatives; Nonviolent Communication? More like Nonviolent [lack of] Communication Music (Spotify playlist): "Present" - Lloyd Vaan "Fade Into You" - Vitamin String Quartet "That Home" - The Cinematic Orchestra Masterlist A/N: Another update so soon? It's a Christmas miracle in October!

Part 19

Miguel tenderly gazes at you from his hammock, his pinky finger wrapped around yours. He feels a gentle breeze rustling his hair, a contrast to the warmth emitted from your hand near his. He can hear music and conversation taking place from afar, but none of that matters.

Miguel is so at peace right now, he even forgets that next week you’ll likely be moving out of the penthouse.

He simply focuses on the now, on this moment of tranquility with you.

Gazing at you, Miguel can’t help but think about how he’ll remember this weekend forever, even when he’s seventy. He’ll gaze at the moon and be reminded of tonight, how you’re sharing a thermos with freshly brewed coffee and holding each other’s pinky fingers under the moonlight. He’ll recall your whispered question about the children you were meant to have, but didn’t, and the way his answer seemed to satisfied your thoughts. He’ll remember the way you subtly lowered your arm, trying to play it off as nothing, and how he knew what you hoped, maybe even longed for: his touch.

His crimson eyes shining like rubies in the night gaze up at you one moment and the next they’re closed.

His eyes move rapidly under his eyelids, confused.

He opens them, but his vision is a blur. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with an ache all over his body, as if he hasn’t moved in days. Miguel repeatedly blinks, his mind trying to figure out what’s going on. He succeeds in clearing his vision, but the confusion remains.

Miguel was at the beach with you just now, hanging on a hammock below yours and holding your pinky finger, but now he’s here.

At an infirmary room.

Alone.

Miguel feels frozen for a second before he looks down at himself, finding his body clad in a hospital gown and laying on the bed. His confusion grows tenfold. Dread spreads throughout Miguel’s chest while he searches the empty and cold room he was in last year.

Why is he here? He was just on the hammock, his pinky finger wrapped around yours.

Where are you?

That thought has Miguel instantly sitting up despite the pain shooting through his body. His eyes search for you, for any sign of you in this room. He looks at the floor, the tables, and the uncomfortable chair you slept on last year pressed to the wall a few feet away. It’s empty, no sign of a pillow or blanket on it. He looks around once more, wondering where your duffel bag is at. It should be here somewhere, right?

Yet, Miguel finds nothing. No trace of you.

Where are you?

Where did you go?

The dread in his chest intensifies with every second, his mind a mess with thoughts. His heart rate shoots up, triggering an alarm that has the infirmary staff rushing through the door. In seconds, a doctor and nurses are at his side, trying to assess what’s wrong. They find the usual distant and stoic boss under distress.

“Why am I here? How did I get here? I was somewhere else,” Miguel says while they check the monitors, his voice filled with stress. “I was at the beach just now — with Dulzura. Where’s Dulzura at? Y/N?” he asks. “Where is she?”

“Sir, you need to calm down. Everything is okay,” the doctor replies in a calmly manner that only seems to frustrate Miguel even more.

“Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” Miguel continues to ask.

“We’re going to call Mrs. Jess and Mr. Peter B., alright?” the doctor replies, giving a subtle nod to a nurse on the other side of the bed.

“I’m not asking for either Jess or Peter. I’m asking you for Y/N. Just tell me where she is!” Miguel says, his voice rising out of frustration. All he wishes to know is that you’re here somewhere, somewhere close to him so the dread in his heart can cease.

Yet, the staff refuses to answer his questions and instead, fill his bloodstream with a drug.

“¿Dónde está? [Where is she?]” Miguel says softly, the sedative doing its job. “I was at the beach. I was with her,” he adds. “Dulzura?” he whispers, eyes fluttering. “Por favor, Dulzura… [Please]” he continues, his vision becoming blurry once more. “Stay…”

♡

When Miguel wakes up again, he detects voices in the room. For a few seconds, they sound far, far away.

He groans when he begins to feel the body ache all over again, still there. “Dulzura,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Miguel - it’s alright. We’re here,” a voice says.

“You’re going to be okay, pal,” another one adds.

“Where’s Dulzura?” Miguel manages to say, his eyes struggling to open. “Where is she?”

“Who’s Dulzura?” the second voice asks.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” the first voice says. “He never called Gabriella that.”

“Then, who… is he calling for?” the second voice questions.

“God knows what’s going on in his mind right now,” the first voice replies. “Look, his eyes are fluttering. Miguel? Can you hear us?”

At last, Miguel opens his eyes, groaning. He looks around, his vision blurry for a few seconds before they focus on the faces near him.

Jess and Peter.

“What - what happened?” Miguel asks, searching for you once more. He tries to spot your favorite blanket, the one you had over your legs just yesterday while reading a book in front of the fireplace at the bungalow, but he can’t find it. Your sweatshirt is nowhere in sight, too. There’s not even a hint of your scent in the air, as if you haven’t been here in days.

“You’ve been out for a few days, pal,” Peter says gently, eyebrows furrowed. “You took a lot during the fight trying to help Miles save his dad. By the way, he’s safe. They both are. And, we defeated the Spot, too.”

“Wh-what?” Miguel whispers, his mouth feeling dry. This makes no sense.

Jess sighs, giving Peter a look before turning to face him again. “We’ll explain everything, okay? But you need to remain calm.” With that, Jess tells Miguel everything. Peter listens, adding a few details here and there when necessary.

Miguel listens, his heart sinking and sinking with every word. His chest is filled with such a heaviness, he feels that if he was standing, he’d surely drop to the ground due to the weight.

How could it be? None of what Jess and Peter are saying makes sense, but according to them, Miguel has been at the infirmary for days after Miles and him, along with half of the Spider Society, worked together to save Mr. Morales and stop the Spot from unleashing chaos on the multiverse.

Miguel didn’t go unscathed, however. He was seriously hurt during the encounter, putting his life at risk for the sake of the multiverse and Mr. Morales’s life.

He thought it was only fair — even just — after being incorrect about the canon event theory. So, Miguel went into the fight ready to sacrifice his life. He had nothing else to give, nothing else to lose.

He was ready to lose his life.

And he almost did.

Apparently, Miguel did in fact die for a few minutes, but the infirmary team resuscitated him. Due to the shock and trauma his body received during the fight, it’s taken several days for Miguel to wake up.

“We’re glad to have you back, pal,” Peter says, donning that pink robe he’s been wearing since Mayday was born, but Miguel can’t force himself to care about anything right now.

He doesn’t care about what everyone has been doing around HQ over the last few days when Jess fills him in. He doesn’t care that everything is running smoothly. He doesn’t care about anything at all.

Both Jess and Peter watch him, giving each other subtle looks, though they’re sure Miguel wouldn’t even notice them if they were obvious ones to begin with. Miguel is distant, more than ever. His body may be here in front of them, but his mind is elsewhere. Far, far, far away.

They have no idea of the immense longing and pain the leader is under while he stares at the windows with the same sentences echoing in his mind over and over again.

It was all a dream.

You were just a dream.

You don’t exist.

Miguel was hurt badly, so much to the point he died for a few minutes, but that doesn’t affect his intelligence to figure it out. He dreamed of a life after the events with the Spot — a total of two years with you at his side.

He tries to swallow the knot in his throat while Jess and Peter converse, not knowing what they’re talking about. He tries to focus on the conversation, tries to pretend to be okay, but there’s a horrible, heavy feeling that grows and grows in his chest with every second, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

He puts on a facade.

He’s okay.

He’s okay.

He’s okay.

Miguel repeats the sentence, trying to make himself believe the biggest lie he’s ever told himself.

He keeps himself at bay, but he’s like a weak dam that finally crumbles when Jess and Peter leave.

It’s only in his solitude, in this horrible loneliness, within his cold and empty infirmary room, that Miguel’s chest heaves dramatically. His breathing speeds up, his chest heavy like lead.

His beautiful crimson eyes swell with tears, his vision becoming blurry once again. The knot in his throat never left, just temporarily paused. He feels it grow in this horrible and cold loneliness. It hurts. The knot in his throat hurts so much, giving him a burning and sharp barbed wire-like feeling. The thought that actual barbed wire pressed to his skin would hurt less crosses his mind before the devastating reality weighs down on him.

Miguel presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, sobbing his gentle heart out.

It has to be a nightmare. It has to be.

His lips tremble before a cry escapes from within.

How was he just there with you? Holding your pinky finger in his, in perfect solitude on the beach?

Miguel can almost taste the coffee you made just to enjoy on the hammocks. He cries at that, at how much you love coffee and the way your eyes seem to twinkle when he says he’ll make café de olla [coffee pot] just for you.

“God — “ Miguel says through his sobbing, his face tear-stained. “Please, please wake me up. I’ll do anything. Just wake me up from this dream — I beg you.”

But Miguel doesn’t wake up.

This is his life and you’re not here.

There’s no you.

You don’t exist.

Miguel cries and cries, until those crimson eyes can’t cry anymore.

He spends the rest of the day mourning and longing for you, the bitter truth crashing over him like rogue waves. He’s longing for someone he’s never met, someone he’s not sure exists, not even out there in the multiverse.

♡

Despite doctor’s orders, Miguel is back in the lab the next day. He stands on his platform, crimson eyes scanning over his screens. His platform is elevated all the way to the ceiling, where Miguel wishes to be alone and undisturbed. He wants to forget, but he cannot.

The lab’s counters are unorganized, parts and tools scattered about.

No one will volunteer to help organize them every week, Miguel knows that now. There’s no quiet conversation between you and Lyla, who asks questions about your comfort food or plans for the weekend.

There’s no hidden Mexican candy in the cabinets for you to eat. There’s no hidden scarf in his drawers with your scent interwoven within its fibers.

Miguel freezes.

Your scent.

Your soft breathing when you sleep.

Your voice.

He slumps over his platform at the realization, wincing at his wounds from the movement. He can smell it, somehow, even now. There’s no trace of it anywhere, but he can remember it and God, he holds on to it, desperately, like a man half dead clinging to life.

Miguel hears your soft breathing and voice then, plays it his head. He prays to God and every saint he knows he never forgets either sounds.

“Mierda [shit],” Miguel murmurs, a slight tremor in his voice. “¿Donde estás? [where are you?]” He wonders, his chest tightening the same way it does every time he thinks of Gabriella and his brother, Gabriel.

And he knows… He is mourning you just the same despite being made up.

“Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, eyes closed as he remains slumped over his platform. Images of you flash in his mind like a movie.

The time he found you sick in your apartment, passed out and in pain. He made pasta for you and cleaned up your space a bit, even fixed the cabinets of your kitchen.

The night of Día de los Muertos [Day of the Dead] while you looked at his ofrenda [altar], the lit candles which gave your face a gentle glow.

Miguel recalls the times you brought him lunch and coffee cups too small to actually do much to his body, but him accepting them nonetheless after months of your offerings.

He remembers the Christmas Eve when you showed up with food, looking nervous because you were in his penthouse for the first time. He remembers your look of surprise seeing him dressed in normal clothes for once.

All these images flash in his mind, all the way to lunches on rooftops and sleeping on his living room floor to putting together that puzzle of two butterflies in a meadow during the beach trip.

“Miguel?” Lyla speaks suddenly. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” Miguel replies, straightening up. His voice is weak with a hint of harshness as an attempt to hide his true feelings. “I’m fine.”

He repeats that to himself.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

He pushes through the first half of the day, his mind and heart a mess.

Even as the days go by and turn into weeks since the situation with Miles, Miguel feels lost.

One morning after showering at the penthouse, he stands in the halfway to the bedrooms. He knows better than to, but he pushes the door open to Gabriel’s old room. Of course, it’s the same as it’s always been since his brother’s death.

Somewhere in his long and intricate dream, you stayed here in this room after a fire on your building. You made it yours with a lot of hesitance, your idea being that you didn’t want to be a ‘burden’ to him.

Miguel recalls telling you to stop thinking that. You could never be a burden to him.

But now you are, only because he must carry on living with the mere imagination of your existence in his life.

♡

Miguel’s stomach grumbles while he works. He’s tempted to ignore the hunger and keep working to avoid his thoughts, but then he remembers that you would’ve disapproved of that behavior. An image of you frowning in disapproval flashes in his mind. Even though it’s just an image and he now knows he somehow made you up, he still can’t find it in himself to be the reason for a frown on your face, real or not real.

He engages the platform to lower it, deciding to go to the cafeteria. He stares at the ground, arms at his sides, a feeling of defeat filling him.

In that moment, Miguel wishes he would’ve never woken up.

Miguel sighs heavily in desperation and sorrow. He covers his face with both hands. He would’ve blissfully stayed in that dream, where things were great with his best friend. He swallows the knot in his throat now, the feeling all too familiar, for Miguel has cried every day since he woke up.

Miguel clears his throat and wipes the beginning of his tears away before dragging himself out of the lab, even though all he wants to do is stay in that dark and empty space — alone. He doesn’t want to look at the spider members, who’ll probably continue to stare hoping for something from him after everything that happened with Miles.

His mind hasn’t even wrapped itself around that situation and how everything he’s worked for has turned out to be wrong. Then, there’s the loss of Gabby, his sweet little Gabriella.

And of course, there’s the loss of someone he’s never met.

You.

He should’ve never woken up.

Miguel walks out into a hallway, a few spider members greeting his sight. He avoids their eyes, unable to meet their gazes. His steps feel heavy as he walks down one of the many hallways of their base, memories of him and you walking together flashing through his mind.

You’re everywhere.

And yet, you’re not.

Miguel almost turns around and heads back to the lab, even if it means not eating. How is he going to manage to walk past the conference rooms where you both spent time together each week, talking over coffee before meetings started? He doesn’t want to gaze inside because he knows only the ghost of you on your unassigned assigned chair next to his will greet him back.

He makes it past them, but only because he keeps his gaze down.

Somewhere, he hears a door open and a new set of footsteps join him. He doesn’t have it in himself to look up, even though the footsteps sound familiar in the midst of his internal turmoil. He hears a gizmo go off, probably the other person’s. He looks up, only by instinct, and freezes as his eyes capture the smallest glimpse of someone’s suit as they turn a corner.

It’s the smallest, shortest glimpse, but it’s there.

The colors of your suit.

His breath gets caught in his throat and before Miguel knows it, he’s walking faster. He turns and enters another hallway, missing the individual once again as they turn the corner. However, this time, his gaze is much more focused, so he’s able to spot not only the colors, but also part of the design of the suit for a fragment of a second, causing his heart to race.

His steps are determined as he continues to walk, following the person’s tracks. He can’t help but feel like he’s chasing his lifeline, feeling more alive than he has in weeks.

He must be going crazy, Miguel thinks.

It’s foolish and yet, Miguel follows.

He enters the cafeteria, met with a buzz from spider members having lunch. He looks around as they walk in front of him, blocking his way. He wishes he could silence them for a second as his gaze searches for you in the midst of the crowd. He spots the colors of your suit again, straight ahead, and follows, ready to push anyone if he must.

Miguel sighs in frustration as he pushes past a group, keeping his eyes in the same spot as to not miss the individual.

“Miguel-” someone says.

“Not now,” he replies as he keeps walking, not even sparing a glance.

At last, there’s the individual. Their back is to him but there’s your suit. Identical.

“No puede ser [it can’t be],” Miguel breathes out as he keeps walking, not sure what he’s even doing. All he knows is that there you are, or at least it seems so and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t talk to you, his best friend.

His steps slow down as Jess steps into view, facing him. She says something to you just as her eyes find Miguel. He watches as she gives him a nod and says something else to you, or at least he thinks it’s you.

With his heart racing, Miguel keeps approaching.

“Miguel,” Jess says, acknowledging him verbally. “I’m glad to see you. I was about to go and look for you to introduce someone to you — someone I think would be a great asset.”

He doesn’t say anything as he comes to a halt, just five feet away from you, your back to him still. As if in slow motion, he watches you turn around and there.

Your face meets Miguel’s eyes, your reflection finding a home in them.

There you are.

You are real.

You exist.

Miguel stares at you, his heart racing. He feels his breathing pick up but this time out of gratitude, happiness, and so much more. You’re here. You’re real.

You look at him with those eyes he knows so well, but there’s no recognition in them. You don’t recognize him at all.

“This is Y/N,” Jess starts.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you say with a nod, not even offering your hand. “I’d shake your hand, but Jess has told me you…” you trail off.

“I’ve informed her,” Jess says, referring to no physical touch.

Miguel stares at you, his heart in pain. You’ve called him ‘sir’ instead of by his name or the nickname you gave him, Migs.

He lifts a hand, his pinky finger out, hoping you know.

You blink at the sight, an expression of confusion on your face when you see the gesture. You glance at Jess, hoping for an explanation.

Miguel gulps. “You don’t - You don’t remember… You don’t know me?”

“Sir…” you say gently, confused.

“Dulzura,” Miguel says, looking at you. “You really don’t remember me?”

“Miguel — what are you doing?” Jess asks, confused and alarmed.

“You don’t remember when I found you sick at your apartment?” he asks. “All the times I made you café de olla? You don’t remember the night we said we had each other. Always?”

“I don’t know what - Jess what’s going on?” you ask, turning to her.

“Dulzura, please,” Miguel says. “I’m begging you. I can’t bear this anymore,” he continues, feeling like he could die right now.

“Miguel, you need to calm down, okay? Please, get something to eat and rest. You’ve been working too much,” Jess says. “You’re scaring the recruit.”

“She’s not just a recruit. This is Dulzura,” Miguel says, frustrated. “She’s my best friend,” he adds, hoping you will remember, but no matter what he says, neither you nor Jess believe him.

“Dulzura, please. Please tell me you remember,” Miguel whispers, tears swelling in his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ve thought of you every day since I woke up, please. It’s been weeks since I woke up in that empty infirmary room, searching for you. We went to the beach because you invited me, remember? We bought groceries the day before, went shopping together. We made red chilaquiles [Mexican dish] that first morning we spent there and some of our friends showed up. We went for walks and I gave you a seashell. Don’t you remember?” Miguel asks in distress, noticing the lack of recognition on your face. “We put together a puzzle and talked about parenthood. You made me realize I’m open to the idea of one day experiencing that and romantic love, even if I’ve accepted I might not get to. Please, Dulzura! Please, please, please! How do you not remember? Dulzura, Dulzura, Dulzura…” Miguel repeats, brokenhearted and crying.

Miguel sits up in bed.

He gasps for air, chest heaving in the night. There’s tears streaming down his face and he feels sweaty as he looks around.

“Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, and at the thought of you, the bed covers go flying. He's on his feet in a second, walking barefoot towards the hallway.

Please, please, please… Miguel thinks as he walks past the door frame. He's barely taken three steps when he runs into something.

Someone.

“Miguel?” your sleepy voice breaks the silence of the penthouse, gently killing that dread in Miguel's chest and replacing it with a calmness — alleviating his soul.

“Dulzura,” Miguel breathes out, before turning the light on in the hallway. He needs to make sure you're really here, that you’re not a figment of his imagination. Relief washes over him when the sight of you in your pajamas, looking sleepily at him, greets him. He instinctively steps closer.

“Migs?” you ask softly. “What's wrong? I heard you calling for me. Are you alright?” You search his body and face for signs of injury, but find none.

Miguel raises his hands, that relief taking over along with the need to touch you, to feel your body to fully confirm you’re in the flesh. He moves them closer until they're near your face, in a cupping form. His hands tremble.

“Migs?” you whisper, noticing his trembling hands, a sight that breaks your heart, and their proximity to your face along with how they seem to be ready to cup your cheeks. “Did you have a nightmare?” you ask gently.

Miguel nods. “One of the worst nightmares of my life,” he answers, his hands growing closer.

You watch intently, sleep fading away quickly due to Miguel’s trembling hands and the fact that he seems to be seeking physical contact.

And Miguel would’ve, if only Lyla hadn’t popped up out of nowhere.

“What’s going on?” she asks, looking around. “Oh, you’re awake?”

Miguel’s hands drop to his sides, realizing what he was going to do.

“I - what?” you ask, confused by the entire moment. Miguel was just about to cup your face and now you’re left here in the hallway with Lyla floating between you.

“What’s wrong, Lyla?” Miguel asks quietly.

“Your gizmo detected you talking while the recording you always play at night was active. It’s past three in the morning. It made no sense for you to be talking at this hour if you have the recording playing, so I figured you were having a nightmare, but I see you’re actually awake and talking with Y/N, so,” Lyla explains.

“It’s alright,” Miguel forces himself to say. “Everything is okay.”

Looking between Miguel and you, as if trying to make sure it’s true, Lyla nods. “Alright, have a good night, you two!” With that, Lyla disappears just as fast she appeared.

You blink softly and turn to Miguel, noticing a bit of perspiration and his tear-stained face. He still looks somewhat startled from his nightmare.

“Come with me?” you ask softly.

Miguel nods, already having an idea of where you’re both going.

A few minutes later, he’s sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen with you at his side. There’s a pot with water and a few cinnamon sticks on the stove and two mugs on the counter ready to be filled with sweet canelita [cinnamon tea].

You stay quiet to give Miguel a few minutes to gather himself, some time to calm down. You glance at his hands, noticing they’re thankfully no longer trembling, which puts you at ease. Earlier, you were still sleepy and startled by everything, but the sight of his shaking hands broke your heart. You wonder if he dreamed about Gabby again, about losing her.

You sigh quietly, deciding not to ask right now and continue to give Miguel a moment, at least until the canelita is ready.

A few minutes later, you silently pour the liquid into both mugs and add a bit of sugar, before returning to the counter with them. You place one in front of Miguel and offer him a smile, hoping to comfort him.

“Thank you,” Miguel says softly, tired. He picks up the mug and blows on it gently, accepting the kind and warm gesture.

You gently stir yours with a spoon, looking at him. “Always…” you reply softly, lifting your mug to your lips now and also blowing on it to cool it off a bit. After some seconds of debating internally, you decide to speak. “Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.

Miguel closes his eyes, feeling better now that he’s out of that horrible dream. His breathing has gone back to normal and his mind is clearer. He nods. “Yes…” he simply responds before Miguel tells you everything about his nightmare.

Despite looking better, his voice falters at some points, especially when he reaches the part where he saw you at the end but you didn’t recognize him.

“And then, I woke up,” Miguel says. “I was - I was - I had to make sure you are here… That’s why I was going to your room.”

You nod, your heart aching for Miguel. You can imagine what he felt — feels — when you place yourself in his shoes. You’d be hyperventilating if you had dreamed of that.

“I’m sorry you dreamed that,” you say softly, wondering what triggered it to begin with. “It was just a dream though,” you add, hoping to reassure him. “I’m here.”

Miguel nods, looking over at you. “I know, you’re here. Safe.” Miguel is eternally grateful for that.

“And that dream isn’t realistic because I would remember you,” you say, trying to lighten up the mood. “There’s no way I would forget about my best friend.”

Miguel slowly smiles for the first time since waking up. “You would still remember me?”

“Always. How could I forget you?” you reply. “You’re…” you smile and look away for a few seconds. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. My brain, maybe because of some unfortunate injury might for a short period of time, but… My heart will always know you, always remember you.”

Miguel’s smile widens, his heart filled with tenderness. He forgets all about his nightmare with your words for now, comforted. “My heart will always know you, too, Dulzura. In every universe.”

You both keep smiling before turning your attention to the drink, both feeling more at peace right now. The two of you take notice of the time. Like Lyla said earlier, it’s past three in the morning, almost four at this point.

Miguel and you silently realize something. You’ve been in bed for hours at this point, since ten to be exact, but only an hour ago you both managed to get some sleep. Nerves, disappointment, dread, and God knows what other emotions has kept the two of you up because of what awaits in a few hours.

Your return to your apartment.

After arriving back to Nueva York from the beach trip, Miguel and you finally talked about you moving out. You realized you needed to address it, or at least you thought you had to, so you did.

After discussing with Miguel that you’re moving back, which he accepted and understood, knowing it’s time, you both went to the apartment to clean it. He’s helped you deep clean the space and move some things around, trying to be a supportive friend. The only space left to clean is your living room and of course, you’ll have to unpack the belongings that are now sitting in Miguel’s living room, ready to be transported in a few hours back to your universe.

Despite your silent and respective realizations at the same time and the fact that you’ve only managed to sleep for an hour, if even that, neither of you mention anything about it. Neither of you share that you’re unhappy with the situation.

Miguel doesn’t want you to leave, to move back to your apartment, but he knows he can’t ask you not to. He knows how much the apartment means to you because of Peter and all the memories it holds. It’s a special place, Miguel knows that, so he won’t, even if he wishes he could.

Even if the words are threatening to spill at any moment from his mouth.

Next to him, you refuse to say what’s on your mind, too. You don’t want to move out, even if you love your apartment so much. You do, you really do.

You love your building.

You love your little apartment, its coziness and warmth.

But most of all, you love the memories made within those walls. The moments you shared with your family, back when your parents were alive along with Aunt May and of course, Peter.

Just days ago, you stood outside it on the street and saw phantom memories play in your mind, like a film. You saw Peter and yourself walking side by side chatting, grocery bags in his hands, and remembered how he always tried to hold most of them despite your superhuman strength. You watched the two of you enter the building, still talking. Up above, you saw the light from the living room turn on before images of Peter sprawled on the old couch, which is still stored in Miguel’s building, with you on top of him came to mind.

Within a few seconds, you found yourself physically inside your empty apartment. You stood in the living room, looking at everything you left behind. Miguel offered many times to help you take everything to his universe for the time being, but you declined each time. The things that truly matter are here at his universe right now, everything else you can do without.

You took a turn around the room, realizing.

You stayed here, despite the years, even when everyone moved on. Your former friends kept their relationships, or found new partners. Some of them even have children of their own. They moved on and you stayed here, in this lovely apartment building you happened to come across one day. It was pure coincidence and later that week, Peter and you came to check it out. The apartment had opened up and rent was good, perfect for two people fresh out of college. Shortly after, you moved in and hosted your housewarming party.

It had its details, its little flaws, but it was your place. Peter’s and yours.

And nothing sounded better than that.

But as you stood there a few days ago, you couldn’t help but see it differently. Something happened while you were gone and you don’t know what it was, not yet, but it felt different.

Different in a good way.

That’s all you knew in that moment before you remembered you had somewhere to be. After some time of debating and debating, you finally decided to give Harry Osborn a chance to be a part of your life again. You hadn’t seen him in weeks at that point because he was out of the country for some business, but with his return a few days ago and your own from the beach trip, you decided to say yes.

You sighed when you gave the space one more look, holding on to that feeling, before you slipped out, stopping outside the window. You glanced back, trying to decipher that feeling one more time.

You gave up and swung off without a second glance of that apartment building you came across so many years ago.

So, yes, you do love your apartment, but… You turn the mug with canelita in your hand. You’d be lying if you said you’re ready to move back. You swallow the words and take a drink instead, thinking it’s not right.

It’s not like Miguel and you can simply continue to live like this, right? You both have your own spaces and you don’t want to overstay, even if Miguel has told you many times that you’re welcomed. That his home is your home.

You both have your own homes, so it’s time for you to return to yours.

Right?

Right.

So, then, why are you both still disappointed?

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the hour. Maybe these feelings will pass.

All Miguel and you know, respectively, is that the next fifteen or so hours are dreaded, but neither of you can say a thing out of respect for the other.

You both hide your true feelings about your move, thinking it’s the right thing to do.

Neither Miguel nor you say anything at four in the morning while drinking canelita. Not when you have breakfast together for the last time as his temporary roommate. Not when you both pick up your belongings and travel to your universe, knowing you’ve left a bedroom vacant of life once again. Not when Miguel and you deep clean the living room, move furniture around, and hang your pictures back again on the gallery wall.

Neither of you say anything, even when you order pizza for dinner after only eating sandwiches for lunch. At this point, everything is ready. Every single room in the apartment has been cleaned; surfaces have been dusted, the floors have been swept and mopped, furniture has been moved and found a new home within the space, and your belongings have been unpacked.

Your gallery of photographs is back. Peter’s record player sits on the bookcase and the records are back in its original spot. The box containing his belongings is back in the closet. Your clothes are in their appropriate spaces, though some laundry still needs to be done. Your personal hygiene items have taken residence in the bathroom and dresser once more.

Tomorrow you’ll just have to buy groceries to restock the now clean fridge.

You’re set to go, something you realize while having dinner with the TV on in the background. Miguel and you talk, avoiding your internal thoughts about this move, and opting to focus on other things — anything to forget that in a short while he’ll be leaving.

Yet, time reminds you both of the reality. The hours have flown by too fast.

When Miguel glances at his gizmo, he realizes he should probably head home now, but the truth is he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to leave you or your presence and go to an empty home that awaits him.

Noticing Miguel’s glance at his gizmo, makes you check the time yourself. You mentally wince. It’s getting late, and that only means Miguel will soon depart and leave you alone.

You push the feeling away, telling yourself that you shouldn’t even feel like this. This is your home after all. You should be happier to be here, to sleep on your old bed, not Gabriel’s.

Miguel frowns at the gizmo, it’s time.

“It’s late,” Miguel says slowly, noticing that his tone betrays his lack of enthusiasm to leave. “You’re probably very tired after all the cleaning we did. You should rest,” Miguel continues, telling himself to think of you. You’re probably tired and want to rest on your own bed at last after so many months of not doing so.

“I…” you trail off, wanting to say that you’re not tired, but you realize Miguel might be after helping you, and you don’t want to keep him up any longer. “Yes, a little.”

Miguel nods, your lie making him think he’s right about your exhaustion. He slowly stands up, straightening his top. He smiles at you. “I’ll let you rest, then,” he says, hesitantly reaching for his gizmo. “I’ll see you… tomorrow, maybe?” he says, not sure. Miguel realizes that he might not see you on both days of the weekend anymore, that you’ll both go back to your routines before the fire, in which you’d have Saturday dinners and see each other again until Monday at HQ.

“Yes, tomorrow. We can discuss what time to have dinner…?” you say, sounding more like a question as you stand, too.

“Yes, of course,” Miguel replies, nodding. He sighs and steps into a clearer area of your living room, opening a portal that takes him a few seconds to launch, not of out technical difficulties but because he’s stalling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Rest, okay?”

Standing in front of him, you nod. You question why there’s a heavy feeling in your chest, one you don’t like, but hide with a smile. “I will, you, too.”

Stalling for several more seconds, Miguel finally takes a few steps back. “Bye,” he says, too softly, unwillingly.

“By-bye,” you say, stuttering a bit.

Miguel manages a smile, a small one despite his chest growing tighter. He turns around, forcing himself to or he might never leave. He stops himself from glancing back at you one more time because he has a feeling that if he does, he might just shut this damn portal and stay another hour. Or, two.

You watch gloomily as Miguel disappears into the portal, the sight obliging you to bite your lower lip because his name is at the tip of your tongue. You want to call out his name and ask him to stay another hour. Or, maybe two.

But you both refrain from doing what your bodies are begging you to do and in the end, you’re both alone in your homes with a portal that grows smaller and smaller unlike the heavy feeling in your chests.

You look around the apartment when the portal disappears entirely. This is home, but if it’s home, then why does it feel different? Something has changed in the space — something that now makes you feel like… It’s not yours entirely despite the furniture and memories you hold within it. You shake your head and decide to distract yourself with laundry, hoping it’ll help with that heavy feeling in your chest.

Back in Nueva York, Miguel gazes out of his living room’s windows. He sighs, noting the silence. There’s no music, no TV, no sound of your footsteps from somewhere - no sign of you here.

Miguel shakes his head. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. There’s traces of you across the penthouse because you helped him redecorate over the last few months. The penthouse feels better than it did in the past. There’s no denying that. It feels homier. He glances to Gabby’s altar, the candle flickering. That’s his favorite change to the penthouse, an addition you suggested on Gabby’s birthday.

There are signs of you in the penthouse, yet… Miguel turns around and faces the living room. Something left with you and now the penthouse feels different.

Miguel pushes the thoughts away. He can’t be thinking like this. It’ll do no good because it’s not like he can change anything about it. He can’t ask if you’re open to being roommates again, in a more permanent way. You love your apartment too much to leave it and Miguel would never ask you to abandon it, nor suggest some other kind of arrangement that involves you not living there. On top of that, you’re probably glad to have your own space again anyway.

He sighs again and looks at the time, realizing that just about now you’d be wishing each other a good night. His heart aches at the realization, knowing that you won’t be able to do that anymore, have that little endearing closure to the night.

“Shock,” Miguel says, realizing just how much your return to your own place is affecting him. He rubs his forehead, wondering how long it’ll take him to get used to this when his thoughts are interrupted by his gizmo. He hesitantly checks, hoping it’s not something from HQ because he doesn’t have the right mindset for it right now, but he finds your name instead and his heart leaps. He instantly opens the notification.

Dulzura Good night :)

He smiles, chuckling quietly to himself before he replies.

You sit on your bed, gizmo in hand while you wait. Of course you remembered that about this time you would’ve wished each other a good night, if only you were still there at the penthouse. You glance around the room again before laying down, the bed feeling strange now, too. A second later, your gizmo beeps, so you immediately bring it up to your face.

Migs Good night, Dulzura :)) sleep well

You smile, holding the gizmo close to you before you sigh. It’ll take some time to get used to this.

Miguel and you complete your night routines like every other night. You brush your teeth, wash your faces, and do the the rest of it as always until you get in bed, in respective universes.

You both lay to sleep, alone, in your homes.

That’s nothing new, of course. You’ve both slept alone for so long, but a loneliness creeps up on the two of you while you lay on your beds, unable to sleep. There was comfort, more than comfort, in knowing you were both down the hallway from each other — just feet away. Now, there’s universes between you.

You both try your best to sleep, but nothing works. For Miguel, not even your sweatshirt and the sound recording helps him.

Hours go by. You toss and turn, and do it again, and again, and again. Miguel wonders if you’re asleep now, then decides you must be. You’re sure Miguel is, too.

Another hour later and you can’t bear it any longer. It’s no use. You slip out of bed and change into your suit, placing your gizmo on your wrist. You leave your apartment a few minutes later in the middle of the night, ignoring the fact that you’re barely back at your apartment and for some reason leaving it in search of a distraction because you can’t sleep. You swing around your city, eyes scanning for a diversion of some kind. You almost wish there was a robbery.

Finding nothing, you stop on a rooftop and look through your gizmo. It’s past two in the morning and you’re here instead of home. You sigh and look around the empty rooftop before clicking on your gizmo again, quickly inputting information. A second later a portal opens. You step into it, leaving a rooftop just to step on another one.

You’re not even sure why you chose this dimension, but you find yourself on Earth-42, on top of the tallest building in the city where you once stood with Miguel to gaze at the city below and where you nearly lost him over a year ago.

You quietly walk around the area, staying clear of it because you don’t wish to sit where you found Miguel nearly dead, before sitting down with a huff.

“No sleep tonight,” you say to yourself, already giving up on the idea of getting some rest tonight. You slip off your mask, placing it on your thigh and lean back to observe the empty rooftop, surrounded by silence.

It doesn’t stay that way for long though. Your eyes widen when you see another portal open a few seconds later, making you wonder who’s stepping out. Your curiosity is satisfied a second later and you’re met with that familiar blue and red suit you know all too well, but the wearer of it even more.

Miguel steps out of the portal, his back to you. His eyes move across the rooftop, silently wondering why he even came here of all places. He decided to leave the penthouse a short while back and swung around Nueva York to distract and maybe tire himself out before deciding to travel here instead, something in his gut telling him to do so.

“Mi-Miguel?” you ask, causing him to turn around immediately.

His mask is disengaged instantly, his face revealed and indicating equal surprise. “Dulzura?” he says, walking immediately to you like a moth drawn to a flame. “What - what are you doing here? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Miguel asks, bombarding you with questions while his gaze searches your body for signs of injury.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you quickly reassure him, noticing the way his face relaxes at your words. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is okay. What are you doing here?” Miguel asks again, crouching in front of you now.

“I asked you the same thing,” you reply softly, trying to get Miguel to answer first because you’re suddenly too embarrassed to share that you couldn’t sleep, or rather, share the reason why.

Miguel mumbles something under his breath, not wanting to tell you his reasoning for being awake either. “I couldn’t - I had some trouble sleeping tonight,” he admits a few seconds later. “You?”

You sigh. “I couldn't sleep either,” you confess, looking down to fidget with your mask.

Miguel's eyes widen a little. For some reason, he didn't think that would be the reason for you being here, considering you hardly have issues sleeping. “Why?” Miguel asks softly, noticing the way you're avoiding his gaze. “Did you… have a nightmare?”

“Oh,” you glance at him again, shaking your head. “No, no, I didn't. I just couldn't sleep at all. I haven't slept even a bit. Maybe it's just, I don't know, my brain being weird,” you huff out. “Wait - did you have one?” You ask softly, remembering that about twenty four hours ago, Miguel was having that nightmare about you not existing.

Thankfully, Miguel shakes his head. “No, no nightmares for me. I just couldn't sleep,” he says, moving and taking a seat next to you now, leaning back.

“I'm glad to hear that,” you reply, genuinely relieved it wasn't another bad nightmare like the one he had several hours ago. You recall how Miguel’s hands trembled, the way he looked at you, and his erratic breathing. Of course, the fact that he almost cupped your face comes to mind, too. You wonder if Miguel would've gone for it, if Lyla hadn't popped out of nowhere.

You both sit there now, on that same rooftop Miguel nearly lost his life at over a year ago. Your eyes sweep across the city, staying silent for a few minutes before Miguel breaks the silence.

“May I be honest?” he asks softly.

“Always, please,” you reply.

“I couldn't sleep because I missed — I missed you and your presence,” Miguel confesses with some trouble, his cheeks feeling warm due to the revelation.

You turn to look at him, smiling slowly. “Already?”

“Already.”

“I missed you, too, Migs,” you admit, smiling.

Miguel smiles now, sleepily. “You did?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It's relieving to know I'm not the only one,” he says, comforted, but also touched that you've been missing him, too. “I’m sorry you haven't slept, though. Are you not tired?” Miguel asks, his eyes searching your face.

You nod now, feeling some exhaustion within you that wasn't there earlier.

Miguel hums, still staring at you and thinking about how you’re both far more comforted with each other on this open rooftop in the late hours of the night than alone in the safety and comfort of your respective beds. He smiles softly when he notices your gaze become more and more sleepy.

“Maybe we need to…” Miguel starts quietly, thinking. “Maybe we need — or should consider — something.”

“Something?” you ask before a small yawn escapes your lips.

“We’re on a rooftop, instead of at home,” Miguel states, raising his eyebrow.

You nod, realizing what Miguel is saying. You missed each other on the first night and found yourselves in another universe without even planning it because neither of you could sleep. You wonder if Miguel is thinking what you’re thinking about.

“What are you suggesting?” you ask, intrigued.

“We can discuss it tomorrow, or well, later,” Miguel replies gently with a smile, glad that you seem interested on this ‘something’, too. “How about we leave this place?”

Leave? That’s the last thing you wish to do now that you’re in Miguel’s presence, but you can’t just stay on this rooftop all night, can you? “Home?” you ask, disappointed.

“Home,” Miguel says, standing up in seconds and offering you a hand to help you up.

You accept it and stand up with his help, dreading going home. You’re likely just going to stay up anyway. However, you nod to avoid showing your disappointment, even when Miguel opens a portal for you. He gestures with his hand towards it.

“Alright, we can discuss the something else later,” you say, stepping closer to the portal.

“We can. When we get some rest,” Miguel replies gently as you walk further in.

“Right, okay,” you mumble. “After some rest.”

You sigh subtly and step into the portal, touching ground again a second later. You look around, eyes going a little wide. Behind you, Miguel steps out of the portal, too, and straight into his penthouse’s living room.

Home.

You turn around to face him, surprised, and Miguel can only give you a sleepy grin.

“You can go upstairs to your bedroom, or we can stay here in the living room,” Miguel offers, feeling sleepy at last. He very briefly recalls something Lyla said a while back. Something about important people in your lives bringing you comfort and making it easier to sleep. Maybe that study was right after all because he’s suddenly feeling sleepy within a few minutes of being in your presence after he spent hours laying in bed, tossing and turning, helplessly seeking sleep but not finding it. Despite feeling sleepy, Miguel realizes he’s still not ready to part ways, even if it’s just rooms apart.

“I’m still not that tired,” you lie, not ready either.

“Me neither,” Miguel lies, too. “So… Living room?”

You nod. “Living room.”

“Do you want something to drink?” Miguel asks. “I can make some canelita.”

Half an hour later, Miguel and you sit on the living room floor. This time, though, you’re both sitting on the same side of the coffee table. There’s blankets and pillows on the couch behind you for later, but for now, you talk while enjoying the warm drink — growing sleepier and sleepier in each other’s presence when you couldn’t feel even an ounce of sleep before.

“It’s almost fall,” you state sleepily before taking a drink.

“Almost that time of year,” Miguel replies, realizing it’s true. The summer will soon end, another season approaching your lives. “The best time of the year.”

You chuckle. “Pumpkins everywhere, cold weather, sweaters — the best time of the year indeed.” You yawn.

“You’re sleepy,” Miguel comments, glancing at you.

“I’m not,” you counter softly.

“Right,” he replies, amused.

“I’m not. I’m just — yawning.”

“Because you’re sleepy,” Miguel says, noticing the way you’re blinking to stay awake.

You hum. “Nope, I’m still wide awake.” You yawn once more. “Do you remember the puzzle we completed last week? At the beach?”

“Yes, of course,” Miguel replies, sleepily. How could he forget? You both discussed something so personal while putting it together.

“I think I’m going to buy some,” you share, eyes feeling heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you want to, maybe, do another one with me?” you ask, half awake and half asleep.

“It’d be a privilege,” Miguel replies, gazing at you sleepily.

“Yayyy, maybe I can find a jigsaw of a thousand pieces.”

Miguel chuckles next to you, noticing the way you’re leaning back. “I’m sure we can put it together in two or three days.”

“That sounds reasonable,” you state, unwillingly succumbing to sleep. “I’ll buy some this weekend.”

“I can get some, too,” Miguel says, picking up his mug to take a drink and stay awake. “If you want to come along you —” Miguel stops talking when he feels something on his bicep. He turns, still holding his mug with the other hand.

His gaze softens when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep on him and now your head rests on his arm after claiming not to be sleepy only a minute ago. He quietly chuckles through his nose to avoid waking you up. After putting his mug away, Miguel gently pulls the blankets off the couch and places them over the two of you before he gets comfortable, ready to give in to his sleep, too.

He relishes the warmth of your body next to his, knowing that later today, maybe you’ll both agree to something because sleepless nights are no way to live. Miguel knows that better than anyone else. While the Miguel of two years ago sought those nights because they were a refuge from his nightmares, the Miguel next to you now does not. He’s open to staying up late to talk or watch a movie with you, or something of that sort, but staying up to avoid sleep and nightmares?

Not anymore.

Never again.

And so, Miguel finally dozes off next to you, sleeping peacefully at last and without nightmares of losing you.

Previous ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next

A/N: Ummm, this is weird...? I'm back already, so, hiiiii! Another update is here! I hope you don't hate me after the first half of this chapter 😔 it was just a dream! But hehe, thank you for reading!! Also, thank you so much for the lovely comments on the last update! I have yet to reply to everyone because I had the motivation to write this chapter and basically I've been doing this all day, but I'm so happy a lot of you enjoyed it and liked the latter part of the chapter!! :))

Thank you again so much!! See you very soon...!!😌

Alondra❤️

taglist:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp

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credit for green divider to @/vysleix

[writetheidea]

Behind Closed Doors

Hello, I am sorry for disappearing. As I mentioned to a few kind people who reached out, I’ve been focused on completing my degree and working on my thesis. This is a bit shorter than what I usually write, but it came to me in between working on my thesis. I hope you can enjoy it regardless. Also, I thought I’d try taking requests for writing. There are no guarantees, but if you’d like to request a story, my asks are open.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x female character

Plot: after six months of keeping their relationship a secret, Carlos' girlfriend finally confronts him about it.

Tag: hurt/no comfort, angst.

Word count: 1372

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style — so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

The sun hung low over the Ferrari motorhome, casting a warm, golden glow that made the chaos of the day seem almost serene. She leaned against a railing just outside the hospitality area, clipboard in hand, pretending to focus on the notes she’d scrawled there earlier. The usual buzz of voices and machinery filled the air, but her mind was far from the work at hand.  

Across the paddock, Carlos Sainz walked toward the motorhome, his helmet tucked under one arm, his dark hair messy from hours in the car. He laughed at something one of the engineers said, his easy charm lighting up the space around him. She watched him, her chest tightening. Six months ago, seeing him like this had filled her with excitement, the kind that made her feel alive. Now, it only brought confusion and doubt.  

It hadn’t always been like this.  

They’d met at a company dinner just weeks after she’d started as a marketing intern for Ferrari. Nervous and wide-eyed, she’d been acutely aware of how out of place she felt in a room full of confident, successful people. Carlos had been seated across from her, and his easy smile had melted her nerves in minutes. He’d asked questions, listened intently, and made her laugh so much that by the end of the night, she felt more at ease than she had in weeks.  

After that, their interactions became more frequent—shared smiles in the hallway, casual conversations during coffee breaks, and eventually, a night where he cornered her after a meeting.  

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he’d said, his voice low and sincere. “Can we go to dinner? Somewhere... away from here.”  

It had felt like the beginning of something extraordinary. And for a while, it was. Late-night calls where they shared their dreams and fears, secret dates where they laughed until their cheeks hurt, and stolen moments that felt like they were the only two people in the world. But it was always in secret.  

At first, she’d understood. Carlos was a public figure, and their relationship was new. But six months later, it was clear that secrecy wasn’t just a precaution—it was a boundary he had no intention of crossing.  

-----

The argument started in her apartment, a modest but cozy space that she’d come to think of as her sanctuary. Carlos had let himself in with the spare key she’d given him months ago, greeting her with a kiss that made her heart flutter despite her frustrations. He asked her about her day, but she barely heard him. The weight on her chest was too heavy to ignore.  

“Carlos,” she said, interrupting his story about a meeting with the engineers.  

He paused mid-sentence, sensing her seriousness. “What’s wrong?”  

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I need to talk to you about us.”  

His brows knitted, concern flashing across his face. “What about us?”  

She exhaled deeply, setting her clipboard on the coffee table. “I can’t keep doing this. The sneaking around, the hiding. It’s exhausting, Carlos.”  

His expression shifted to something guarded, his hand running through his hair. “We’ve talked about this,” he said slowly. “You know why we have to be careful.”  

“Careful?” she repeated, her voice rising. “It’s been six months, Carlos. Six months, and no one knows. Not Ferrari, not your family, not even your closest friends. Do you know how that makes me feel?”  

“I’m trying to protect you,” he said firmly.  

“From what?” she shot back, standing now. “From Ferrari? I could find another job if that’s what it takes. But this isn’t about Ferrari, is it? It’s about you.”  

He flinched, but his jaw tightened. “You don’t understand the scrutiny. The media, the fans—they’d tear you apart. And if Ferrari disapproved—”  

“What? They’d fire me? Fine. But let’s not pretend this is about me, Carlos. You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”  

His eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t deny it. The silence between them was deafening.  

Her voice cracked as she continued, “You won’t even tell your family. Why? Are you afraid they’ll think I’m not good enough because I’m not from your world?”  

He hesitated, searching for words, but they didn’t come fast enough.  

Her heart broke as realization dawned. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You think I’m not enough.”  

“No,” he said quickly, stepping toward her. “That’s not it. I care about you—”  

“Then prove it!” she snapped, tears welling in her eyes. “Because right now, it feels like you’re embarrassed of me. Like you’d rather lose me than risk anyone knowing we’re together.”  

“I’m trying to protect you!” he said again, louder this time. “You don’t know what it’s like to live under this kind of scrutiny. People like you—”  

He stopped, but the words were already out there.  

Her breath caught. “People like me?” she repeated, her voice trembling.  

“No, I didn’t mean it like that—”  

“Then what did you mean?” she demanded, her voice rising.  

He faltered, running a hand down his face. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”  

“You’re right,” she said, her tone cold now. “I don’t. But I do understand this: I deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love me openly. And clearly, that isn’t you. You should go, Carlos.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to argue, but the look on her face left no room for debate. Without another word, he turned and walked out, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in her chest. 

-----

The next three weeks were a blur of work and heartbreak. She avoided every Ferrari event she could, claiming to be overwhelmed with deadlines. But the truth was, she couldn’t face Carlos or the memories of what they’d had.  

Then, one morning, her phone buzzed with a notification. She opened Instagram and froze. There he was, arm wrapped around a gorgeous model at a gala, both of them dressed to perfection. The caption read: “New beginnings.”  

Her chest tightened, tears stinging her eyes. He hadn’t just moved on; he’d moved on publicly, with someone who fit seamlessly into his world. Someone he wasn’t afraid to be seen with.  

Before she could stop herself, she typed a message and hit send.  

“I never would have been enough, would I?”  

She stared at the screen, her hands trembling. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t respond. Another part of her hoped he would, with something—anything—that might ease the ache in her chest. But no reply came.  

That night, she made a decision. Ferrari wasn’t just her job anymore; it was a constant reminder of him. She drafted her resignation letter, citing “personal reasons,” and sent it to HR. By the end of the week, she had accepted a job offer from Red Bull.  

It was a clean break.  

-----

Months later, she thrived at Red Bull, her confidence and passion for her work reignited. She had new projects, new colleagues, and a new sense of self-worth. For the first time in months, she felt like she was moving forward.  

But healing wasn’t linear. Every so often, she’d see his face on a screen or hear his name in a briefing, and the ache would return.  

Then, during a race weekend, their paths crossed again. She was walking through the paddock when she spotted him. He was with the same model, his arm casually draped around her shoulders. Their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, she thought she saw regret in his expression. But she turned away, holding her head high.  

She didn’t need him anymore.  

Later that evening, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.  

“I’m sorry. For everything.”  

She stared at the message, her emotions swirling. She could reply. She could open that door again. But then she thought of the months she’d spent rebuilding herself, of the strength she’d found in letting go.  

With a steady hand, she deleted the message.  

As she walked through the paddock the next day, the sun shining brightly overhead, she felt lighter. She wasn’t defined by Carlos, or by the heartbreak he’d caused. She was her own person, and her future was hers to shape.

For the first time in a long time, she smiled.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {9}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Two more races closer to the end of the season and all that means is the competition is fiercer than ever and every point is a battle to win. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, assault, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten

Round Sixteen - Singapore GP

Charles was worried about you. You had barely said a word since the race ended, only congratulating your boyfriends on their great results. You were disappointed in yourself for finishing last place. Technically it was 15th place but everyone behind you had DNF’d so you were the last one to cross the finish line.

The bath did little to ease the tension embroiled in your body and you sank down beneath the surface. A wavering image of Charles filled your vision as he took a seat at the edge of the bathtub and trickled his fingers through the water. Only when your lungs began to burn did you resurface with a deep gasp for fresh air.

“You’re going to catch a cold, ma chérie,” Charles said softly as he wiped away the rivulets of water. It was almost like he knew they were mixed with your tears. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you whispered. “I think I am just going to stay in tonight, I don’t want to hold you back from celebrating. You guys did great today.”

“You are being too hard on yourself. It sucks, Lando and I know that first hand,” he chuckled, referring back to the first half of the season. “But you’ll come back stronger, I know you. You’ll be back in the points next week.”

You smiled weakly at his confidence and accepted his hand that helped pull you from the bath. “Are you willing to bet on that?”

“D'accord,” he nodded, wrapping you tightly in a towel before kissing your forehead. “I have faith in you, mon amour.”

“That makes one of us,” you joked, feeling a little better now that you were wrapped in his arms. “You should get ready to go, Lando is going to need you to carry him home tonight.”

“Mon Dieu, him and Carlos drinking together,” Charles groaned as if just realising what he was in for. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

You nodded and stepped out of the bathroom to grab your phone. “I think there is another Verstappen somewhere around here feeling sorry for himself too, and misery loves company.”

Max arrived before Lando had finished styling his hair and he came bearing gifts, a bag of mouthwatering food packed full of local dishes in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. 

“Now it’s a pity party,” you laughed as he made himself comfortable in the living room. He didn’t even bother with plates, just eating straight out of the containers while he changed the channel off MTV. “Are you planning on sharing or do I need to order my own?”

“Depends if you care what Kristian thinks,” he shrugged, pushing a container aside. He grinned knowing you couldn’t turn down the grilled kebabs slathered in a sauce that would give your PT a heart attack. “Live dangerously, zusje.”

You snorted and dropped into the seat beside him, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and the dish from the coffee table. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, heard that before,” he teased as continued to flick through the channels until he hit the movies. “Fast X?”

“No,” Lando answered for you as he finally appeared from the bathroom with his hair perfectly styled and his shirt half unbuttoned. He explained that it was to combat the humidity in the country but you and Charles knew it was because he loved to flash his tanned and toned chest, almost as much as you liked to see it. “She’ll get pissed off that it is too unrealistic.”

“It is unrealistic,” you pointed out.

Max laughed, “It’s a movie.” But he still changed the channel. “Maverick? The original.”

“Sure,” Charles said with a grin as he pulled his shoes on, “if you want to comfort her when Goose dies.”

“You are impossible.” Max shook his head and tossed the remote on your lap. “You choose something.”

Ready to leave, Charles looked like he was going to ask you if you had changed your mind before thinking better of it. Instead he kissed you as innocently as he could manage with your brother sitting beside you. “Je t’aime.”

“Love you too, have fun.” You held your hand out to Lando and pulled him down to your height for a kiss too. “Not too much fun. I don’t want to wake up to any new CarLando rumours.”

He knew you were joking and he nipped your bottom lip for it before pulling away and holding his necklace up. “Holy trinity, baby: you, Charles and me.”

“That’s why you are missing your top three buttons,” Charles teased as he slung his arm over Lando’s shoulder. “All for the necklace and definitely not vanity.”

“Me? Vain? Never,” Lando scoffed. “I am humble, thank you very much.”

“Mhmm, so humble, mon cher,” Charles agreed sarcastically as he led them to the door before blowing you one final kiss. “Bonne nuit.”

Round Seventeen - Japan GP

Lawrence wanted to speak to you after the race finished and you hoped it was because he had some answers as to why the car was struggling. The upgrades seemed to make it worse and it was a hell of a push just to get back in the points, but you had made it like Charles assured you would.

Walking into Lance’s side of the garage, you assumed his father would be nearby. What you didn’t account for was Lance storming through the engineers after his DNF. It was a moment of wrong place at the wrong time that put you into his path and you felt the need to at least say something to him.

“Sorry, man, that was a rough one.” Hindsight was a real charmer as his green eyes narrowed with rage and you were shoved to the floor. Your ass met the hard concrete and the garage fell silent as they witnessed the attack.

Your shoulders ached where he had pushed you, but your butt would surely have bruises come morning. Calmly, you swallowed down the pain as the cameras waited for your reaction and you rose to your feet. You wiped the dust from your backside and looked at Lance. “At least I know how you injured your wrists, you’re a real fucking wanker.”

Word spread like wildfire as the footage was shared around the paddock and the world and your call to the Stewards came before Lando finished his podium celebration, the first you hadn’t been there to witness. It only added to your sour mood as you stepped into the meeting room and found an empty chair opposite Lawrence and Lance. You were by no means alone but everyone who had been asked to come as witness were all on Lawrences bank roll so you might as well have been.

The tedious hearing details were read by the Stewards, along with footage that showed the push that put you on your ass. They turned to Lance first, asking for his take on the event and whispered with his father before sitting back.

“It was an accident, I didn’t see her there.”

You scoffed under your breath but caught the look Lawrence sent you as the Steward asked you the same question. It was a look that everyone had warned you about. It was the look that drew the line in the sand of who had his support, and why wouldn’t he take his son’s side - he was a father first and a principal second. It was a look that said you would be finding another team next year if you weren’t careful.

Looking down at your hands the words tasted like ash. “Like Lance said, it was an accident.”

The steward nodded and typed some notes on his laptop. “Then the matter is settled, you will be fined €20,000.00 for unsportsmanlike behaviour.”

You lunged out of your seat and slammed your hands on the table at the ruling. “For what!”

“You saw the same evidence as I did,” he said, ignoring your outburst. “You clearly called Mr Stroll, Lance, a ‘fucking wanker’ on live tv. If that is all, we have another review about to begin.”

You left the room to see Bottas and Sargeant waiting with their team representatives and kept your head low as you passed by, feeling their curious eyes following. Lawrence kept pace with you as you left the building, Lance lagging somewhere behind, and you debated breaking into a sprint to see if the old man could keep up.

“Thank you,” Lawrence said, nearly making you trip over in surprise.

“Thank you?” you growled as you turned on him. “I saved your toddler’s career, you can do better than a fucking ‘thank you’.”

“Lance is struggling and it’s affecting him badly, but that’s no excuse for how he treated you.” Lawrence placed a hand on your shoulder but you shrugged it off as you remembered the look in the meeting room. You may both be wearing the same colours but you were not on the same team.

“You can still be a good father and not protect him from everything. In fact, it might just do him a lot of good in getting his head out of his ass. Now, I am going to go and take an ice bath and you are going to pay my fine. If there’s a bonus in my bank account when I get back to the hotel, we’ll call it even.”

You left without giving him the time to respond and jogged back to hospitality, an unfortunately long distance from the FIA building. Some of the teams were already starting to pack their motorhomes down but Aston Martin was still lively, even more so when you stepped inside and saw Charles, Lando and Max looking tense amongst a group of Lance’s friends that travelled with him .

“Woah, stand down, killers,” you teased with a flippant attitude you didn’t feel. “Shouldn’t you take it out to the parking lot?”

“Too many witnesses,” Max muttered.

“I was joking, we can all relax. You three, my room. Now.” You pointed your finger to the stairs and waited for them to start walking before you followed, glaring at the rest of them. “Don’t you have more important things to do, like I don’t know, check Lance has warm milk in his sippy cup?”

“Little bitch.”

“Fils de pute, va te faire enculer!”

You blocked the stairs but Max had already grabbed Charles and held him back. “That’s an insult to his mother,” you said as the door opened and Lance arrived. “It’s not her fault her son is a sycophant, and here’s his sugar daddy now. Tighten the leash on your little friends, Lance. It’s the least you can do since you owe me.”

His lips twisted into a grimace at the reminder but he jutted his head to the other end of the motorhome and his friends followed him, their disappointment palpable. You could only imagine what he had been telling them in private to create that sort of reaction and realised why the driver had gone through so many teammates on the grid. He was insufferable.

You gently pushed on Charles’ arm when he didn’t move, he was intently watching the group leave and the staff return back to their jobs as if nothing happened. “Come on, babe, let’s just get my stuff and go home.”

“Since when are you the rational one?” Max asked as he led the way with Lando and left you to hook your arm with Charles and follow.

“Maybe I’m finally maturing.” you said with a grin that finally had the tension lifting as they all started to laugh. “Rude.”

Click here for the next part.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

The Past Comes A Knockin'

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: angst, bucky threatening to kill people if you don't go to him

Summary: You've spent so much time running from the man of your dreams, the love fo your life. You found out something heartbreaking about him and now you run in fear instead of toward him. You should know by now that he will always find you whether you want him to or not.

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: on opposing sides (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Then

Only that would happen in a movie. Pouring rain. A girl running to find the love of her life. Love confessions shared. Sometimes, you thought you lived in a movie. Any time spent with Bucky felt that way.

Bucky’s mansion sat on the top of the hill on the outskirts of town. The only people who went that way were either to see Bucky or because they made the wrong turn somewhere. The rain had not helped you see much in front of you but you still ran with purpose up to his big iron gates. Two armed guards stood outside of it to keep unwanted visitors away.

“I’m sorry, Miss, this is private property,” one of the men said.

“I’m here to see Bucky.”

Both men looked at each other before one of them placed his hand over his ear like he was talking to someone over his earpiece.

“Sir, we got someone outside asking for you… Miss, what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Her name is Y/N… Yes, sir.” He nodded to the other guard who stepped back from the gate. “He’s waiting for you at the house.”

The gate started opening from someone with remote access, and you entered the property before you had a chance to talk yourself out of it. It seemed like the rain had gotten worse as soon as you stepped foot on his property.

No matter. It wouldn't stop you from doing this.

His mansion got bigger the closer you got to it. He knew exactly when you’d got to his doorstep because you didn’t have time to knock on the door. He opened it when you stepped onto the porch.

You were soaking wet while he stayed bone dry, safe inside his mansion.

“Fuck you,” you said, “for invading my head. I tried all week to get you out of my head but I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you since we met so here I am like some desperate girl asking you out.”

He chuckles and you almost melt right there and then. He had such a dazzling smile and he knew it.

“You came all this way in the pouring rain to ask me out on a date?”

Bucky could say with confidence that he has never had a girl do all of this for him. Usually, he did the chasing. It was a nice change to be on the receiving end of it.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” you chuckled and squeezed out water from your hair. He continued to chuckle but this is not a laughing matter. “This isn’t funny, Bucky. You’re like a parasite.”

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” He stepped out from his cozy mansion and joined you in the rain. “What if I say no to you?”

“I’ll make you say yes.”

“What if I tell you to turn around, leave, and never come back?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

That was enough for Bucky to make up his mind. He grabbed you and lifted you into his arms. You wrapped all four limbs around him as a way to keep him close, afraid that if you let go, he would disappear.

He kissed you as he carried you into his mansion, not caring if he got water all over the ground. That was all he needed to make his decision: you’re his and only his.

Now

That moment seemed like forever ago. Times have changed since then but would you go back to it? Living in ignorant bliss seems like the best way to live but then you wouldn’t have all the answers you want—need. Life seemed so simple back then but you have to keep your head high and try to move on as best as you can.

So, you ran and ran until you couldn’t anymore. You found a college on the other end of the country where you felt like you could try and live a normal life—a life away from Bucky.

You found your passion in fashion design while away from Bucky. You find joy in making clothes and blankets for people and hope to be a big designer one day. This college is going to help you do that if you can maintain your sweet girl facade.

No one here knows about your past. No one here is out to get you. No one here is going to bring you back to him no matter how much your heart aches for him.

You only started college nearly a year ago so you’re almost done with your second semester of your first year. It’s been a quiet experience only because you don’t let anyone in. If you do, he might get to them in order to get to you. Since you left, you know he’s been desperate to find you and you’re going to try as best as you can to remain hidden.

If he does happen to show, you’ll be ready.

You walk on campus, heading to your first class when someone from your fashion design class jogs to catch up with you.

“Hey, Rayne, right?” You gave him a fake name like you did with everyone. You’re not stupid enough to give him your real name. “You’re in my fashion design class.”

Yeah, you recognize him. He has short dark brown hair that fluffs out on top with skin that looks like light caramel. He has a sharp jawline and dark brown eyes that seem to hold mysteries. He’s a few inches taller than you but built like a baseball athlete. Not too muscular but enough to make him look strong.

“Yeah. You’re Giovanni.”

“Gio. Only my dad calls me Giovanni,” he chuckles.

“Right. What’s up?”

“We’ve had the same two fashion classes for two semesters. I know this is bold of me but I think you’re beautiful. Would you like to have a drink with me? Maybe dinner this weekend?”

Going on a date with another man seems harmless but if he found out about it, he’ll kill him. Plus, you’re not sure if you’re ready to move on from him.

“I don’t know. It’s not that you’re not un-datable. I just have so much shit going on in my life. It wouldn’t be fair to you if I couldn’t give you my all, you know?”

“Will you be okay if I asked for your number?”

Again, if he finds another man’s number in your phone, he’ll kill him. Then again, you’ve been on the run for nearly a year and he hasn’t popped back up in your life. Are you done for good? Can you finally move on and live your life the way you think you deserve?

“Sure,” you find yourself saying.

What’s the harm? He’ll have your number and if you don’t want to respond, you won’t. You’ll even block his number if you need to. It’ll be awkward in class but you’re saving his life if you do.

He takes out his phone and gives it to you so you can input your number into it. He calls you immediately after you have his number before putting his phone away.

“I gotta go to class but I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Gio runs off in the opposite direction to his next class while you continue to walk to your first one. This English class is a requirement for your degree even though you’re not interested in the subject at all. You’ve never been a writer or a reader, and you don’t have an interest in Othello or To Kill A Mockingbird. You read those books in high school. Still, you do your work and keep your head down like you have done every day for the past year.

About halfway through the class, an alarm bell sounds over the loudspeaker. Weird, you’ve never heard this alarm before. You’ve done fire drills, sure, but never with this alarm. The professor immediately walks to the door and locks it before pulling down every shade to cover the windows from anyone lurking outside.

“Alright, folks, that is our lockdown alarm. Until they give the all-clear, please gather to this side of the room and remain quiet.”

Every student gets up and huddles in one corner of the room, away from the window on the door. If anyone were able to look inside, they wouldn’t see a single soul. Is this a drill? Is this real? Are you in any danger? He’d never put you in danger but that only applies physically. He did a lot of damage to your heart and mind which is why you escaped from him.

Half the students are silent in fear that this is real while the other half are on their phones without a care in the world. You take your phone out to check the time when the loudspeaker crackles to life.

“Y/N… pisică, I know you’re here.” Your entire body floods with fear. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” It’s no surprise he found you. He finds everyone eventually. Why did you think you’d be able to run from him? “I’ll be nice and give you five minutes to show yourself. If you don’t, heads will roll. Your choice. Time starts now.”

Everyone in the classroom is confused except for you--you’re paralyzed with fear. It takes you thirty seconds to break out of your shell and get up despite the professor calling your fake name. No one knows your real name is Y/N. No one knows he’s here for you.

You grab your bag from your chair and flee the classroom. With the halls empty, it’s easy to get to the stairwell fast. If you can get to your car in the parking lot, you can speed out of here and go someplace where he won’t find you. If you’d ever be so lucky to.

You walk outside and see multiple armed guards walking the campus in search of you. On one end are men you don’t recognize, but you do recognize the men on the other side. Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers. Bucky’s right-hand men. The two he trusts above everyone else. You need to be smart about this or your escape plan would have been for nothing.

You run down the stairs carefully and stay close to the buildings where there are bushes to hide in. If one of them looks like they’re going to spot you, you’d duck behind a bush and wait for them to pass. The parking lot isn’t far from your class but you still treat this as if it’s on the other side of the parking lot.

You sneak past Sam who has his back to you to the only bush separating him and your car. The parking lot only has a few trees but none of them are big enough for you to hide behind. If you want to get to your car, you’ll have to sprint and hope they don’t see you.

Sam scans the parking lot before turning away from it. You take this moment to book it to your car, hoping that he doesn’t turn and see you. You unlock your car by using the key to the door instead of the button because you don’t want to make a lot of noise. When you close the door, Sam turns back to the parking lot and notices you in your car.

If you happen to get caught, you have a knife in your bag that you’ll use. It won’t do good to the many guns Bucky and his men have but it’s better than nothing. Sam watches you peel out of the parking lot before tuning into his earpiece.

“Boss, I got her. She’s leaving the parking lot now.”

“Good. Follow her. I’m on my way.”

You push on the accelerator as soon as you hit the main road. It’s weird you don’t see any other cars on the road. Maybe that’s Bucky’s doing. Whatever. It makes for a quick escape. You look in the rearview mirror to see if you’re being followed and let out a breath of relief when you don’t. That is until you do, and fear spikes not only in your heart but your brain.

You don’t have a good car since you had to buy a junker with the little money you had for yourself. Bucky gave you a card to always use but the second you did, he’d have found you. To pay for the car, you’d take odd jobs here and there and always had them be cash, never checks.

The passenger’s window rolls down and a gun appears out of it. You duck down just as the person starts shooting at you. Well, the person is shooting at your car, not you. Bucky’s men are professional marksmen so it only takes two shots to puncture two tires. You grip the steering wheel as your car slides and skids to the side of the road.

Shit. You sustained maybe a few cruises from where your body hit the side of the car but you’re otherwise unhurt. You need to get out of here. You grab your phone and knife and leave the car. Everything else is replaceable. The car that was shooting at you is less than a mile from where you are but you can feel his eyes on you.

They’re far enough away that maybe you can run away from them. You turn to run the opposite way but another black SUV comes screeching to a halt in front of you. Maybe if you run into the woods on either side of the road, you might be able to get away. You run to the left onto to be stopped by Steve who looks as if he’d been waiting there for you. Behind you, two more men come out from behind trees. 

All of them with guns. All of them under Bucky.

The car that shot at you comes to a complete stop a few yards from you. The back door opens and Bucky steps out in a nicely pressed suit that should be illegal. He looks too damn good to be who he is.

“Steve, please let me go. Please!”

Steve doesn’t listen and ends up throwing you back into the middle of the circle. With nowhere to go, you turn to Bucky and grip the knife in your hand. When he gets close enough, you raise your knife to do damage to him but he is too quick for you. He takes out his own gun and points it at you, causing you to freeze in fear.

“Drop the knife,” he says calmly. You look around and try to think of a way out of this but he is one step ahead of you. As always. He steps closer and puts the gun to the side of your head, moving it down to your chin and lifting it so you can only look at him. God, he’s so tall. “Stop trying to figure a way out of this and do as you’re told.”

You have no choice but to listen to him. Seeing him again after nearly a year hurts your heart because you know you’re still so damn in love with him. You love him but hate the kind of person he is. He’s dangerous and ruthless and a killer.

“You won’t shoot me,” you confidently say.

“No?” You shake your head and he pulls the trigger. It’s a blank but the sound of the gun clicking is enough to send you right back into your pool of fear. “The next one might not be a blank.” He puts his gun away but his men are still on alert. “It took so long to find you. You’re getting creative with your escapes.”

“I’ll escape again. I’ve done it before.”

You’ve always been so amusing to him.

“I’ll deal with this when we get home. Get in the car.”

“No.” Bucky grabs your arm tightly enough to drag you next to him but not tight enough to leave bruises. He’ll never mark you like that. “What about my car?”

“I’ll buy you a new one. Steve, Sam, clean this mess up.”

Bucky puts you in the back seat of the black SUV before he slides in next to you. He has mansions all over the country so instead of taking you back to New York, he’ll go to the one he has right here in California near your college.

You honestly didn’t think you’d ever go back to the one place you tried so hard to get away from.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[hannieween]

lunacy | city lights series | h.js

You could no longer hide your infatuation over Joshua Hong. It was becoming painfully obvious, though you weren't sure to what extent he was aware of this. Or if he even cared, for that matter.

✮ pairings: joshua hong x female reader ✮ genre: angst, smut (18+) ✮ aus: rock singer joshua, neighbors with benefits ✮ word count: 18.8k

↣ part i – part ii – part iii – navi post – other fics

₊🎧: underwater - baekhyun ♡︎ | shutdown - moon byul and seori ♡︎ | beautiful liar - monsta x ♡︎ | more - i.m ♡︎ ₊ nsfw warnings under the cut!!

✮ warnings: mentions of menstruation, smut with plot, dom Joshua, sub reader, big dick Joshua, phone sex, dirty talks, foul language, corruption kink, praise kink, exhibitionism: bj in a public space, cum swallowing, multiple sex scenes, masturbation, oral sex (f, m), brat taming: orgasm denial and pussy slaps, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names: pretty girl, baby, princess, sweetheart, bunny (hers) baby boy (his)

part iv

In your few years being a full time writer, you've made little traditions to keep for yourself.

For example, each time you started outlining your drafts, you'd go to a special spot in your favorite library, near the windows to watch people walk by on the streets. It helps your brain flow with ideas and brainstorm for hours.

Whenever you need to come up with stronger ideas for a plot, or find yourself in a bit of a writer's block, you go to the rooftop of your building. A tradition which has started to taint under the memories of you and Joshua, because quite inevitably, you start thinking of him.

And whenever you submit a finished draft, you tend to go elsewhere. Literally, you buy a ticket and go somewhere else, distract yourself for a little while, even sometimes, you give yourself the luxury to stay in a hotel for a night or two and come back feeling like a new person.

This time, you only bought a ticket for same day travel. But the method of transportation was by train. Which suited your needs a little bit more: you could see the landscape roll by your eyes, the openness of the outskirts of your city was beautiful—so different from looking out the window and seeing big tall buildings and billboards.

You've only visited this city once, when you published your first book years ago. As a young writer, you didn't have much money to go anywhere but there.

But you came across a gem: the town was colorful, it had its own quiet magic of a place loved and celebrated by the people who lived there.

When you first visited, you felt alien to the silent movement of the day. It was so strange to you that at first you got an eerie chill that maybe you got to a ghost town by accident, being so used to the buzz of the city throughout the day.

That's why you chose to come here as soon as you submitted your finished draft. It felt like sending a love letter and then hiding under your bed covers.

There was a small creek in the middle of the beautiful town, and a wooden bridge stood above it. You sat on a bench near the creek, the only noise filling your brain was the current of the stream.

Until the buzz of your phone interrupted that peace.

[9: 14 AM] Yen ✿: good news! [9: 14 AM] Yen ✿: you've been green lighted the second installment to your trilogy   [9: 14 AM] Yen ✿: yay! 🥰 [9: 15 AM] you: What? they already finished reading it? I sent it at midnight ???  [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: of course you're up already  [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: they haven't read it yet, that much i can tell you but  [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: idk what to say girl [9: 15 AM] Yen ✿: they already want to know you're working on book 2

That doesn't make sense, you said to yourself.

[9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: why do i feel like this is bad news  [9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: are u not excited or  [9: 16 AM] you: I am! this is great!  [9: 16 AM] you: I'm already working on book 2 :) [9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: great i'll tell them  [9: 16 AM] Yen ✿: btw what happened to mr hot neighbor  [9: 17 AM] Yen ✿: 👀👀  [9: 17 AM] you: Can we have that conversation on another day? I don't want to think about him right now [9: 17 AM] Yen ✿: fine

But it was entirely too late.

Memories of the last night you spent with Joshua started to flood your mind. You saw him last that Saturday night when you asked him to continue with your little agreement of being fuckbuddies.

He agreed. So you agreed to not see each other on Sunday, but what did happen was that he finally asked for your number. Though as expected, he hadn't texted yet.

That was another reason for your departure today. As soon as the clock hit midnight and it was Monday, you sent your file with the finished draft of your book and booked a ticket for the magical town you remember having visited in your first publishing experience.

Will he text? He hadn't all Sunday, so you didn't see it foreseeable that he would on Monday. Well, what do you actually know about him? You knew a few things. You seemed to have measured his behavior really well but what else did you know?

Nothing.

Not his birthday, his favorite color, his favorite song or movie. Does it matter? He's your fuckbuddy. There are no rules as to what you should know about the person you're fucking.

There may be a few details that are pertinent to doing what fuckbuddies do, yes. Like protection and being tested and such, a thing that you already had covered with Joshua, obviously.

But, should you know your fuckbuddy's favorite color? You knew that he didn't like to kiss you while fucking you, for example. And he conveniently fucks you in positions that distance your hands from his face so you can't touch him either.

Why does that feel like a bitter pill to swallow? Ah, yes. You have a terrible infatuation over him. Like a thorn that you do not dare to remove. In fact, you like the pain you get from it because it's the only thing you'll get.

You let out a broken sigh, swallowing your tears. You felt particularly emotional that day—a sign of your upcoming cycle, so your hormones were working twice as hard.

Another reason to stay away from Mr. Hot Neighbour, if you will.

Despite the sunny day, the temperature was growing colder, so that the season was changing to winter. You liked the mixed taste of it, the sunny sky and chill in the air, sitting by the peaceful creak of the ghost town.

You had a pending decision looming in your mind from the moment you took the train in the break of daylight. Should you tell Joshua how you feel? Is it something you thought helped your situation?

There was nothing you could compare your situation to your past experiences. Your past lovers never got to be as relevant as Joshua. No lover ever shook your heart so hard to the point of hurting. It wasn't just the sex, or his crushing beauty—you were well aware of that. 

You just fell in love of the way your bodies synced together. The way that he seemed to hear your thoughts and read the way your body moved so well. He made you feel seen.

Maybe it's not a great idea to confess to him. But you could try another way, maybe taunt him with silly questions about love, like you did before. 

After what seemed like an hour had passed, you opened the small portable cooler you brought with your person. You came prepared with a meal to have in the quietness of the creak, hearing the sounds of nature and the quiet life of the little town around you.

It was a peaceful day, the only thing that disrupted it was your pending talk with Joshua, which still resided in your head, wasn't even a fact yet.

You planned to stay until sunset, which due to the fact that winter was onset, happened early. You chose to read a book on the two hour trip back home, which was a good choice since it had been a while since you read something other than your own work.

In the elevator of your building, you found yourself wishing for a night of peaceful uninterrupted sleep. You didn't want to suffer from insomnia for a good while, although you knew that with your second book green lit, that might be happening soon.

You stifled a yawn as you got to your apartment. It was 7 PM and you decided that it might be a good idea to prepare yourself for bed. You drew yourself a bath, had a small meal and went overboard and induced yourself to sleep with melatonin—for good measure.

The good thing was that it was a dreamless, heavy sleep.

You woke up the next day feeling incredibly groggy and much to your demise, felt the silent announcement of the beginning of your cycle. With a groan, you dragged yourself out of bed and kick started your day.

[11:55 AM] joshua: bunny, are you busy today?

You stared at your screen for a good while. You were in the middle of your daily chores, cleaning your mail and responding to some others when your phone buzzed on your desk.

You turned the silent mode on and decided to respond to it later.

Why does he have to call you that? Does it hurt him to call you by your name?

Easy, you told yourself.

[18:31 PM] joshua: i'll take that as a yes ? [18:34 PM] you: I'm free tonight

You bit your lip. God, why do you feel like a teenager that time you first talked to the person you had a crush on?

[18:34 PM] you: But we can't do anything [18:34 PM] joshua: what do you mean ? [18:37 PM] joshua: are you in?

Your stomach dropped.

[18:37 PM] you: Are you outside my door right now?  [18:37 PM] joshua: where else? [18:37 PM] joshua: open up [18:37 PM] you: Let yourself in

You removed your cancellation headphones from your head and attempted to smooth your hair to appear at least decent and not like the little study mouse you were the whole day.

"Bunny? Where are you?" you heard his sweet voice call from the living room.

"In the study," you replied just as Joshua pushed the door open, sneaking his head in first.

"Hi there," he smiled at you sweetly, looking around like a child in a toy shop. "Wow, this room is so... you."

You laughed. "Is that so?"

"I like it," he nodded, looking at the shelves upon shelves stacked with books and clutter, collection toys and figures from your favorite media. Fairy lights on the walls, a couch on the side that hosted your small army of squishmallows that moved the first night that Joshua slept in.

"Thank you," you replied with an excited smile.

"So? What do you mean we can't do 'anything'?," he did bunny ears over the word.

"I'm... going through stuff," you said, making a circle motion with your palm toward your lower belly.

"Oh," he blinked, then cocked his head to one side. "And?"

It was your turn to blink in bewilderment. "What do you mean 'and'? Is it not super gross for men to even hear the word menstruation?"

"Maybe, for some. I don't know. I don't care," he shrugged with ease. "You've never had period sex, I take it?"

"Joshua! No!" you chastised, your stomach fluttering uneasily when he laughed.

His nose wrinkled as he giggled. "Sorry, but you can't expect me to be grossed out by a little blood. I've done it before, if it makes you feel better."

"It does not," you replied with sincerity, crossing your arms and standing from your armchair.

He was wearing what he usually wore when he was home. Sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. His hair was unlike the last time you saw him, it hung loose and you just loved it, it made you want to run your fingers through his dark locks.

"Well, if you don't want to have sex tonight, maybe we can chill instead, if you want," he shrugged as he took some aimless steps in your office room.

Your stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"

"We could watch a movie," his hand brushed his hair distractedly.

"I-I was actually about to go out," you blurted.

"Oh, you were?" his eyes scanned you briefly.

"To the drugstore. I'm... running out of supplies," you muttered, feeling your blood run to your cheeks.

He smirked. "Bunny, you don't have to be shy with me. Come on, I'll come with."

"O-okay," you muttered. "Let me get a bag."

It felt weird to walk down to the drugstore with Joshua strolling by your side. Doing simple ordinary things with him was something new to you, since you only saw him in your bedroom, and occasionally on the rooftop of the building you both live in.

When you found yourself wishing he would take your hand, you dug both your hands on the large pocket of your hoodie.

"How did it go? Your book thing," he asked, breaking the ice.

You smiled at his choice of words. "It went well. They want me working on the second book already."

"Oh, that sounds good," he gave you a gentle smile. "But they don't give you like, time to rest or something like that?"

"Well, I screwed up a bit because I was a little ahead of deadline and told them the second book was in the works, so there's no time to rest," you shrugged.

"I get it," he nodded. "I don't get days off either. It's either recording vocals, writing music, networking or something else."

"Did you have to work yesterday too?" you asked with genuine curiosity.

"I went back to the studio because Jihoon wanted me to re-record some lines. We went on a rabbit hole after that 'cause he's nervous about possibly working with major producers. We're self-produced for now," he smiled and rolled his eyes at the memory.

"Was it good though, at the end?"

"Oh, yeah. The perfectionist he is, he didn't stop until he okayed it," he nodded and opened the door of the drugstore for you and you muttered a word of thanks. "And the day before... Sunday. Yeah, I normally go out with my mom—or try to."

"Oh?" you pushed your eyebrows up. "What did you do this time?"

"We had lunch and then visited a botanical garden. Drove her home after that," he told you with an absent smile, probably remembering his day with his mom.

Your heart swelled with fondness. "That sounds really nice, Joshua," you replied, trying not to show the emotion you felt.

"Yeah," he seemed to snap himself from his train of thought, looking up to the aisles. "I don't know where I'm going, I'm following you."

You laughed. "Don't worry, you won't get lost baby boy," you said with an air of confidence as you turned to the aisle where you'd find what you needed.

"Did you just call me baby boy?" he giggled goofily.

You ignored him, throwing in the basket your supplies.

"You told me you needed supplies, bunny. What's this?" he said, looking up to the shelves. "Snacks?"

"These are my supplies," you said with a whine. "Don't judge me."

"I'm not judging," he lifted his palms to your view. "Whatever you need."

"I actually do need to collect something from the counter," you said, fishing your prescription from your pocket but not showing it to him.

"Oh, are you sick?" he inquired as he followed you out of the snacks section and toward the counter.

You kindly handed your prescription to the lady and she handed back birth control pills. Then when it was time to pay, you tried to hide your blushing face to Joshua, who could probably notice your natural shyness kicking in, no matter if he stood behind your back.

"Are you on the pill? Why did you never tell me?" he muttered beside you as you both walked out of the drugstore with your bag full of supplies.

"Not yet," you frowned, though your face felt hot. "In theory and according to this, I begin today," you told him, keeping your eyes glued to the sidewalk.

"I see," he replied, seemingly thoughtful. But then, he asked: "So we're watching movies tonight?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice," you admitted. "It's been ages since I watched a movie at home—or at the cinema, for that matter."

"Cinema," he smiled. "Sometimes I forget that you're an old lady."

"Shut up, Joshua," you scoffed but couldn't help the growing smile on your face.

The only way you could describe your apartment was something akin to a fortress: never short of food or supplies, you had everything you ever needed for entertainment, you worked there most of the time. You were lucky to have made it your little fortress—and well, also you worked hard to keep it that way.

When you got back home with Joshua, you freshened up in the bathroom and changed into comfier clothes and brought a blanket to the living room, where you had a decent tv screen.

"What do you prefer for tonight, princess?" Joshua asked as you returned to the living room wearing your comfiest attire.

"Aren't you choosing tonight?" you asked as you sat beside him on your couch and threw the blanket over your legs.

"What, you're not sharing?" he asked, looking at your fluffy blanket.

"I can bring another blanket for you," you blurted, feeling deeply embarrassed.

"What if I only want to share yours?" he pouted cutely, he even made puppy eyes.

Don't torture me like that, your inner voice pleaded to him. 

"I- we can share," you smiled abashedly. "Sorry, I just didn't think-"

"I'm just playing with you, bunny," he laughed merrily.

You stopped cold. "I- what do I do?" you blurted. "Do you want to share or not?"

"Oh, you sweet thing. Alright, let's share," he exhaled. "We're watching horror, then."

"O-okay," you muttered, feeling deeply flustered at the whole exchange.

The blanket covered you and Joshua perfectly. It was large enough to cover your whole bed. So you confidently propped your feet bundled up in fluffy socks on your coffee table without the blanket falling off or uncovering Joshua.

"You can do the same," you suggested to him after he saw you put your feet up on the surface of your otherwise neat coffee table.

"You're weird," he muttered, but followed you nonetheless, extending his large legs on the coffee table with yours.

"Why?" you frowned.

"You don't seem like the person who would tolerate feet on a table," he laughed. "But you always prove me wrong in something."

You felt your cheeks grow hotter. "What- why? Why does that make me weird? I just wanted to stretch my legs."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," he shrugged. "I mean, your apartment is always super clean and you're a bit haughty about certain things so I just thought-"

"I am not haughty!" you gasped.

"Ah, there we go again," he let out his high pitch giggle.

"Shut up, Joshua. You're not perfect either," you muttered with a pout.

"I know, sweetheart," he laughed harder.

"You-you're cocky," you blurted. "You're... you're..."

Joshua arched his eyebrows, waiting for your best worst descriptor.

But you just sighed: "God, you might be perfect."

He laughed harder. "Are you sure you're not ill? Let's take you to the doctor," he joked.

You scoffed. "Ugh, I'll take it back. You're the worst."

"I'm anything but perfect, baby. Far from it, actually. But I appreciate your lukewarm compliment," he said, sliding a hand under the blanket and finding your thigh, to which he gave a gentle squeeze.

With a jolt, you rose from the couch, visibly startling him. "I almost forgot my snacks! D-do you want something to drink?"

You hid yourself in your kitchen and heard his distant reply. "I'll have whatever you're having."

A silent sigh escaped you. You needed to find some kind of rein to your emotions when Joshua was around you.

"Does hot tea and milk sound okay?" you asked.

"Sounds great. Thanks," you heard.

You returned with a tray with two mugs and a plate full of your favorite sweet snacks. Joshua frowned slightly then you set the tray between you and him, setting a clear barrier between you two.

If he noticed you were creating some distance, he didn't say anything. And you silently thanked him for it.

Joshua chose a horror movie. If he did it because he enjoyed horror, he didn't look the part, not one bit. His face wore a frown in disgust throughout the whole thing—and it wasn't only because of gory depictions.

The film was deeply disturbing, to anyone in their right mind, it would seem. But you occasionally giggled at certain moments when Joshua flinched or even jumped on the couch. You never bat an eye, you even found the story a bit flimsy, reliant in shock value and with very evident plot holes.

"That was... something," you muttered as the credits rolled on the screen.

"You are scary," he told you, still looking deeply startled.

You let out a laugh. "Why?"

"You laughed when the lady found out that her daughter was dead!" he pointed with an obvious tone.

"What, it was funny," you shrugged. "I dunno, the face she made was funny. Thought it was a weird cry face."

His mouth parted, frown deepening. "That's psycho talk," he shook his head.

"Chill, it's just a movie," you huffed.

"You pick next time," he rolled his eyes. "But let's not watch horror in a while. I've had my fill."

You laughed. "You want me to hold you?" you teased.

"Yeah, that would be nice. Please and thank you," he mumbled in a low tone.

You realized he seemed serious for a moment. "Wait, you're not joking?"

"Yeah, I am," he laughed. "Unless you want to, though," he nodded at you with a cheeky smile that could only mean that he was now teasing you.

"I'm fine, thanks," you shook your head. "I don't find cultish things scary."

"What do you find scary, then?" he inquired, he leaned his head back on the sofa and turned to see you.

You were eating on your snacks. You were not hungry, just felt the need to keep your hands and mouth busy.

"I... don't know," you replied after a long minute.

"Interesting," he muttered.

"What is?"

"You are," he frowned slightly.

"Were you expecting me to curl up in a ball and ask you to hold me?" you taunted.

"Kind of? Yeah," he said, his eyebrows arched a bit.

"Well, maybe we can keep searching for the one horror movie that makes me want to do that," you suggested with a playful smile on your face.

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you might be a bit crazy," he joked. "Lucky for you, I'm a bit crazy too."

"Oh, yeah? And why does that make me the lucky one?"

"Because I might say yes," he muttered with a smirk.

"Deal it is, then," you lifted your chin almost proudly and tended your hand to him.

He shook it contentedly. "Deal. But not tonight, though. Maybe in a month—or two."

Your chest tightened at the sound of that. Time with him, making plans, made your heart flutter in your chest.

"Sure, whenever you're ready, baby boy," you replied with a grin.

He closed his eyes slowly. "God, why did I do to deserve this," he muttered with a downturned smile.

You rolled your eyes, then threw the blanket off your legs. "Bathroom break," you announced for the nth time, since during the movie you had a few. "I'll be back."

When you finally returned, Joshua was fast asleep on your couch, breathing deeply with his arms crossed on his chest.

The sight of it was warm, almost too cute to even process. You felt the urge to grab his cheeks and pinch them or squeeze the air out of his lungs.

Maybe you are crazy.

You picked up the tray from the couch, the barrier that kept his hands away from you and placed it on the kitchen counter, deciding to clean up the following morning.

Deciding on what to do with the large man asleep on your couch, you sat quietly beside him. Twiddling with your fingers. Should you wake him and tell him to go home? Should you suggest that he stay the night? He lived right next door, he could just walk to his bed in less than a minute.

But you wanted him to stay with you.

Then suddenly, he jerked awake with a loud grunt, throwing his hands at you like big claws. "Bwaaah!"

You let out a screech in sheer terror at having him give you the scare of your life. "Goddamnit, Joshua!" you slapped him on his shoulder repeatedly.

He laughed himself silly. "Got you," he muttered with teary eyes, not even trying to dodge or cover himself from your attacks.

"Yeah, yeah," you stuck out your tongue at him, making him laugh harder again.

"You're too cute," he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Screw you," you pouted.

He rolled his eyes. "Oof, don't go around saying that. You potty mouth," he teased with a grin still plastered on his stupidly beautiful face.

You scoffed, but fell short of witty replies to give him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

It took you two seconds to understand what he was referring to.

"Oh, I'm okay. Well, not okay but I just don't feel like dying yet," you muttered with an offhanded air.

He pouted cutely. "I'm going to pretend I know what that means."

Joshua was a few inches away from you, just at hand's reach, but you didn't dare touch him. Even if you were dying to.

You laughed. "I'm fine, Joshua. I can deal with the pain just fine."

"Oh, okay," he shrugged slightly. "I was about to offer a back rub, but given that you're okay..."

"I'd like that," you nodded, feeling your cheeks grow hotter. "I'd like that very much, please."

Joshua grinned. "Lie down, princess," he instructed, patting on his thigh once to indicate the place where he wanted you to lie your head.

You did so, lying on your tummy, head resting on his thigh and stretching your legs on the sofa. His large hands started massaging softly on your lower back, over your comfy clothes.

"Oh, oh? That feels good," you exclaimed, feeling bewildered. "You're really good at this."

"Why do you sound surprised?" he asked and you darted a look at his face, he flashed you a grin as he caught your eye.

"I-I'm not—well a little," you muttered as his hand pressed softly on your lower back alleviating the stress from the cramping you've had all day.

You scrunched up your face when he got to a region that activated your nerves, it didn't exactly hurt, but it made you clench your muscles in response.

"Does that hurt, bunny?" he muttered.

"It feels weird," you replied. "Keep going."

You heard a soft chuckle. "Do you like this?"

He used both hands to rub your lower back, fingers digging at the sides of your hips, applying just the right amount of pressure to your skin to make you groan in satisfaction.

"Yeah. Feels so good," you muttered, closing your eyes.

You could feel yourself letting loose, so much that you weren't aware when you fell asleep on his lap. What woke you up with a start was feeling your drool dripping from your parted lips and onto his lap.

The back rubs had stopped, in fact everything had stilled and when you darted a look up, you found Joshua asleep, still in the same sitting position he was when he was giving you back rubs.

It was 2 AM, you suspected that you had fallen asleep around 11 PM. So Joshua didn't dare move under the risk of waking you up.

He slowly stirred after noticing that you had moved from his lap.

"Hi there," he whispered groggily with the ghost of a smile.

"Let's go to bed," you muttered, not caring that you could simply tell him to go home.

You got up from your couch and dragged him along, silently thanking him for not protesting against your wishes.

He took off his large t-shirt as you threw the bed covers and climbed your bed before he did.

"What?" you asked when you saw him standing by the foot of the bed, his bare torso exposed to your view.

"Do you have an issue if I sleep in my briefs only?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You laughed. "Please. We've slept naked before," you muttered, but he didn't budge. "Yeah, 'm okay with it."

He took his sweatpants off and climbed to your bed, lying next to you.

You instinctively scooted closer to him and he smiled, sliding an arm under your body to drag your body so that now his chest was pressed to your back, his arms circling you so he was practically hugging you from behind.

"Are you feeling better?" he muttered, his nose slightly bumping the back of your ear.

"Yeah. Thank you Shua," you replied, snuggling in his embrace.

"Here to help," he whispered before pressing his lips on your hair.

The rest of the week went smoothly.

Joshua had taken a liking to texting you when you least expected him to. Sometimes, he'd ask random questions, just to taunt you and make you blush. As if he knew the effect he had on you even without interacting with him in person.

[18:23 PM] joshua: are you free tonight princess? [18:23 PM] joshua: wait don't tell me [18:23 PM] joshua: you're working

You had been keeping him at bay all week by telling him you have to outline book two of your trilogy. Which was true, you unburied some old drafts, but decided that given the fact that book one underwent a lot of changes, book two would have to adopt those changes too.

But the reason why you made yourself busy was to keep yourself away from him. You were too nervous to face him again after that Tuesday night—in which you purely hung out together, no sex.

You let out a sigh.

[18:24 PM] you: I'm free tonight  [18:24 PM] you: Why?

It was now Saturday. You hadn't expected to see Joshua that night, since he usually had something planned during the weekend.

That being said, you totally weren't expecting a call from him.

"Yes?"

"God, you might be an old lady. Who answers the phone by saying 'yes'?" you heard him laugh.

"I'm hanging up," you cooed, trying to hide your smile.

God, how can he get you this flustered already?

"Wait, wait," you heard a giggle. "What are you wearing right now?"

"Really? Really, Joshua?" you gasped.

"No, wait I mean—don't hang up. I'm picking you up in an hour. We're going out," he told you, and you could tell that he was walking hurriedly, his breath hitching up as the buzz from the street filtered through the phone.

Your stomach dropped. "What, where? Jesus, give me some warning next time," you stood up from your desk and went to your bedroom.

"I am giving you a warning, right now. We have a gig tonight and it's a big thing for me. I want you to be there," he spoke in a lower tone, as if not wanting anyone else to hear.

"Well, I'm in my pyjamas. Hope that's fine with you," you joked. You were in fact not wearing pyjamas, but comfy clothes.

"The bunny pjs?" he inquired in a lower tone, but you could tell that he was smiling. "Oh no, sweetheart. I love to see you in that but I'm afraid that's not going to do."

"Well that's what you're getting," you smiled despite the blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Come on, baby. Wear something nice for me?" he purred into your ear. 

You sighed in pure delight and felt lucky that he wasn't there to see that you were aroused already.

"What do you want me to wear?" you almost mewled, not caring about how lewd you sounded.

"Whatever you want, princess. You look good in anything," he muttered.

"I'll wear something cute," you responded, your voice high and almost sweet for him. "And I'll wear something underneath for you only, if you want."

"Fuck, I'm getting hard already," you heard him sigh.

Your eyes widened. "Really?" your voice rose an octave higher. "Why?" you asked innocently.

"Just thinking about you gets me hard," he groaned, but you could tell he was smiling by the sound of his voice.

"Joshua! You're in public! Don't say those things aloud," you chastised him, but couldn't ignore that hearing that made you instantly wet and your core flutter in excitement at his words.

"I just got to my car, princess. Calm down," he laughed faintly. "No one can hear me here. Or see."

"Well, in that case, I'm really, really wet for you right now," you muttered with a sigh as you sat on your bed and slowly lied down.

"Fuck, baby. I love hearing you say that," he purred in a raw tone.

"Yeah? What else do you love hearing me say?" you dared ask.

Maybe your newfound confidence was due to the fact that he wasn't present in your bedroom right now. Your heart was thumping hard against your chest, and your face felt hot at the daring words that were escaping your mouth.

But you didn't care, all your focus was on the voice in your ear.

"I love the way you say my name," he confessed almost sheepishly, as if he was almost admitting that to himself.

"Shua?" you asked, playing dumb. 

"No, no. That's not my name, baby," he muttered in a tone of false reprimand.

"Joshua," you smiled.

"Mmm yeah. I love hearing you say my name. Love it when that's all you can say while I fuck you silly," he admitted, his voice dangerously low.

"Mmm, yeah?" you echoed as your free hand sneaked beneath the band of your sweatpants, burying itself beneath your soaked panties.

You let out a mewling sound when your fingers found your already pooling core.

"Are you touching yourself, princess?" he asked after he heard you sigh in pleasure.

"Yeah," you admitted. Your wet fingertips had already started rubbing circles around your swelling clit. "Wanna come and see for yourself?"

"Fuuuck," you heard him sigh heavily. "I'm a bit far away right now. But I'd love to be there, princess."

"Can y-you talk to me?" you asked with a tiny voice then bit your lip to avoid moaning louder, feeling your legs starting to tense up.

"Are you touching yourself with your fingers?" he asked and you said yes. "God. I'd love to see that one day."

"Yeah? Why?" you asked with a frown.

"I think it's really fucking hot. I want to see you play with your toys until you're spent," he sighed and you imagined him smiling. "I want to hear you say my name while you do it, too."

"You think that I think of you when I touch myself?" you dared ask again as your fingers gently swirled around your sensitive bud.

"You don't?" he bit back.

"Yeah, I do," you admitted despite yourself. "How did you know?"

"Just a small hunch," he sighed, is he smiling?

"I always think of you when I come. I imagine it's you that's making me come," you blurted.

"I'm right next door," he groaned. "You know you can just tell me and I'll be there."

"But what if it's super late?" you pried.

"I don't care,"  he confessed with a low groan.

"Are you touching yourself too?" you asked with a high pitch whine.

"I can't. Not unless I want to be charged for public indecency," he muttered and you could tell he was smiling.

"Are y-you hard?" you asked as your fingers pinched your swollen and slick covered clit.

"Yeah, baby. I am," he sighed. "You've been ignoring me a little this week," he laughed.

Your heart clenched and a moan escaped your lips as your fingers toyed with your clit. "Y-you're not seeing other people, then?"

"You're asking me right now if I'm fucking other girls?" he muttered with a groan that didn't denote his arousal anymore. "Why would I want to do that?"

"I dunno, I figured-"

"You're the only one I'm fucking. I haven't been with anyone else since you," he muttered reproachfully. "We've talked about this before—does this get you off, baby? Do you like to hear that you're the only girl I want?"

"Yeah," you admitted, shutting your eyes close as your body responded with a wave of heat at the sound of his words, you groaned and twitched in your bed a little.

"Is my pretty girl possessive? Is that it?" he muttered again, and in your inner eye you saw him grinning like an idiot.

"Yes, I am," you gasped as your fingers pressed on your clit and massaged it in the only way you knew would get you closer to your sweet release.

"Oh, you greedy, greedy little thing," he tutted. "Are you close, baby? By the way you're breathing I can only assume that-"

"Yes, 'm close, Joshua," you whimpered, your fingers working faster on your clit.

"I wish I could see that right now," he replied. "You don't know how much I've needed you this week."

"Fuck," your legs twitched and a moan coiled in your throat.

"I'd have you every day of the week if you let me, baby," he let out a stressed sigh. "Don't think I would rather have someone else before you."

"Joshua-," you muttered in a broken moan, trying to bite your lip as you came on your fingers, gasping and whining as the wave of pure bliss washed over you, making your jaw go slack and let out his name in low whimpers.

"I know, baby," he muttered as he heard your moans: "I know."

Your body went limp after a long minute and you slowly came back to your senses.

"God, that was embarrassing," you sighed to yourself, moving your hand out of your pants.

He giggled. "Why?"

"I—never mind," you rolled your eyes. "See you in a bit?"

"See you in a bit, bunny," was the last thing he said before you hung up.

The cold shower you had afterwards served two purposes: a cold slap back to reality and a reflection on your crazy toxic behavior.

Joshua was not your boyfriend. So what if he were fucking other people? Even if he were, you didn't have a say in it. You were just fuckbuddies.

You decided to wear something you thought never would, something you bought on a whim. A little black dress that hugged your body in a flattering way and accentuated your beautiful body, it showed some cleavage, but you felt confident enough to wear it now.

You waited in your living room for Joshua, tapping your fingers impatiently and checking your phone every now and then until you heard him knock, and you ran to get your door.

Joshua pushed through the door, grabbing you instantly by the waist and pushing you to the nearest surface where he could sit you down. The table felt cold against your ass when he set you down harshly, making the skirt of your dress fly up as he slotted himself between your legs.

"I'd take you right here on this table if we didn't have to be somewhere else right now," he said in a low tone, grabbing your chin with his fingers.

"Please do," you urged as his lips locked on yours chastely. "Fuck me, please Joshua, please."

"I think it's your turn to wait now," he muttered with a grin.

"But I need it, please," you whined, wrapping your legs around him.

"Touching yourself an hour ago wasn't enough, baby?" he lifted your chin to angle your head for him to press his lips to your own.

"No. You know it wasn't," you mewled. "I want you to fuck me. Right now," you moaned with a sigh.

Your fingers hooked on the hem of his black jeans and pulled him toward you, sliding his zipper down and undoing the button in one move.

"Fuck baby," he muttered in awe at your wild behaviour as your hand slid beneath his jeans to find him already hard beneath his underwear.

"I need you," you whined, ignoring the awe-struck look on his face.

He grabbed both your wrists and pulled them out of his pants, firmly clasping them together, his hand was large enough to secure them together in his fist as the other hand grabbed you by the jaw gently.

"You have some nerve after ignoring me all week," he muttered darkly. "Now you'll have to wait baby until I say so. Can you do that, sweetheart?"

You looked at his lust-lidded eyes bore into you and his smile slowly appeared on his face as you nodded.

"I can wait," you replied with an innocent tone.

"That's my girl," he cooed and sighed into your lips as he captured them with his own, giving you a heated kiss.

You broke the kiss abruptly and brought up a finger to caress his lower lip that was covered now with your saliva.

"You can fuck me raw now, Joshua," you whispered with a soft smile, almost kicking your feet in the air as you still sat on your table.

The audacity that possessed you to say that was totally new to you, it showed up in your crazy outbursts of assertiveness every time you were near him. Maybe you felt confident enough to be like that with him.

He shuddered slightly, but it was enough for you to see. "We're never getting there if you keep going, princess," he pressed his forehead against yours.

"So you're going to?" you asked, your voice dropped to a whisper.

"If that's what you want, baby," he muttered.

He was already breathing hard, his hands had dropped on your bare thighs, where he had started to knead on your skin anxiously.

"I want to," you replied instantly. "I need you to."

"You're killing me right now," he laughed softly before fixing his pants. "We need to go now, or we'll be regrettably late."

"Fine," you sighed. "Let's go."

He grabbed your head with his hands before crashing his lips with yours briefly but heatedly.

"Let's go," he muttered.

The ride there was longer than you expected. Joshua told you beforehand that his bandmates were already at the location where the event was going to be held.

And as he drove there, he started to get more and more jittery: anxiously licking his lips and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Are you okay, Shua?" you asked. "You're quiet."

He sent a look your way, but focused on the road ahead. "I'm okay. Just a bit nervous."

You gave him a reassuring smile, although he didn't get the chance to see it. "It's going to be fine. You'll see," you tried to comfort him by placing a hand flatly on his thigh.

He gently grabbed your hand and took it to his lips, pressing them on your knuckles. "Thank you, bunny. That's why I'm bringing you with me tonight."

Your heart fluttered a little. "Yeah? Why is that?"

"You give me good luck," he smirked.

You snorted, trying to play it cool. "You're so corny," you muttered.

He flashed you a downturned smile, briefly looking your way. "Shut up, I'm trying to flirt with you."

"Why? You're driving, there's not much we can do," you laughed, but then your laugh fainted. "Unless you want me to do something for you."

He blinked slowly as he let out a soft laugh. "Are you suggesting to blow me, baby?" he asked incredulously, glancing your way.

You shrugged. "Mmm, yeah. I thought that's where this conversation was headed."

"God, you are terrible at flirting," he said with a low chuckle, but you couldn't ignore how he leaned his head back and shifted on the seat a bit.

"Yeah, shocking," you smiled.

Joshua frowned, but didn't press any further. "I'd accept your proposition," he smiled slightly. "But we're arriving in about two minutes."

"I feel like there's a joke to be made here," you muttered with a smile.

His jaw dropped slightly. "Oh, no. Don't," he laughed.

"I just need one minute," you burst out laughing by the end of the joke.

He rolled his eyes briefly, but his smile was the biggest you've seen. "You have the humor of a child," he said while shaking his head.

You collected yourself, feigning to brush a tear from the corner of your eye.

"Are you done?" he asked, looking torn between amused and disappointed by your bad joke.

"Come on, laugh a little," you pushed his shoulder slightly.

Your joke wasn't even remotely funny, you knew that, but Joshua was still smiling when he parked in a large parking lot There were a lot of cars around and people gathering and walking in groups towards the entrance of a park.

"Where are we?" you asked as you unclasped your seatbelt.

Joshua appeared to be in a hurry, probably reverting back to his state of anxiousness after being distracted successfully by you. "Come on, bunny."

He jumped out of his large jeep and went around it to get your door.

"Oh, what a gentleman. Thanks," you smiled as he offered you a hand to climb down.

"Here," he muttered as his hands clasped on what appeared to be an access pass, which he put around your neck.

"Oh? Thank you, Joshua," you grabbed the tag to read that it was an all access pass.

"Don't mention it," you looked up to see a light smile on his face. "Follow me."

He led you to the side entrance which was fenced off, a sign at the entrance reading "AUTHORIZED ONLY" and you practically followed him through the maze of sound and lighting equipment carefully arranged on the floor.

There was a lot to be on the lookout for as you tried to keep up with him. There were rows of cables taped or secured to the ground that you almost tripped over.

Joshua seemed to notice your struggle and reached out to grab your hand firmly. "Careful, princess," he showed you a downturned smile, jittery eyes glancing down to his large hand grabbing yours. "Is this okay?"

You felt your heartbeat on your throat as you could only muster up a nod. "Yeah," you breathed, holding onto his hand.

The place he was walking through and to which he was practically dragging you with him was a large tent with long tables, people gathered around, chatting and drinking.

The smell of weed and tobacco permeated the air, laughter and the hum of the crowd with that of the music in the distance filled your ears.

"There you are, Shuji—oh, I see why you're late," Jihoon politely nodded your way and waved.

"Hi," you waved back shyly.

Joshua released your hand gently, smoothly using it to fix his dark hair with a labored sigh. "I thought I was on time," he frowned. "Isn't our go in an hour?"

"Yes, but we were asked for our instruments for soundcheck half an hour ago," the drummer shook his head nervously.

"And?" Joshua smiled playfully. "Did you need me to do that?"

"No, I don't need you, I'm just—forget it. In thirty minutes we go backstage for them to mic us up," he informed, just as jittery as you saw Joshua some minutes ago.

"Got it. Thanks Jihoon," he nodded and then turned to you. "You get drinks and food with your pass. I have to stay here, but you're free if you want to explore the festival," he tugged at the access pass hanging on your neck.

"Right, okay," you pressed your lips into a smile.

"We can meet back here once our gig is over," he offered. "Or I can join you where you are."

You looked up at his doe eyes. "You're going to do great, Joshua," you smiled reassuringly.

God, you wanted to kiss him so bad. In front of everyone, you didn't care who saw. But you also felt pathetic, anxiously eyeing his plump lips then back at his curious eyes.

He read you well. With a soft smile, his hand slid in the nape of your neck to hold you in place as he dipped his head to kiss you sweetly, one peck, then another. A sigh falling on your parted lips as he tenderly slid his lips in between your own.

"I'll be in the crowd," you promised with the faintest voice.

"I'll look for you," he smiled slightly at you, meeting your gaze with such fondness that you almost forgot where you were.

"I better be there then," you smirked at him, trying to contain your eagerness.

"Look at you being flirty with me," his smile grew and you almost died inside when his eyes turned into two crescent moons from how happy he looked.

"I–that wasn't flirting," you stuttered. "I'd better get going so you can get ready," you pulled away awkwardly.

Your heart sank as the smile on his face slowly faded.

Joshua looked at you the way he always did when he figured you out, but just nodded with his head, if he had anything else to say, he kept it to himself.

"See you in a bit?" he asked with a playful smile.

"See you in a bit, Shua," you smiled back and turned around and followed your way back through the crowds of artists and crew men and women and into the actual music festival.

The sun had already dipped, the chill of the air in the beautiful park surrounded by tall trees seemed to be setting in despite the huge crowds of people amassing around the stages, those which were three in total.

In your little exploration around the merch and food stalls, you found out that Midnight Haze were presenting on the main stage, two bands before the headliners. So that's why Joshua looked reasonably anxious: this was hugely important for a local band such as his.

You thought that this could prove an opportunity for them to be scouted for plenty more gigs. And you hoped that would be the case. You honestly wished for his band to have more recognition, they deserved it.

You explored all the food stalls, not feeling really hungry but yet indulging in what appealed to you the most. Everything was free for you, having an all access pass circling your neck, but you didn't feel the need to overuse it.

Except for strawberry mojitos, you were sipping on the third one by the time you circled back toward the big stage, showing your pass to security and they pointed you to the VIP section, directly in front of the stage where Joshua's mic stand stood.

Behind the mic stand the stage crew rolled a platform with Jihoon's bright red drum set, surrounded by a number of large cymbals. The crew expertly made a brief soundcheck and left. Your stomach tightened in excitement for the members of Midnight Haze, not just Joshua.

It seemed they had a plan, Jihoon stepped on the stage first, walking to the platform the crew had set with his large drum set. He sat on the stool and shifted a bit, finding his preferred way of sitting.

You spotted Vernon's bass guitar carefully placed on a guitar stand. It was white and had stickers all over it, some of them had washed over around the pickup area. When he picked it up and threw the red strap around his shoulder he also seemed to shift and get ready.

The crowd pushed you softly around as the people around you moved to get closer to the fences. Even if you stood in the VIP section, it was completely packed, the murmur of the crowd rose, some people whistled loudly impatiently.

When Joshua stepped under the stage lights, the crowd went completely insane. The large screens framing the stage showed the full stage, now complete with the lead singer as he grabbed a white guitar, lifting the strap to place it on one of his shoulders.

Joshua turned around and you saw him nodding his head at Jihoon, who returned the gesture at him to then raise his arms in the air to clash his drumsticks three times before starting off with a loud bang.

The booming sound of the towers of speakers filled your body, vibrating in your insides and making your bones feel the energy that instantly ignited the crowd, including you.

Midnight Haze started their set with one of their songs you liked the most. And you were pleased to see that Joshua smiled as he sang to the lyrics of the song.

The electrifying presence of the lead singer was so mind boggling to you, for a second it didn't seem like you were seeing your next door neighbor singing and playing his guitar as he danced side to side, banging his head slightly to the beat.

People screamed and applauded as the first song came to its end and Joshua bowed his head politely. Then he paused to remove one of his in-ear pieces to listen to the cheering of the crowd properly. He approached the stand, wrapping one hand around the mic.

"How's it going Rock Fest?" his voice boomed with excitement, a small chuckle came out of his plump lips when the crowd responded with wordless screams.

"We're Midnight Haze and we're really excited to be here," Joshua spoke into the mic, his starry eyes lost in the sea of faces, marveling at the sight of how extensive the crowd was.

"I want to see you all singing and dancing. Come on!" he screamed energetically just as the music swept in again.  

You cheerily sung along all of the songs in their set list, swaying your body mindlessly from side to side, looking over at the stage where Joshua also sang and played his guitar.

He looked devastatingly beautiful. His big eyes closed briefly, his brow furrowing slightly in focus, the vein in his neck popping up as he sang his lungs out.

The stage lights bathed his face with red and pink lights as the music wrapped him in a moment for his guitar solo, he looked hypnotic to you, almost heavenly.

You were so attracted to him you felt like a moth flying straight into the flame. You simply couldn't contain your urge to grab your phone and snap a photo of the moment.

God, you're screwed for life, you realized as you watched him.

Their setlist was about to come to a wrap after another one of your favorite songs ended on a strenuous note and Joshua's eyes went through the sea of faces. The stage lights danced around and pointed at the crowd at the same time his eyes zeroed on you, his brow relaxed and he smiled slightly.

"We've come to our last song," he spoke into the mic, his smile broadening when the crowd responded in wordless discontent. "We thank you for being here and for being such an amazing crowd," he paused, seemingly enjoying the roar of the sea of people in front of him. "We were Midnight Haze. Thank you, Rock Fest!!"

They started playing what their last song was, which was a song that you didn't know yet and apparently was a new song, since no one around you seemed to sing along with Joshua, who kept his big smile throughout as he sang and danced around the stage with his guitar.

He looked at you once as he strolled with his guitar directly in front of you. The people standing behind you screamed in your ears and you smiled at the sheer commotion he caused just by stopping by.

You twiddled your fingers at him, which he caught immediately and nodded his head at you, smiling tiredly with his tongue dangling between his chapped lips.

"He's so fucking hot oh my god," someone said with a raw voice from screaming, you turned and you saw two girls holding each other in excitement from the brief exchange.

It was amusing to think that you weren't the only one subdued by the beauty of the lead singer. It was also somewhat amusing that you were exhilarated at the fact that he singled you out from the crowd, but obviously no one around you knew that.

Joshua returned to the mic to sing the last verse, to then thank the other two members of Midnight Haze and say goodbye, promptly leaving the stage as the crowd screamed and applauded for them.

You quickly made your way out of the VIP section and found the nearest entrance back to the tent where you last saw Joshua. There were still some people hanging out in the tent, though admittedly not as many stuck around, possibly enjoying the festival and the food.

When Joshua came back, he looked a mixture of euphoric, tired and happy. As he spotted you, he opened his arms in excitement and you threw yourself in his embrace, lifting you in the air as your lips met briefly in an affectionate kiss.

"You were amazing," you told him, looking at his face briefly before he returned you to the ground.

Then you slowly came to your senses and stepped back from him slightly.

"You think so?" he asked, unaware of your sudden change in behavior. "Cause that felt amazing! That was the largest crowd we've ever performed for."

Your heart swelled at seeing him so excited, he grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you and you laughed at the crazed energy he still had from the stage.

"Come with me," he grabbed you by your hand as he led you out of the tent and to an even larger tent that was more crowded than the one you just left and right behind the stage.

It looked somewhat like a private party, the people in there, the majority of them, looked already intoxicated. The atmosphere was one of fun and a bit of mischief, however, you couldn't help but think that the energy of the packed room wasn't exactly inviting. Despite being hand in hand with the lead singer of one of the bands that had just come off the stage.

Your innate shy behavior kicked in, and you partially hid yourself behind Joshua, lowering your gaze as people not only looked at him, but also noticed you.

Joshua finally found the rest of his bandmates, who were already drinking a beer and talking about the very fresh experience. Jihoon, naturally, was retelling everything that just happened to a couple of faces you've never met before.

"Ah, there you are, Josh," one of them said, which was a woman. "We were wondering about you."

"Sorry, I had to go collect her," he nodded towards you. He then introduced you to the couple of strangers by name. "They're Chaewon and Taewon, from Wilted Willows."

"Hi," you waved at them, pressing your lips into a shy smile. You briefly saw the last bits of their performance, which was very unlike Midnight Haze's.

Chaewon's dark eyes scanned you up and down, making the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

"Is she your new girlfriend?" she asked bluntly, her eyes moving from your face to Joshua's face.

"Oof, this is going to get weird," Jihoon muttered beside you and sipped from his can of coke zero.

Joshua released your hand. "No," he responded flatly, clearly setting a boundary between him and Chaewon. Then you felt his arm sliding on your shoulders, pulling your body into a tight side hug. "Not yet, at least."

Your stomach dropped, your gaze met his and he immediately winked an eye at you, a thing for your eyes to see only.

"Mmph," the girl flipped her luscious blue hair aside. "When you get bored of that, you know where to find me."

It happened fast: Chaewon took a step forward, her lithe fingers reached out to Joshua's chin, and he instantly pulled back with a flinch, his arm pulling you closer to him as an act of instinctive protectiveness.

Looking deeply startled and just about when he seemed like he was going to tell her off, she left and her bandmate had no choice but to leave with her after the deeply alarming exchange.

Joshua released a labored sigh. "Seriously, Jihoon?" he dropped the arm from your shoulders.

"What, they came to me," he shrugged. "I didn't know she was going to pull all that."

"Who is she... is she your ex?" you asked, trying to appear fine and controlled.

"No. God, no," Joshua shook his head furiously. "She's just really self-absorbed."

"She is also obsessed with Shua. Crazy stalker level of obsession," Jihoon explained briefly.

"Ah," you frowned.

The only reason why you thought she might've been Joshua's ex was because of how comfortable she was to attempt to put her hands on him.

Even if she were his ex, she overstepped by trying to touch him like that.

"Fucking hell," Jihoon muttered to himself, spotting something in between the groups of people. "Vernon's getting fucked up again."

Jihoon left abruptly, towards the direction of the bassist. Leaving you and Joshua alone. 

"I'm so sorry about that," Joshua's face had contorted into a frown. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you smiled calmly despite yourself, trying to not let your anger show. "That was unsettling."

"Yeah, I agree. Really disturbing," he sighed again, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with that, Joshua," you offered with a downturned smile.

"Don't be," he shook his head. "I'm more worried about you, she undermined you and I couldn't say anything about it."

"But I'm unaffected," you countered. "Her problem is not with me, that much is evident."

He flashed you a relaxed smile. "Sorry about the girlfriend stuff, I panicked."

A sudden painful feeling made you almost flinch. "Don't worry, Shua. I would've panicked a little too."

But you were thankful that he was being honest. He still looked agitated from the unfortunate exchange, but his shoulders went slack when you reached out to grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, don't let that ruin your night," you told him encouragingly.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," he frowned.

"You want me to fuck her up?" you asked bluntly.

His doe eyes widened. "What?!" then he understood you were joking and laughed hard, almost bending over with laughter. "Where did that come from?"

You broke your act and smiled at him. "I wanted to make you laugh. It worked," you shrugged.

"You fighting... now that would be fun to see," he admitted with a smile. "Fun and weird. Can't imagine you doing that."

"Well, don't try me," you quipped.

He chuckled again, brushing a tear from his eye.

A bunch of people stopped by to say hi to him and you stood idly by, watching Joshua expertly navigate through small talks, compliments and questions. And though you mostly didn't get attention within these exchanges, you were happy to be there, experiencing him.

"You are famous," you pointed, impressed by the amount of people that came to say hello and even take pictures with him.

"I'm not famous, bunny. This is kind of a network, everyone here knows everyone," he explained, but the tip of his ears were red.

"Right," you scoffed. "I don't see a lot of people asking others for their photo."

He rolled his eyes. "Shut up, it makes me feel weird."

"Are you blushing?" you gasped dramatically. "The Joshua Hong is blushing?!"

He arched his pierced eyebrow at you. "Don't make fun of me," he muttered shyly but you just couldn't help but laugh at how cute he looked when flustered. 

"Aw, baby boy is shy?" you pouted at him.

He blinked slowly, biting his lower lip to attempt and stop his smile. "This is the last time I bring you to something like this."

You simply continued. "Can I get your photo, Shua? Joshie, can I get your autograph?" you laughed as his smile grew, rolling his eyes at you again.

Joshua nodded at you once, letting out a breath through a smirk. "Having fun?"

A shiver ran down your spine. "A bit, if I'm honest," you admitted, but were actually more excited about his sudden change in attitude.

"Alright, princess. Let's have fun," he muttered, clasping his hand around yours to drag you once again through the crowd of people and outside the tent.

"Joshua!" you squealed, your smile had since vanished from your face as you looked around to see that he was dragging you towards a line of parked bus trailers.

You assumed that there was no one around since Joshua confidently shoved your back against the side of a bus trailer, making you gasp at the sheer force he used with you.

His eyes widened in disbelief when you smiled at him deviously. "You wanted this," he realized. "Do you enjoy this, baby?"

"I do," you nodded, breathing hard in anticipation already as Joshua closed in on you.

His fingers grazed your chin. "You want me to toss you around, pretty?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

A shudder ran through your body. "Yeah," you sighed. "I want you to do whatever you want to me, Joshua."

Joshua looked at you in pure fascination, he even let out a soft sigh that brushed your face slightly.

"You..." he breathed but stopped, seemingly at a loss of words.

His head dipped and you closed your eyes, blindly grabbing his head with your hands as he kissed you hard on your lips. 

"I want you, Joshua," you whimpered into his hot mouth, the words felt urgent as you uttered them. "Now."

"What if someone sees?" he incited, his voice low and raspy.

"I don't care," you confessed, the statement shaking deep in your bones.

The fleeting confidence in you stirred something in your brain, telling you to act quick.

It was your turn to push him against the bus trailer behind him. He gasped in surprise as his back hit the metal wall, his eyebrow raising a bit.

You clasped your lips with his, earning a low groan from him that reverberated in his chest and against your hands that were sliding down to the belt of his pants.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his hands stopping you.

You faltered instantly. "I-I want to suck you off," your eyes read his face. "Can I?"

His hand released one of yours to cup your chin. "Why?"

You frowned. "Why, what do you mean, why?"

He nodded briefly. "Tell me you're not doing this because you feel bad for what happened earlier in the tent."

"I want to pleasure you," you explained, then you quickly relaxed, understanding the situation. "Don't think I'm doing this for any other reason than just for you."

His eyes scanned your face, his other hand released you to graze your cheek with his knuckles, the features of his face relaxing. "What's our safeword, bunny?"

You blinked slowly, showing him a smile before giving him your safeword.

"Fuck," he let out a puffy breath as your fingers resumed undoing his belt, to then get the button of his black jeans.

"You're so hard already," you cooed softly, and eyed him as your hand felt him over his underwear.

Joshua was biting his lower lip, looking strained already. "All for you, sweetheart."

You smiled at him sweetly. "Such a sweet talker," you tilted your head as you rubbed his hard cock through his underwear.

You stuck your hand through the slit of his boxers, grabbing his hard cock firmly and effectively pulling it free from the stretchy and wet fabric of his underwear. 

"You're being so naughty, princess," he chuckled at you faintly but he faltered completely as you lowered yourself to your knees before him.

The ground was hard against the soft skin of your knees, the thin layer of your stockings was not enough to protect them. But you knew you wanted to see the bruises by the following morning.

"Fuck," he muttered again, shuddering visibly when you kissed the tip of his cock, to then press your tongue on the slit to lick his precum as you locked eyes with him.

One large hand cupped your cheek, his eyes trained on you as your tongue gave a few strokes to his shaft, feeling the vein that marked in the underside, tracing a long line with your tongue until you wrapped your mouth around his cockhead.

You heard a low guttural groan leave him when you took him deeper in your mouth than you could before, your tongue lapping on the length of him as you moved your head back and forth. 

Darting a look at him, Joshua leaned his head back on the wall behind him, eyes closed and swallowing hard as you bobbed your head back and forth on his throbbing cock, swirling your tongue around his cockhead.

"God. Your mouth feels so, so fucking good, baby," he moaned faintly, his hands grabbing a handful of your hair.

The back of your mouth had started to hurt already from the intrusion each time you tried to take his cock deeper in your mouth. But you didn't care, all focus was in getting more sounds of approval from him. Sounds that were also making you aroused. 

Drool had started to drip down from the corners of your lips and onto your chin, wet sounds coming every time you pulled your head back, hollowing your cheeks to suck hard on his cock just as if it were a lolly.

"Fuck," he exhaled. "You don't know how much I needed you, baby."

A moan coiled in your throat, your walls throbbing desperately at the sound of his words. Your chest swelled proud when you felt his fingers tense up on your hair and you heard him moan faintly, cussing and muttering incoherently about your mouth and how good it felt.

"Fuck, fuck—I think someone's coming," he whispered but didn't make an attempt of stopping you, so you didn't.

Voices echoed in the distance, but you couldn't make out if someone actually saw you and Joshua. There was no actual acknowledgement towards what you were doing, but you felt euphoric all the same.

Being on your knees for him, sucking him off for anyone to see made you moan on his cock. You sneaked a look at Joshua's eyes, that were trained on you while your head bobbed back and forth, committed to the act of pleasuring him.

"Someone just saw you giving me head," his voice sounded raw. "You like this, don't you? Like taking my cock in your mouth for anyone to see."

You moaned a sound of confirmation, making the smile on his face grow just a little. He let out a weak sigh, the tension in his beautiful features showing that he was close.

"I'm close," he sighed and threw his head back a bit. His hand tightened on your hair slightly when you sucked him harder. "Fuck, baby. D'you want me to cum in your pretty mouth?" his thumb brushed your cheekbone gently, as if calling for your attention back to him.

You blinked at him, moaning the same sound again.

"Can I move, princess? You think you're ready for that?" he asked, his face and voice both strained.

You nodded with your head as you pulled your mouth back to suck on his cockhead, blinking an adoring look up at him.

"Tap my thigh if you need me to stop," he grabbed your head firmly and started thrusting his cock on your mouth.

Sloppily at first, almost as if he wanted you to adjust your mouth to his pace as he started to push his cock down your throat faster. You lifted your eyes to see his face deep in focus, probably containing himself to avoid hurting you by accident.

The feeling was so deeply arousing that you were tempted to sneak a hand between your legs and start touching yourself. But you were rendered immobile, not by his hands precisely, but by the sight of him fucking your mouth.

"Fuck, baby—I'm cumming. You're gonna take it all, right baby? Gonna swallow it all?" he groaned, revelling at the sight of you taking his cock, your eyes brimming with tears, your chin dripping with your own drool.

You were gagging loudly on his cock, but managed to get the slightest of nods.

"Yeah, you are," he cooed faintly when he saw the way you responded to his words.

Then he threw his head back, his face contorted in pure pleasure and you almost swore you could come from the sight alone. 

"God, fuck," his voice was a mere whisper as his cockhead bumped on the back of your mouth, his cum spurting down your throat and you instantly swallowed it.

Joshua groaned through clenched teeth as you swallowed the last drops of his cum, he screwed his eyes shut, exhaling elatedly at the same time that his hands gently released your hair.

"That was insane," he muttered slowly, appearing to come to his senses.

Gently, he pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva falling out of your mouth and landed on your chin. He fixed his pants quickly before grabbing your hands that were previously resting on his thighs.

Joshua helped you stand up and immediately wrapped you in a tight embrace. Bringing a hand up to clean your face from your drool and tears.

"You did so good, bunny," he muttered in your lips after kissing you chastely. "So fucking good."

"'m glad you liked it," you smiled in his lips.

"Let's take you home, princess. I want to make you feel good too," he gave you small pecks on your lips. "Is that okay?"

"Can't you take me here? Right now?" you whined jokingly.

"No, baby," he whispered into your lips. "As much as I'm dying to do that right now, I don't want to risk anyone seeing you."

"But you didn't have an issue with it five minutes ago," you quipped.

"Yeah, but that was different. You were fully clothed and the person who saw us didn't see our faces," he pointed. 

"So the problem is that you don't want anyone to see me naked?" you pulled back to meet his gaze. "In that case I can keep my dress on." 

The conversation had shifted between you, and you could tell that he was no longer trying to keep you aroused—he didn't even look like he just got blown. You didn't know what it was, but it troubled him.

Joshua looked up at the night sky, seemingly looking frustrated for a second as he looked for words to say.

"What if I'm a little possessive too?" he asked, meeting your eyes.

You physically recoiled in his arms in a mixture of excitement and uneasiness. "W-what?" you blurted in disbelief.

"What if I don't want anyone seeing what I have with you?" his eyes searched your face. "Even if you kept your dress on, I don't want anyone seeing how good you are for me."

Your heart dropped, pain sinking into your chest. This was totally not what you expected to hear from him. Even if his possessiveness was entirely revolving around a sexual aspect, you weren't ready to hear it.

"Joshua-," you started.

"I know I said that I'd fuck you anywhere but I just can't give you that right now," he smiled, seemingly ashamed of his words.

"No, it's alright," you frowned. "It's just really confusing hearing you say this."

"What, you don't think I'm capable of feeling a little jealous too?" he asked. "You don't like the idea of me seeing other girls, I don't like the idea of someone seeing you."

Was this something you needed to talk in more depth with him? Totally, yes. Were you going to ask him to do so? No, probably not ever.

"Fair," you muttered, mustering a smile to him before capturing his lips with your own. "Take me home, then."

Joshua took your hand again, making your tummy flutter with nervousness that only intensified when he led you back to the tent.

As you both pushed through Joshua's friends and unknown faces, you swore that everyone looked at you differently; not in a bad or good way precisely, just different. As though everyone knew why you and Joshua disappeared, and judging by the fact that someone saw you, they probably did already.

Joshua kept you close, almost as though wanting to make his point across—he felt possessive of you. And you didn't want to know to which extent he felt like this over you. 

But you knew one thing, whatever it was that made him look this deeply troubled, paired with your unspoken feelings for him was starting to taint your already messy relationship of fuckbuddies.

Joshua drove faster this time around, keeping a hand on the wheel and the other placed flatly on your thigh.

"Did you enjoy the festival?" he asked, his thumb had started to draw invisible circles on your thigh.

"I did," you smiled. "Drank mojitos and ate corn dogs," you told him, looking at his large hand. You resisted the urge to grab it and lace your fingers with his.

"Mojitos?"

"Strawberry mojitos," you added. "I took some photos too, of you, on stage."

"You did? Will you show me?" he eyed you excitedly.

"Of course," you smiled at him.

"So you got a good spot to see me?"

"Yeah I got to see you throughout the whole set," you saw him smile faintly.

"I saw you singing along," he seemed to remember suddenly. "You've been listening to our music."

"Yeah," you admitted. "Almost everyday. Does that make me your groupie?"

He chuckled. "I'm convinced that you don't know what a groupie is, bunny."

"Shuddup," you smiled.

"Hey, but it's not fair—you can listen to my music but I haven't read your book," he frowned.

"I'll lend you the hardcopy of my manuscript," you promised.

"I actually looked for you, do you use a pen name?"

Your heart sank. He took the time to search your books using your real name?

You told him your pseudonym and he repeated each name silently and nodded. 

"Yeah, I might've confused the lady at the local library," he laughed.

"You went to the library looking for my books using my real name," he nodded and you laughed. "You should've asked me first."

"You never answer my texts on time," he reproached. "Well but I wanted it to be a secret, actually."

"Why?" you frowned.

"I wanted to impress you," he shrugged.

"You don't have to, Joshua," you told him sincerely.

"But I want to," he pouted cutely. "And now that I know you've been listening to my music, I feel like I have to catch up with you."

"I like your music. I'm not sure if you're going to like my books," you warned him.

"Let me decide that," he smiled at you.

Joshua parked his car expertly with one hand, his other hand still resting on your thigh. He had stopped rubbing circles through the thin fabric of your stockings, but your skin felt hot at his touch nonetheless.

Your fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of the skirt of your little black dress as you stepped on the elevator, Joshua stood closely behind you.

"Are you nervous?" he asked in your ear, leaning closer to you.

"A bit," you breathed, turning on your feet to see his face.

"Why?" he slowly smirked. "We've done this before."

You were lucky that no one else was in that elevator, but you still waited until you got to your apartment to continue that conversation.

Joshua gently pushed you against the wall as soon as he closed your apartment door.

"Mm? Why are you nervous, bunny?" he asked in a soft tone.

"I've never been fucked raw," you confessed, fighting the blush that crept immediately on your face.

His eyes searched your face briefly. "We don't have to do that tonight, we can use protection."

"No, don't get me wrong—I want to... do it raw," you breathed, your hands fidgeting with the collar of his meshy black shirt. "I'm just..."

You bit your tongue. You felt excited to try new things with Joshua, and what really got you feeling that way was that you were trying these things with someone you were actually falling in love with.

"What?" he egged you on, his curious eyes still trying to read your face.

You licked your lips anxiously and shook your head, reluctant to continue.

"We can take it slow, if that's what you want," he offered.

"No, do-don't hold back," you stuttered. "I want everything."

"I got you. Don't worry," he muttered before placing two fingers to grab your chin and leaned to kiss you.

You melted into his lips, feeling every nerve in your body respond at his touch when he slid his other hand on your waist, giving it a soft squeeze.

"I almost forgot to tell you," he breathed after pulling back from your lips. "You looked beautiful tonight, baby."

"Did you like my dress?" you darted a look down to your little black dress.

"Thank you for wearing it tonight," he grazed your cheek. "I liked it very much." 

"It's a good thing I didn't wear the bunny pjs then," you smirked though your blushing face.

He laughed faintly. "Yeah, good thing," he echoed dazedly, leaning to kiss you again.

God, if you could only just ask him. Does he feel the same way too? When your mouths join, when you breathe against each other, moaning and gasping at the slightest of touches against each other's skin.

Your fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt, your hands sneaking between the split of his shirt to feel his hard chest, the defined muscles of his pecs.

Joshua moaned into your lips, his hands sliding from your waist to find your hips. His hot mouth placed open mouthed kisses on your chin, groaning in approval when you tilted your head back for him to kiss on the underside of your jaw.

Your back was pressed against the wall as his hands searched for your thighs and expertly lifted you up from the floor. You let out a squeal in surprise, your arms instantly locking around his shoulders.

A laugh in sheer joy left your lips when he carried you to your room. "We could've walked here."

"Shh, let me do nice things for you," he muttered as he let you back to the floor of your room and you got to the lamp on your nightstand.

He grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to his body as he sat down on your bed, leveling down to see eye to eye with you. His large hand slid on the nape of your neck as his lips found yours, tenderly locking you into a kiss.

Joshua was still wearing his shirt on his shoulders, the split parting as your fingers caressed the defined lines of the muscles on his abdomen, and then he moaned on your mouth when you reached his lats, that being a sensitive area for him.

"How do I get you out of this?" he smiled sheepishly when his fingers searched on your back and then on your sides.

"It's a slip dress," you explained, smiling too.

Your fingers grabbed the shoulder straps, sliding them from your arms and the dress simply fell from your frame, leaving your body with the light pink lingerie set you chose for tonight.

"Do you like it?" you asked sheepishly when he seemed unable to look back at your eyes.

Joshua swallowed hard, tearing his doe eyes from the lacey fabric barely covering your body and found your expectant eyes. "Yeah, baby," he released a breath through a weak smile. "I love it."

Your hands went to grab the clasp of your pretty bra, but he raised a hand from your waist.

"No, not yet," he muttered. "I want to take it off myself. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. More than okay," you sighed, repurposing your hands to remove his meshy black shirt from his shoulders, caressing his beautiful skin in the process.

His large hands busied themselves exploring your bare skin too, what your thigh high stockings didn't cover, caressing your bare waist as he leaned to press wet kisses down your chest, to the swell of your breasts.

"So beautiful," he muttered, as if to himself.

"Joshua," you moaned with a sigh as his hands circled on your back and slid down to cup your ass with a low guttural groan from his part.

"Don't rush this," he muttered against your skin, then glanced up to meet your eyes.

"Okay," you breathed, your skin already prickled and covered in goosebumps.

He smiled, his fingers reaching up to graze your chin. "We have all night, you don't have to rush anything."

"Oh, so you're going to fuck me all night?" you quipped with a grin.

"If that's what you want," he replied with a small shrug.

"I do. But what do you want, Joshua?" you retorted.

His gaze darkened as it met yours, he seemed to struggle with his words for the second time in the night, something that did not go unnoticed by you, but you decided not to make a big deal of it at the time.

Joshua didn't reply to your question verbally, instead he stood from your bed, your eyes following him now that he regained his natural height, now his frame towered over you.

He pushed you to sit on the bed, wordlessly making you understand that the roles were reversed for now and you resumed to undress him. Undoing his belt and button from his black jeans, hooking your fingers to push his jeans down on his legs for him to step out of them, socks included.

It was your turn to swallow hard at the sight of him nearly naked. He was hard already, as you could see the bulge in his underwear, your hand instantly rubbing his hard cock through the stretchy fabric.

"Lie down, princess," he muttered, nodding to the bed.

You scooted back on your bed covers and lied down as Joshua climbed on top of your body.

"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice laced with a bit of concern.

"Yeah," he breathed, pressing a kiss on your lower lip. "Never better."

He grabbed your legs and you wrapped them around his body, pressing down on his hips to join them with yours, earning a soft moan from him.

"Joshua?" you breathed when his lips trailed from your mouth, pressing wet kisses down the crook of your neck.

"Mm?"

"Ca-can I be on top?" you asked.

"Do you want to ride me, baby? Is that what you're asking?" he asked with his sweet voice.

"Let me be on top," you muttered, lowering your legs from his body.

He laughed against your skin. "Okay," he sighed, rolling over so his back was fully against the bed and you followed his body promptly, straddling him.

You wasted no time, leaning your body to press your chest against his, burying your fingers in his black hair before capturing his lips with yours.

His hands caressed your back, the pads of his fingers tracing the line of your column and stopping only to unclasp your pretty bra, his hands removed it completely, you heard when it landed on the floor.

His breath hitched when you pressed your tits against his hard chest, moving your lips to kiss his chin, then under his jaw and  down the crook of his neck, essentially mimicking what he does when he's on top of you.

"Can I mark you?" you asked shyly, darting a look to his face.

A small groan fell from his lips as he nodded with his head. "Yeah," he whispered with a light smile.

You returned the smile as your head dipped on the crook of his neck, his hands kneading on your hips as you landed love bites on the crook of his neck, his throat and finally reaching his toned chest.

Joshua was sensitive. It made you feel so stupid to realize it this far into your countless sexual encounters. He so rarely let you touch him during sex or kiss him that you never knew just how sensitive he actually was.

His hands were going to leave marks on your skin, you were sure of it. Kneading on your ass and hips, fingers digging harshly on your skin as you took your time marking his chest, marveling at the sight of his toned pecs.

"Fuck," he breathed softly, his eyes were closed tightly, so he never saw you smile at his downright restless behaviour. You and him had that in common, at least.

You couldn't ignore how big and hard he felt under you, so you started grinding on him to maybe help him release the growing tension on his cock.

Then you wanted to try something—you ran your tongue on one of his sides, feeling his toned lats, tasting cologne in his skin.

"Mmn—fuck!" his body hardened, his fingers threatening to pierce your skin.

The tip of your tongue traced a circle around one of his nipples to then press your wet lips and repeated the same actions on his other side, earning similar reactions.

A groan bubbled in his chest and suddenly you were being flipped to your back, startled you looked at his dark eyes. Unable to say a word, his mouth was already clashing with yours, kissing you fervently.

"Are you going to tie me up tonight?" you asked shyly.

His pierced eyebrow arched slightly. "Do you think you deserve it, pretty? Have you been bad?"

"Mmm, maybe a little," you admitted.

"Mmm yeah, I remember that you were, baby. Do you like being bratty? Do you like being tied up?" his fingers hooked on the thin fabric of your thong, pulling his body back to slide the thong down your legs, leaving your stockings on.

"Yeah, I do," you breathed, your eyes trained on him as he pressed soft kisses on the softer side of your thighs.

"Then I won't tie you tonight, princess," he smiled deviously to then run the tip of his tongue on the sensitive side of your thigh, dangerously close to your core.

You let out a soft whimper, your body tensed up and your legs instinctively closed a bit, one of your legs bumped with the side of his head.

"Maybe I'll get restraints for your legs too," he quipped, laughing softly. "Would you like that, baby?"

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes when he continued placing loving and soft kisses on your mound. "Mm, I think so," you muttered clumsily.

He used his hands to splay your thighs open for him, dipping his head on your mound to place wet kisses on your soft skin, sighing in the process of kissing your pussy lips, groaning softly with you when he heard you moan and whine.

"Joshua," you called softly when his tongue swiped a line between your folds, humming in response at the taste of your arousal.

One of his hands slotted in your lower tummy, while the other one remained holding your thigh. His face was practically buried in your cunt, slowly licking every inch of it, dipping the tip of his tongue on your entrance to make you cry out and moan his name.

You held onto his hand that was on your tummy when his tongue swirled around your clit a few times. "Oh god," you whimpered

The bed underneath you groaned when you sank your body, completely subdued in pleasure. Your fingers clenching on his fingers, the other had found the soft strands of his black hair, pulling softly when he started flicking your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue.

"F-fuck—Joshua," you breathed, screwing your eyes shut, trying to remain still on your bed but couldn't help but writhe slightly when he switched from flicking your clit to sucking at it lightly.

You propped yourself with your elbows on your bed to see him practically making out with your cunt. The sight of it alone made you almost climax—his dark hair between your fingers, his hands holding you still for him as he lifted his eyes to find yours.

A moan coiled in your throat, your fingers tugged his hair as you felt your orgasm drawing near, and he seemed to know it from the sounds you were making, so he started sucking your swollen bud harder, moving his head up and down slightly.

"Joshua, 'm close," you breathed, your body trembling slightly. "Fuck! Don't stop, please. Joshua!"

You threw your head back, your jaw going slack too as raggedy breaths broke in your chest, twitching and groaning lewdly on your bed. You moaned loudly, your hand pressing on his head as your orgasm continued to wash over you, the waves of pure bliss left tingles on your limbs and face.

You eased your body back on your bed, your chest heaving embarrassingly hard, soft moans spilled from your lips when Joshua's mouth left your throbbing cunt after showering it with tender kisses.

"Feel good?" you heard him ask.

You opened your eyes to find him still between your thighs, smiling fondly at you.

"Amazing," you sighed weakly. "I love how you eat me out so much."

He laughed. "I love eating you out, princess."

"Oh, yeah?" you breathed.

Joshua climbed back on top of you. The dim light from your lamp let you see the pretty features of his face, you reached to wipe your arousal from his chin and he smiled as he pressed his chapped lips with your own.

"Yeah," he answered and you were reminded of how much you liked it when he said that.

He got on his knees to take his sweet time taking your stockings off, his hands caressing your legs in the process, his lust-lidded eyes locking with yours as he did so. 

Then he lied on his side, using his elbow on the bed to support him as his other hand slid between your legs, his pointer finger slid between your pussy lips, playing with your wetness as his eyes searched your face.

Your eyes shifted to the finger disappearing inside your cunt, pumping in and out a few times until you were ready for another finger.

"Joshua," you whimpered pathetically when his two fingers massaged your walls, but really what had you on the verge of insanity was his doe eyes trained on your face.

"Mm?" his eyebrows arched slightly. "What's wrong?"

"I want you so bad," you breathed, your hand cupping his cheek to pull him into a needy kiss, nibbling his lower lip with your teeth when his fingers scissored inside you.

"You think you're ready for me, sweetheart?" he muttered, his voice strained with tension.

You nodded a bit too eagerly.

"No, I don't think you're ready, baby," he replied, introducing a third finger inside you.

"Joshua," you whined, knowing that he liked hearing you beg. "Please. I waited all day. Please take me,"

He smiled, immediately telling on your little game. "Yeah, you waited all day for me princess, after ignoring me all week. Why should I give you what you want?"

"Because you want it too," you replied boldly. "I know you want me as much as I want you."

"Mmm, yeah baby, you're right. I want you but I wait for you," his doe eyes locked with yours. "Can you say you do the same for me, baby? You like having fun by pushing me away, so why shouldn't I have fun too?"

"You're being mean, Shua," you frowned. "I didn't push you away, just–"

"Careful, princess," he warned, the corner of his lips twitching. "I don't like when you lie to me. You know that."

You moaned then he pressed the palm of his hand on your sensitive clit while still pumping three fingers in and out of your wet walls.

When you gave him no response nor explanation, he smiled. "So you were pushing me away. Again, baby?"

You remained quiet and looked away from his darkened gaze.

"Why do you do that?" he pressed, his voice sounding soft, alluring.

You groaned and bit your lip as he continued to massage your walls with his fingers, his palm stimulating your clit slowly toward another orgasm.

"Joshua," you sighed, closing your eyes. "Joshua, I'm cumming."

"No, you're not," he muttered softly, pulling his fingers out of your cunt when your walls had started clenching harder.

You gasped in frustration. "Joshua!" you whined. "I was close."

He let out a breathy chuckle and pressed his lips against your cheek. "I know, baby."

"Then why..? Why did you stop?" you asked.

"You're cumming when I want you to," he replied shortly.

You sighed your frustration, not caring how childish you were being. "You're mean," you pouted.

He laughed softly when your fingers hooked on the band of his underwear and yanked it down, his hard cock slapping his lower abdomen as he lifted his hips for you to tear off the last piece of clothing he wore.  

"And you lied to me, again," he countered as he climbed back on top of your body, pressing loving kisses to your cheeks and chin, each kiss seemed to leave a trail of tingles on your skin.

"I'm s–"

"Sorry?" he muttered, kissing your jaw.

"Joshua, please," you moaned weakly. "I'll be good, just—fuck me. Do whatever you want. Punish me but please, fuck me."

His eyes glinted with awe, and you remembered that he liked it when you begged. "You'll let me do anything I want, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I'm yours."

Joshua cocked his head to the side ever so slightly. "Say that again," he whispered, giving you another soft kiss now on your lips. And another.

"I'm yours, Joshua."

He hummed in satisfaction. "You're mine," he repeated, savoring the statement with his sweet lips.

"Only yours," you echoed dazedly.

"Oh, you cruel thing," he said darkly. "You know what you're doing, don't you?"

No response came from you. If he wanted answers, that was the best you could give him right now. And for a moment, he appeared to know that too.

A shudder invaded your body when Joshua grabbed his cock on one hand, dragging his cockhead on your wet folds. A soft breath spilled from his lips when he felt you, skin on skin.

"Ready?" Joshua searched your eyes again.

You nodded. "Ready," you breathed.

A low whimper coiled in your throat when he slowly eased himself in. Your hand held onto his shoulder, your eyes brimmed with tears from the pain of how big he actually felt without the extra lubrication that the condoms provided.

But you also moaned at how insanely good he felt raw. It was so good to finally feel him, every naked inch of him inside your walls, that you swore you would climax from just having him like this. 

"Breathe, baby," he whispered, kissing your moans with such tenderness that you almost broke.

"Joshua," you whimpered, your fingers digging on his shoulder.

"It's okay. I know, baby," he frowned slightly. "Do you want to stop?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Please," you begged, although you didn't know what you were begging for.

He released another breath when he finally bottomed out, your walls throbbed desperately around his length and he pressed his forehead against yours.

His eyelids fluttered closed before pulling his hips back, the feeling of his cock sliding out your wet walls felt good—so good that you were already whimpering and trembling.

"Okay?" he gasped, starting to push in and out of you.

"Yes, more than okay, Joshua," you stuttered, closing your eyes with a sigh.

"You're crying, baby," he pointed, he was still moving achingly slow.

"It-it's big—you're so big," you stammered pathetically.

He paused. "Am I hurting you?" his voice was laced with concern.

"No, it's not bad, Joshua. I can take it," you breathed.

It actually wasn't that bad—as he pushed his cock in and out you could feel your walls easing and stretching around it, adjusting to his size.

Joshua looked tense, he let out a groan when his hips started moving faster on you, then he pulled his body back, making you cry out in pleasure when the position of his cock inside you shifted, pressing on your front walls.

He brought a hand on your lower abdomen, his thumb finding your clit to start rubbing on it.

"Better?" he asked. He was still weary, his big eyes searching your face as he pushed his cock in and out on you, rubbing your clit to ease you from the lingering threads of pain.

"Yeah. Feels so good, Joshua," you sighed, swallowing thickly at the drag of his cock inside your walls. "So, so good."

"Yeah, I know," he replied with a low groan. "You feel good too, sweetheart. Fuck, so good."

You whimpered at the sound of his words, the way he pronounced each one with a tight jaw, his brow furrowing as he pushed his cock inside your walls at a delicious pace.

"So warm and wet, so fucking good, baby," he sighed.

His thumb pressed on your clit, rubbing it and teasing it senselessly, making you moan and squirm. It was too much, your hands clenched on your bed covers when you sensed your orgasm drawing near again.

"Oh, god. Fuck," you whimpered, writhing against your bed as Joshua dragged his cock in and out your clenching walls.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips buckled for a second. "You're close. Right, bunny?"

You shook your head on your pillows.

Then, his fingers landed a slap right on your clit, making you yelp loudly. Clearly telling on your weak lie.

"Yes! Yes, I'm close, Joshua," you cried out.

He smirked in response, his hands holding your hips a second before he started ramming his cock faster inside your cunt. Your eyes widened at him and bit your lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Fuck," he muttered again before pulling out of you, right as your walls started clenching deliciously near your release.

"Joshua!" you whined, breathing furiously at him.

"Remember what I said," he was breathing hard too, probably because he was resisting his own pleasure only to edge you.

He carefully lowered his hard and wet cock on top of your tummy, you stifled a moan at the sheer size of it and the weight of it too. The reddened tip, the soft marks of a vein along the wet shaft, you bit your lip.

"Shua, please," you pleaded with a desperate sigh.

"That's not my name, baby," he snapped with a dark look.

"Joshua, I'll be good, just-"

"Tell me why I should believe you," he muttered as he moved to slide within your walls again, your heart swelled with a little satisfaction when he groaned in pleasure too. 

"I'll show you," you said weakly.

"Not good enough, princess," he shook his head as he slapped your pussy again, right in your sensitive clit.

"God, fuck!" you yelped loudly. "I'm sorry, Joshua. I'm sorry for pushing you away."

You moaned helplessly when leaned down a bit and spit on your cunt, covering your clit with his saliva to start rubbing circles on your swollen and oversensitive bud.

"Why, do you like to have me at your beck and call? You enjoy to fuck me and toss me away like one of your toys?" he muttered darkly.

Suddenly you regretted telling him to punish you, because he only wanted the truth from you, unlike last time he punished you and you had to try not utter a word while he fucked you into the bed.

But you could see that he was struggling to hold back, swallowing hard, his brow furrowed.

"No! You're not my toy—you're... you're," you stammered. Were you about to confess? Like this?

Your orgasm was threatening close, so you squirmed on your bed, trying to create some distance from his fingers teasing your clit. Joshua understood what you were attempting to do and started caressing it lightly, thinking that he was over stimming you.

"You're close?" he asked, realizing when he heard you sigh a moan.

But he didn't wait for your answer. Joshua pulled out again, his cock landing with a soft slap on your lower tummy. A single drop of cum dripped from his tip, but he wasn't cumming yet, you knew that by the way he was breathing in deeply, trying to contain himself.

If he only wanted the truth, you were deep in trouble. Because you push him away to avoid your growing infatuation over him.

"Joshua?" you called abruptly.

"Mm?" he lifted his gaze to find yours.

"What's your favorite color?" you asked breathlessly.

"What, why?" he frowned.

"Tell me," you pressed.

"Pink," he responded, his brow not relaxing.

"Really? That's cute," you sighed, Joshua's hips retracted from your body and he positioned himself again on his knees, his cock aligned with your core.

"Yours?" he asked with an air of reluctance.

You told him your favorite color.

"Why did I know you'd say that," he replied with a small smile.

"Your birthday?" you asked, feeling utterly pathetic.

He chuckled breathily. "What, why're you asking me this right now?"

"Tell me," you insisted. "Please."

"December 30th," he responded, looking confused.

A loud moan reverberated across your room, so loud that you almost wanted to cover your mouth when his cock sank into your walls again. He thrusted slowly, but then he continued rubbing your clit with his two middle fingers.

"What's yours, princess?" he asked, appearing to be following whatever you were trying to do. 

You told him your birthday through broken gasps.

"Still, I don't get why you ask," he breathed tiredly.

"I want to get to know you better," you told him with a whine.

Joshua smiled sweetly at you and that might've done it for you.

Your walls clenched around him and he groaned loudly, slamming his hips against you, the sound of his skin slapping against you filled the silence that followed between you.

Something you weren't expecting happened:  Joshua seemed to have forgotten about edging you, closing his eyelids tightly, his mouth parting a little. You loved to see when his face scrunched up like that, when he was so close that the muscles around his mouth relaxed, but his frown would deepen sweetly. 

Joshua threw his head back a little, a moan muffled in his mouth, his throat bobbing a little as he seemed to be immersed in pure pleasure. He didn't relent his hard thrusts on you, pushing his cock in and out your sopping walls while rubbing your clit expertly.

"Fuck, I can't—Joshua," you gasped. "I'm close. Please, please. Let me cum?"

Joshua groaned before lowering his gaze back at you. "Where do you want me, baby?"

It took you two seconds to understand what he was implying.

"Inside," you breathed. "Please. Cum inside me."

He nodded before he started ramming his cock in your walls faster, moaning loudly through clenched teeth. You moaned with him and sank your head into your pillows, back arching as the tension in your body only grew more intense.

"Joshua, oh god—Joshua," you called, not knowing what else to say, feeling all sanity slipping out of your mind, coming undone under waves of pure bliss washing over you.

"Baby," he called to you. "Say it again."

You blinked weakly, his words bringing you back to reality.  

"I'm yours, Joshua," you breathed.

"You're mine," he replied with a raw tone. "I'm gonna make you mine, right baby? You want that? Want me to stuff your pretty pussy full of my cum?"

You moaned and nodded desperately, your walls squeezing him hard the moment you heard his words.

"Yes, oh god, yes please," you whimpered.

He cussed and moaned as he came inside you, pushing his hips against you sloppily.

"You're mine," he whispered, his eyes glazing over the sight of you cumming hard with him.

"Only yours, Joshua," you responded wildly.

He groaned, your name spilling from his plump lips, pushing his cum deep inside you with lazy thrusts and came to a stop with heavy breaths.

His head thrown back slightly, his eyelids fluttering shut, his mouth parted. He looked so unreal, ethereal even.

Oh god. What have you done?  

Joshua seemed to come down from his high when you shifted on your bed ever so slightly.

"What was all that?" he demanded in a tone that still denoted his confusion still. "The questions."

"I know nothing about you, Joshua," you explained shyly.

And yet, you told him you were his.

But he blinked slowly and started laughing, his cock was still buried inside your walls.

"Don't laugh at me," you pouted through your hurt ego, though he had no idea why you started quizzing him mid-coitus.

"You couldn't wait till we were done?" he asked and giggled again when you shook your head.

He leaned forward, placing his arms above your head on your pillows and pressed his chest against yours, his eyes looking at you fondly.

"What other questions do you have for me?" he asked.

"I-I have plenty," you admitted meekly.

"Is there a reason why you want to know now? Or can it wait?" he kept his eyes trained on you, you noticed, he was gathering every reaction you showed.

"It can wait," you nodded. "Why?"

"Because you asked me to fuck you all night and I'm in the middle of that," he booped your nose with one finger. "Can you keep your questions until I'm done?"

A sweet smile crept on his face when your core fluttered around him and you groaned in utter embarrassment.

"Is that a yes?" he laughed.

You groaned again and slapped his shoulder slightly.

"I'll get something to clean you up," he muttered with a smile still, pulling his hips from you.

He returned some minutes later with a hand towel, which he had soaked with warm water and he gently cleaned the cum that had already spilled from your entrance.

"I found it in the cupboard. I hope you don't mind," he darted a look at you briefly.

"It's fine," you assured him. "I need to go to the bathroom to take care of everything else."

"Do you want me to carry you there?" he asked, getting up from the bed.

"I'm fine," you sat up on your bed. "Can we shower later?" you asked meekly.

"Sure, baby," he sighed softly.

When you came back to your bedroom, you had half-expected to see him asleep from how tired he actually looked. But he was lying on your bed, one leg crossed over and absentmindedly looking at his phone screen, one arm tucked under his head.

God, he was a sight to see. Chest and throat covered in hickeys, his black hair ruffled slightly, the bedroom eyes when he noticed you walking in.

You climbed your bed and lied on your side next to him.

"You're okay?" he asked after he left his phone on the nightstand and turned on his side to look at you.

"Yeah," you sighed. "Never better."

His fingers cupped your chin softly and you leaned to lock his lips with your own in a tender, hot kiss. Joshua moaned softly in your mouth when you felt his tongue slid in your mouth to mingle with yours.

You gathered in your mind what little and fruitless information you got from your long day with Joshua. Maybe you got it wrong this whole time, and you don't need to know what his favorite color is, although you did want to learn his birthday.

You could no longer hide your infatuation over Joshua Hong. It was becoming painfully obvious, though you weren't sure to what extent he was aware of this. Or if he even cared, for that matter.

There was one more painful realization to all of this, one that you didn't expect and probably overlooked because you were worried so much about your infatuation with him that you didn't care to see him with clarity.

Joshua was lonely.

✮ a/n: i'm sorry

i have nothing else to say.

not really, haha

i love joshua, i loved writing this

if you liked this chapter please show it some love? 🥺

and happy holidays!! ヾ(•w•`)o

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