#it might just be stress and anxiety making me sick

[watermelonlovershigh]

Pregnant at 40🫄👶🧑‍🍼

AN: i randomly thought about this scenario and played the whole thing out in my head, which lead me to typing it out. i hope you enjoy this story. let me know if you possibly want a part 2 to this. remember to reblog or comment with your feedback. xoxo

This story contains: mentions of a vasectomy, puke, brief mentions of abortions, crying, comfort, unexpected pregnancy

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - au!harry both you and harry are almost 40 }

word count- 2,071

Just one month away from Harry's scheduled vasectomy, you start showing signs of pregnancy (at the age of 40), which leads to a day full of anxiety and anticipation until later that night when you're finally able to take a pregnancy test.

This was not supposed to happen. You've just celebrated the fifth birthday of your youngest daughter, Daisy, who's the baby of your family. In addition to her, you and your husband Harry are parents to three other children: June, who's sixteen; River, who's twelve; and Willow, who's eight.

You and Harry were content with having just four children, as that number suited your family dynamic perfectly. After the birth of Daisy, you didn't envision expanding your family further. Both you and Harry are nearing forty, making the risks of pregnancy complications for either you or a new baby more high.

Your commitment to having just four children led Harry to schedule a vasectomy for next month. He'd contemplated this procedure right after Daisy was born, but both of you wanted to be certain that it was the right decision to stop having more children. Since Daisy's arrival, you've been using birth control, but after reaching the bittersweet decision to stop expanding your family, Harry chose to proceed with a vasectomy, stressing how he didn't want you to be on birth control for the rest of your life.

Over the past few mornings, after Harry has gone to work, you've gotten sick. On the first day, you thought you might've been coming down with a stomach bug that one of your kids had brought home from school. However, after getting sick twice more the following two days, your worrying intensified.

You intended to keep your recent vomiting episodes from Harry, but one morning, when you thought he'd already left for work, he quietly comes back into the bedroom to retrieve his Apple Watch. That's when he finds you not in the bed where you were minutes prior, but instead in the bathroom, throwing up. He hurries in to assist you, visibly worried about your health, and also thinking you might have caught a stomach virus. Yet, when you disclose that you've been sick for the past three mornings, his entire body stiffens, and his complexion becomes nearly as pale as yours.

"Baby," Harry whispers behind you as you brush your teeth at the bathroom sink, "do you um......think that maybe.........you should take a, you know, pregnancy test." Now it's your body that stiffening up. Oddly enough, the idea of being pregnant hasn't occurred to you yet, despite the fact that it seems it should have, as you consistently dealt with morning sickness during the early stages of your past pregnancies.

You glance up at Harry through the mirror with horror written across your face. "Harry," you meekly whisper with tears coming to your eyes, "I......., I...., I can't be *harsh swollow* pregnant. Oh my god, Harry, we turn forty next year. I..... I take my birth control everyday, and you're getting the vasectomy next month, but...., but what if? Oh my god."

Once you've placed your toothbrush down, Harry gently turns you around so you can become face to face with him without the mirror interfering. "Baby, calm down, everythin's gonna be alright. M' not sayin' you are pregnant. We don't know until you take a test. You may just have a lil tummy bug. But if you are pregnant, we'll go from there. You know you always have options."

"Harry, you know I could never." you say, regarding his last sentence. You fully support the right to abortion; however, on a personal level, you believe that unless it's medically necessary, you'd struggle to make that choice for yourself. In the event of an unplanned pregnancy, you'll be determined to find a way to manage life with a new baby. Having successfully navigated this situation four times previously, you're confident in your ability to do so again. Although, having a baby at the age of forty is not your preferred scenario.

Gazing at you with sincerity, Harry softly states, "I know sweetheart, but I want you to understand that if you ever came to that conclusion, the decision is entirely yours." He leans in to give you a gentle kiss on the lips, even though you've just recovered from being sick (you did at least brush your teeth), then withdraws and adds, "Would you prefer that I go to the store now to get a test, or should I wait 'til after work? I don’t mind being late this mornin'. This is much more important."

Standing there for a moment, you weigh your choices. You are eager to find out if you're pregnant, to put your mind at ease regarding the uncertainties. However, you realize that taking the test now might not give you the time you need to process the results, particularly if they're positive, and to have a proper conversation with Harry about it. You doubt you'd have the luxury of time if you took the test this morning.

"I can wait until you get home this evening."

"You sure?" Harry questions carefully. He knows how your brain works and knows your brain will be worked up all day if you wait.

You nod with conformation, "Yeah, I'm sure. If it is positive, I want us to be able to process the news afterwards and we'd only have time for that after the kids are in bed for the night. So I can wait."

Harry bends down slightly to wrap his arms around you, holding you securely. "Okay, but if you need anythin' today, please call me. I'll keep m'phone on me all day. And remember, no matter what the test results are tonight, everythin' will be alright. We've been together for almost twenty-two years and there's nothin' we can't handle together."

Harry leaves for work soon after the embrace and you exit the bathroom, ready to get your kids up for school, even though exhaustion is seeping into your bones and you've only been up for about an hour.

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

Throughout his the day at work, Harry couldn't shake the thought of you from his mind, particularly regarding the situation that arose this morning. The possibility of you being pregnant fills him with both joy and apprehension. While many people have children later in life, the idea of becoming a father at forty worries him; he imagines being gray and elderly by the time the child finishes school. Nevertheless, he's confident that he would love a new baby unconditionally, just as he's done with his four existing children.

After Harry wrapped up his workday, he drove to the shops located near your house to buy a pregnancy test. Once he had it in hand, he made sure to hide it within his work briefcase, fully aware that if his eldest daughter, June, came across it, she would have a multitude of questions for them. He'd rather she not discover the possibility of her mother being pregnant in such a manner.

Harry gets home a little later than normal and hurriedly goes upstairs to put away the pregnancy test until you're ready to use it tonight. Afterward, he comes back down to enjoy some family time with the kids while you wrap up dinner.

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

Once dinner has been ate, baths have been given, and the little ones are all snug in their beds, you and Harry finally enter the bathroom to do what you've been eagerly awaiting to do all day. While the kids were at school, you had to suppress the desire to go to the store and buy a test just to get it over with. However, you remembered that you and Harry had decided to do this together, tonight.

"Do you want me to step out or..." Harry goes to ask, but is cut off by you saying, "No, please stay." Though you've been married for many years, Harry still likes to ask if you want privacy for certain things; taking pregnancy tests, changing tampons, pooping, just out of respect, but you don't want to be alone right now.

"Okay baby, I'll stay. Everythin's gonna be alright." You take a seat on the toilet as Harry opens the box containing the pregnancy test. He walks over to you, hands you the test, and then quickly returns the box to the drawer to prevent any evidence from being found in the trash can. You take off the cap of the test and begin peeing on the stick, while Harry leans against the bathroom counter, patiently waiting.

Once you've finished, you secure the cap back on the pregnancy test and hand it to Harry while you wipe and flush the toilet. He places it on the counter and starts a timer on his phone. When you walk over to him, he leans down slightly and wraps his arms around you, offering a warm and comforting hug. "I’m really nervous," you whisper into his shoulder.

"It’s okay, m'love. If it turns out to be positive, think of it like this: we are healthy people with a comfortable income and a lovin' family. This means we're in a fortunate position to welcome a new life, somethin' that many families don't have the luxury of." This is one of the reasons you love Harry so much. He consistently focuses on the positives, even in less than ideal circumstances, because that's just the type of person he is.

You remain in his arms until the timer goes off, and then you request Harry to check the test, feeling too anxious to look yourself. Once he silences the alarm, Harry takes a deep breath to prepare for the results, then picks up the pregnancy test from the countertop and turns it over. A gasp escapes his lips, followed by a quiet sob that rises from his chest.

Finally finding the courage, you raise your head from his shoulder to see the digital screen displaying the word "positive." Harry, with shaky hands, swiftly sets the test down and pulls you into an even tighter embrace. You're caught in a blend of shock and emotional chaos; your body feels stiff, while your chest quakes with a sob. In the bathroom, you both stand together, wrapped in each other's arms, crying. It’s hard to tell if your tears are those of happiness or fear.

You allow yourselves to break down for a couple of minutes, before you decide to speak first. "Harry, we're having another baby."

At first, he's uncertain if you're feeling happy or upset, but a single look at your face indicates that happiness is the stronger emotion. Although the situation isn't perfect, what's done is done, and acceptance is important. "Fuck, Y/n. We're havin' another lil' baby."

With an emotional giggle, you look up and question Harry, needing to know where he stands on the matter. "Are you happy though?"

With tears glistening in his green eyes, he nods and responds, "M' so fuckin' happy, m'love." He gently places a hand on your cheek, cradling your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. You gasp momentarily, but quickly find comfort in his presence.

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

Eventually, Harry proposed that you shower together, and you accepted the offer. He assisted you in taking off your clothing and led you into the steamy glass doors. His intentions weren't sexual; he just wanted to be near you, to hold you, and to kneel and kiss your belly, even though at this point it looked normal and nothing more than a small bloat, if that.

After holding each other under the cascading water for a few minutes, Harry helped you wash your hair and body before he washed himself. He then assisted you in stepping out of the shower, and the both of you dried off before standing at the sink to brush your teeth. That was pretty much the only part of tonight that he didn't help you with.

Because once you'd finished brushing your teeth, he helped you dress in a pair of panties and one of his oversized t-shirts. He then helped you settle into bed. Due to your mental and physical fatigue from the day, sleep came easily once you were both tucked under the covers. The only worry you have now is how you'll break the news to your children and families.

Pregnant at 40..... At least your family will know that even after all these years, the two of you still love each other and get intimate in that aspect. Many couples your age either don't last that long or their sex drive plumits. But obviously not with the two of you.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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My Masterlist Masterpost

[kickerofelves]

So it’s officially mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS) in addition to myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome since covid leaves behind a bunch of viral and immune cell byproducts which trigger all sorts of unfortunate inflammatory cascades, and in turn, all sorts of symptoms. It’s like fucking Symptoms Syndrome so it’s hard to get a diagnosis, but it’s such a specific set of symptoms that I’m 99% sure this is exactly what’s going on with me

I’ve got the brain fog, and the post-exertional malaise, and the memory problems, and the migraines, and the anxiety, and the panic attacks, and the irritability, and the return of asthma I haven’t had to deal with since I was like 6, and the vertigo, and the digestion problems, and the nausea, and the weird head and neck tension (which as it turns out is my inflammatory response affecting my nervous system, yay!).

For real if you’ve felt dumber and more emotional and just Physically Bad, there’s a very distinct chance you may be dealing with this as well. It’s also much more likely if you have preexisting autoimmune issues, like in my case really bad allergies.

The only coherent way I can describe the onset of an episode of symptoms is that it’s like that feeling of nerve-level aversion you get if you’ve ever accidentally looked into the sun, except you get that feeling from all stimulus and throughout your whole body. It’s also neurological very similar to how post-concussion syndrome felt, because surprise! It’s brain damage! 🧠🔨🥳🎉

Thankfully I have a doctor who listens despite having, hands down, the worst health insurance I’ve ever had the displeasure of dealing with (Cigna), because getting a diagnosis is already hard enough. And then treating it? Good fucking luck because all the funding has dried up and no one is studying anything to do with covid anymore. So I’ve been forced to dig through existing research—a process which involves a great deal of the high level thinking I was specifically medically advised against engaging in because stress literally makes my brain inflamed—in order to receive any sort of effective treatment at all. And the only shit I’ve found that has any long lasting effects are experimental research peptides which are expensive and I have to inject into myself regularly. Also essentially giving myself low level electroshock therapy with a TENS machine (at the direction of a physician! Do not just start attaching electrodes to pretty much anywhere above your neck or on your chest willy nilly because it could disrupt your heart’s electrical system and KILL YOU).

BUT I’m gradually feeling better (when I’m less exhausted I’ll post more about the peptides I’m taking because I know it sounds like some joe Rogan BS but it’s research backed and relatively safe) and I would recommend anyone else experiencing this shit to advocate for themselves as much as possible to just get the diagnosis on paper somewhere so that you don’t have to keep convincing every single medical professional you encounter that you do in fact have Problems that Require Treatment.

The moral of the story/tldr? Uuuuuh fuck if I know. don’t get sick and especially don’t get sick in the US? lol. I guess I just wanted to vent and at least post a PSA for other people who might just feel like they have Symptoms Syndrome.

I didn’t have covid but no one wants to run any tests and the government has just stopped collecting data because it was making them look bad, so who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Not covid” apparently also has long term neurological effects, and now I have regular, debilitating vertigo and migraines. And there’s no clear answer what to do next. Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool …

[phagodyke]

I slept rly deeply last night even tho it took me a while to get to sleep but I think that was bc I had acid reflux and I'd been playing videogames too late not anything else.... still only got 6 hrs but doing pretty okay all things considered 😚

[tacitusauxilium]

Honestly? I think I need a sedative and/or wine with the week I’ve had so far.

My mom has been in the hospital since Monday. She had an artery on her right side that had 99% blockage to her heart. They told her if she went to work Monday night or mowed the yard, she would be dead. The thought of her mowing the yard with my son in the house and her dead in the yard terrifies the shit out of me. So, she finally comes home tomorrow since she got her stent put in today to clear the blockage—through her groin, instead of her arm, cause she can’t make anything easy for herself. Then again, the smoking she’s done for 40 + years is finally catching up to her. If that doesn’t wake her up, idk what will.

Then my husband is in the ER today because he was having chest pains. Work wasn’t letting him go back to work (his HR was too high) and then that turned into an ambulance ride—turns out it was anxiety. The man was taking the memories he had with his father and turning them around and experiencing them again. Cause his dad died in a hospital and he hates hospitals—moms in a hospital, so on and forth. Not fun being alone with my kid who wouldn’t nap unless he was in my arms. I didn’t eat until 3pm today cause I was so drained. And also super not fun when the service desk lady asked if anyone could watch my son while I see my husband. I even said “my moms in the cath lab getting a stent put in and my husbands in the ER—I DON’T have anyone to help me” and smiled with my head turned. 😒

So, I’ve been off for two days for work and just having panic attacks over the stress of everything this week. I don’t get how my husband can play video games and relax while I’m laying in bed and trying to stop myself from being numb from everything. At least we will all be home together tomorrow.

[girl-bateman]

Blood-work came back fine which either means I really do have a mysterious deadly illness OR its my mental health that's fucking up my physical health. Now my dilemma for my upcoming appointment .. do I mention how neurotically devastated I've been feeling these last months, knowing the doctor might be relieved to blame it all on hysteria instead of doing more testing ? Or do I just... not say anything about that.. lol

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[cloudyluun]

No Cameras Allowed (p3) | famous!harry

Summary: Your world shatters when the scandal erupts, dragging you and Harry into chaos. Betrayal, fury, and desperation push you both to the edge—until the tension snaps. It’s raw, messy, an escape from the pain. But when it’s over, the silence is heavier than ever.

A/N: Guess who’s back? (Hint: It’s me.) After a very short but much-needed break, I’m here to bring you more drama, angst, and questionable decision-making from our beloved chaotic duo. Buckle up, because things are about to get messy. Love you all, and let’s dive in! 💖

Word Count: 4,6k

Warnings: 

Explicit language

Betrayal & emotional turmoil

Toxic dynamics & unhealthy coping mechanisms

Public humiliation & media harassment

Heated arguments

Desperate/angsty smut (NSFW)

Mentions of anxiety & stress

Cliffhanger (because I’m evil like that 😈)

[part 1] [part 2]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The vibration of your phone against the coffee table barely registers at first. You’ve been staring blankly at the television, a news channel muted in the background, headlines scrolling across the screen that all blur together into white noise. The weight of the last few days has pressed into every muscle in your body, exhaustion threading through your bones, but something—something about the way your phone keeps buzzing, rapid and insistent—snaps you back to the surface.

You reach for it with stiff fingers, your heart already climbing into your throat. Another wave of hate comments? Another headline tearing you apart? You almost don’t want to look. Almost.

But then your screen lights up. A notification. A link.

And your entire body goes cold.

EXCLUSIVE: INSIDER REVEALS WHO LEAKED HARRY STYLES’ SEX TAPE.

Your vision blurs.

Your stomach knots so tightly you think you might be sick.

No.

No, no, no.

Your hands tremble as you tap the screen, a single breath rattling through your lungs as the article loads. You barely feel the way the couch cushions dip beside you as Harry sits down, barely hear him say your name—soft at first, then sharper.

And then you see it.

Alex Carter.

The name glares back at you in bold, black letters, more gutting than any of the slurs people have thrown at you online.

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

Alex Carter.

Your former manager.

Someone who spent years convincing you he was the only one who truly had your best interests at heart. The one who whispered in your ear about how the industry would chew you up and spit you out, about how you had to play the game, how you had to trust him, because everyone else would sell you out eventually.

And now—now he’s the one who sold you out.

He’s the reason your most intimate moment is on the internet for the whole world to see.

A strangled gasp forces itself out of your throat. The phone slips from your fingers, landing facedown on the couch. Your vision tilts dangerously. Your ears ring.

“No…” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. Your lungs feel too tight, like you can’t pull in enough air.

No, that’s not possible.

You feel the shift in the air before you see it. The slow, deliberate way Harry stiffens beside you, like every muscle in his body has locked up at once. The way his breath comes out too sharp, too controlled.

Then—his hand wraps around your phone before you can even blink. He lifts it, eyes scanning the screen.

The tension in the room thickens like smoke.

His fingers tighten around the phone, knuckles going white. His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking just beneath the surface. His nostrils flare.

And then—

CRACK.

You jolt as Harry hurls the phone across the room. It slams against the far wall, bouncing off the floor with a dull thud.

“That fucking—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head violently. His whole body is vibrating with rage.

Your breath hitches, a sharp, uneven inhale. You force your legs to move, to stand, to do anything other than sit there drowning in your own nausea.

“Why?” Your voice cracks, raw and frayed. You shake your head, pressing a hand to your forehead, your pulse erratic. “Why would he—”

“To destroy you.”

Harry’s voice is low, dark, dangerous.

Your gaze snaps to his.

His eyes burn with something lethal, something you’ve never seen before.

“To destroy us.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the sound hollow and jagged in your throat.

“Well,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself, “congratulations to him. It worked.”

The words linger in the air, thick and suffocating.

Silence crashes over the room, pressing into your chest until you can barely breathe.

Your knees buckle. You barely make it to the couch before your legs give out, your body folding in on itself as your hands bury into your hair.

You don’t even feel yourself start to cry.

Not at first.

But then your shoulders shake. And you can’t stop.

You hear Harry move before you feel him. The creak of the floor. The rustle of fabric. And then—

He kneels in front of you.

His hands hover just inches from your skin, like he wants to touch you, to fix this, but doesn’t know how.

His voice is softer now, frustrated but gentle.

“We’ll fix this.” He swallows hard. “I swear to god, we will.”

You lift your head slowly, your gaze locking onto his.

And he looks wrecked.

Not just furious. Not just vengeful. But broken.

Like the mere thought of you being hurt like this is ripping him apart.

Your throat feels tight, raw, like something is lodged deep inside of it.

“How?”

Harry stills.

Your voice wavers, breathless and trembling.

“How do you fix the fact that the whole world has seen us like that?” Your eyes burn as you force the words out. “That they think I did this to myself?”

The air shifts.

Harry opens his mouth—then stops.

He has no answer.

Because there isn’t one.

And his silence is an answer in itself.

The weight of it crushes your ribs, pressing down, down, down, until it’s almost unbearable. You wait for him to say something—anything. Some promise that he can fix this, that he knows what to do, that somehow, against all odds, he can make this go away.

But he just sits there.

Kneeling in front of you, hands limp in his lap, his shoulders rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths. His lips are slightly parted, but no words come out. Nothing.

And you realize—he can’t fix this.

No one can.

A hollow laugh bubbles up in your throat, but it never fully forms. Instead, you press your fingers against your temples, squeeze your eyes shut, try to block out the world for just one fucking second.

Then—Harry moves.

The air in the room shifts so suddenly it makes you look up.

His hands are on his thighs, fingers curling into fists so tight his knuckles burn white. His jaw is clenched, his body wound so taut he looks like he might snap in half from the force of it.

Then, he stands. Too fast. Too sharp.

And before you can react—

He’s gone.

The front door slams so hard the walls tremble.

You don’t flinch.

You just sit there, staring at the empty space where he was just kneeling, heart thudding slow and heavy in your chest.

He’s going to find him.

Of course he is.

Because Harry doesn’t know how to sit with this. Doesn’t know how to handle helplessness, how to accept a loss. Harry fights. With his words, with his body, with every part of him.

He is not the type to let things go.

And you don’t stop him.

You don’t call after him. Don’t chase him. Don’t try to talk him down.

Because you want this, too.

You want Alex Carter to suffer.

You want him to hurt.

You want him to feel even a fraction of what you’ve felt over the last few days. The shame, the helplessness, the violation. The feeling of knowing that your own body is no longer yours. That it belongs to the internet, to strangers, to disgusting men jerking off behind computer screens, to tabloids who don’t see you as a person but as a headline.

You want him to be fucking ruined.

But mostly?

You just feel numb.

You don’t hear from Harry for hours.

At first, you don’t check your phone. You can’t. The idea of looking at another headline, of seeing your name trending next to words like leaked, sex scandal, and career suicide, you can’t do it.

So, you sit.

You stare at the television, but you don’t watch it. You try to drink water, but it tastes like nothing. You think about eating something, but the idea of putting food in your mouth makes your stomach churn.

Then—

Your phone buzzes.

Not with a call. Not with a text.

With a breaking news alert.

You reach for it before you can talk yourself out of it, swiping the screen open with clumsy fingers. The moment the article loads, your breath catches.

HARRY STYLES CONFRONTS FORMER MANAGER OF Y/N IN EXPLOSIVE SHOWDOWN.

Your blood turns to ice.

You scan the article, pulse hammering as your eyes dart over the words, taking in the damage.

Witnesses report Harry Styles stormed into a high-profile restaurant in London earlier today, where Alex Carter was having lunch with industry colleagues. According to sources, Styles wasted no time confronting Carter in front of the entire venue, accusing him of leaking the intimate footage that has rocked social media for the past week.

Your heart stops.

It gets worse.

Things quickly escalated when Styles allegedly slammed his fist down on Carter’s table, knocking over a glass of wine. A heated argument ensued, drawing the attention of patrons and staff. Though sources claim security intervened before the situation turned physical, Styles left the restaurant visibly enraged.

Oh, god.

The article includes a photo.

And there he is.

Harry, mid-stride, leaving the restaurant with his shoulders drawn tight, jaw clenched, his entire expression twisted in unfiltered fury. His hair is a mess, his lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line, his eyes dark and dangerous.

And then, beneath the article, the comments:

 Jesus, Harry looks like he was about to kill that guy.

Never seen him look this angry. Fucking terrifying.

Bet he was defending her honor or some shit. Y’all, they’re definitely in love.

Does this mean he’s confirming they’re together?

Wait, why do I find angry Harry Styles kind of hot??

Lmaoooo this dude is out here fighting her battles while she just sits there and plays the victim.

This is embarrassing. Hope he doesn’t throw away his career for some girl.

Your stomach twists.

The anger in you—at Alex, at the world—shifts.

Because now, they’re going after Harry, too.

They’re twisting this.

Turning him into the villain.

And suddenly, the numbness inside you cracks—just a little.

Harry doesn’t call you.

Not that night.

Not the next day.

Not even after the press tears him apart.

The news runs with the story for days, speculating on what was said, exaggerating the confrontation, dragging his name through the mud.

“Harry Styles Unhinged: A man on the brink?” “From Heartthrob to Hothead—Has Styles Finally Snapped?” “Sources Claim Styles' Label is Concerned About His Public Outbursts.”

They don’t care why he did it. They don’t care that he was standing up for you, that he was furious over what was done to you, that maybe, just maybe, he loves you so much that he lost control.

No.

They just see a story.

And he lets them tell it.

Because he doesn’t defend himself.

He doesn’t issue a statement.

He doesn’t try to clear his name.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t call you.

Not even once.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

That maybe he needs space. That maybe, after everything, this is too much.

That maybe this is what breaks you.

You don’t want to admit that thought lingers inside of you like an open wound. You don’t want to admit that every time you unlock your phone and see no calls, no messages, no sign of him at all, it chips away at something fragile inside of you.

You try to numb it out.

But it doesn’t work.

The days drag on, each one blending into the next, weighed down by the same relentless cycle.

More headlines. More hate comments. More people dissecting every detail of your life like they’re owed an explanation.

You stop leaving your apartment.

You stop answering your phone.

You stop existing.

The weight of the world’s scrutiny settles into your bones, heavy and suffocating.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. When it does, it’s restless—short bursts of unconsciousness broken up by nightmares of flashing cameras, of hands grabbing at you, of voices shouting things you don’t want to hear.

You barely eat.

Your stomach is constantly twisted in knots, anxiety coiling deep inside of you, making food seem like an impossible task.

The silence in your apartment is deafening.

And Harry is nowhere.

You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s better this way. That if this is how it ends, at least it’ll be over.

But it’s a lie.

And it shatters the moment he comes back.

It’s late.

You don’t know exactly how late, but the city outside is quieter, the usual sounds of life dulled by the hour.

You’re curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest, the glow of your television casting a faint, flickering light across the room. You’re not really watching. You haven’t been for a while.

Then—

A knock.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You don’t move.

Your heart pounds, but you ignore it.

Another knock. Harder this time. More insistent.

You close your eyes. Go away.

“Y/N. Open the fucking door.”

Your stomach drops.

His voice is hoarse, raw, like gravel scraping against pavement.

You sit frozen, gripping the fabric of your sweatshirt so tight your knuckles ache.

Then—silence.

You inhale, deep and shaky, your lungs burning as you hold the air in. Maybe he’ll leave. Maybe this is just another thing he’ll walk away from. Maybe—

A loud thud shakes the door.

You jump.

Then, his voice again, closer this time. "I swear to fucking god, open the door, or I’m not leaving."

You exhale sharply, your hands trembling as you push yourself up from the couch. You don’t let yourself think about what you’re doing. You don’t let yourself hesitate.

You cross the room, your bare feet cold against the floor.

You unlock the door.

And then you open it.

The second you see him, your breath catches.

He looks wrecked.

Like he hasn’t slept. Like he hasn’t eaten. Like he’s been walking around with this unbearable weight pressing down on his chest, suffocating him, just as much as it’s suffocating you.

His hair is a mess, the usual effortless curls now a wild, tangled disaster. His jaw is shadowed with stubble, thick enough that it looks like he hasn’t touched a razor in days. His eyes—

Fuck.

His eyes are bloodshot, ringed with exhaustion, dark circles settled deep into his skin.

He looks like he’s been through hell.

And you hate that it makes something inside you ache.

You swallow hard, forcing your voice to work.

“What do you want?”

Harry stares at you, something sharp and unreadable flashing across his face.

Then, he steps inside.

You barely have time to move before the door slams shut behind him.

And then, everything explodes.

“Why the fuck have you been ignoring me?”

His voice is rough, raw with frustration.

You laugh, but it’s empty, humorless.

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “I fucking am.”

You step back, crossing your arms over your chest, anger roiling beneath your skin, clawing its way up your throat.

“Maybe because you disappeared, Harry.” Your voice is sharp, slicing between you like a blade. “Maybe because you left and never called. Maybe because for days, I had to watch them tear you apart while you let them—”

His jaw tightens.

“That’s not fucking fair.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” You let out a bitter scoff. “You didn’t even try, Harry. Not once. You let them make you out to be the villain, and you just—just let it happen.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing shallow and uneven.

“Because I don’t fucking care what they say about me!” His voice booms through the room, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t give a fuck about some stupid goddamn article or what Twitter has to say about me!”

“Then what do you care about?” you demand, voice shaking.

And he doesn’t hesitate.

“You.”

The word crashes into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

You stare at him, heart hammering.

His jaw flexes, his gaze burning into yours.

“I care about you.” His voice is lower now, but no less intense. No less brutal.

“And you don’t get to fucking shut me out.”

You shake your head, anger rising again, throat tight, vision blurring.

“I don’t get to shut you out?” You laugh, but it’s full of fire now. “Then stop treating me like a goddamn secret.”

Harry flinches.

His throat bobs, his hands twitching at his sides.

Silence.

Thick. Charged.

Neither of you backing down.

The air is electric, so tense it could snap.

Your chest heaves, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin.

Harry’s jaw tightens—his breath coming fast, hard, like he’s trying to stop himself from doing something reckless.

And then—

Then—

The tension snaps.

He moves.

And you don’t stop him.

His hands clamp onto your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, and then he’s crashing into you—lips, teeth, breath, everything.

His mouth devours yours, the kiss bruising, raw, desperate. There’s no hesitation, no careful testing of boundaries, no slow build. It’s pure hunger.

A collision of need and rage and too many things neither of you know how to say out loud.

His hands tighten, his grip possessive as he pulls you flush against him, your body molding to the solid heat of his.

You gasp into his mouth, but he doesn’t give you a chance to breathe.

He won’t let you.

He’s everywhere at once—gripping, pulling, consuming. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip before he bites down, hard enough that you whimper.

And fuck—that sound wrecks him.

A low, guttural growl rumbles through his chest as he grabs the back of your head, fingers twisting into your hair, yanking just enough to make your throat bare for him.

Then, his lips are on your neck.

Hot. Wet. Unforgiving.

He sucks hard, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin, marking you.

You feel the scrape of his stubble, the heat of his breath, and then he bites down.

Hard.

Your back arches, your head falling back, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat.

And that’s all it takes.

That sound.

That tiny, broken noise.

It’s all he needs.

He loses control.

There’s no careful undressing.

No slow, teasing unbuttoning.

No patience.

Harry’s hands fist in your sweatshirt, yanking it up over your head so fast it nearly takes you with it. His fingers skim over your bare skin, heat trailing in their wake.

Then, his hands are at your waist, gripping the fabric of your shorts.

You don’t even realize he’s ripping them apart until you hear the sound—the sharp tear of fabric giving way under his fingers.

You let out a startled gasp.

He doesn’t even look sorry.

He doesn’t stop.

Your nails dig into his shirt, gripping at the material before yanking it up and over his head.

Your fingers find his skin, the hard muscle beneath it, nails scraping over his stomach, his chest, his back.

He shudders, his grip tightening on your hips.

His lips crash back against yours, and this time, he bites.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip, just enough to send a jolt of pain down your spine, just enough to make you moan into his mouth.

And he swallows it whole.

His hands roam, explore, claim.

Everywhere at once; your hips, your thighs, your ribs.

His fingertips press into your skin, leaving marks, reminders.

His hands grip your ass, lift you up, and slam you onto the kitchen counter.

A sharp gasp punches out of you as your back hits the cold marble, but Harry is already on you.

He spreads your thighs wide, fingers digging into the flesh, eyes dark, ravenous.

His gaze drags over you, taking in every inch, and fuck—it’s too much.

You reach for him, nails scratching down his stomach, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan.

Then, he’s pulling at his belt.

His movements are frantic, rough, all muscle and frustration.

And then; 

Then, there’s no space left between you.

He pushes into you in one deep, brutal thrust.

You gasp—loud, sharp, wrecked.

Your fingernails sink into his back, digging into the skin as he stretches you open.

The counter digs into your back, the cold surface a stark contrast to the scorching heat of him.

But you don’t care.

You don’t want soft.

You don’t want careful.

You want this.

Rough. Desperate. Hard enough to bruise.

And he gives it to you.

Harry drives into you with a force that feels like destruction. Like he’s trying to exorcise something dark and desperate from his body. Like he’s trying to burn away everything that hurts.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not sweet.

It’s a punishment.

For him. For you. For all the fucking ways you’ve hurt each other.

Your back scrapes against the cold marble of the counter, but you barely feel it. Not when his hips are snapping into yours with brutal precision, not when his hands are gripping your waist so tightly it feels like he’s trying to fuse you to him.

You meet him halfway, matching his pace, your thighs trembling around his waist. Your hands find his shoulders, his back, his hair—clutching, grasping, clawing at whatever you can reach.

His fingers slide up, ghosting over your ribs, your stomach, until one hand wraps loosely around your throat.

Your breath hitches.

Not tight. Not squeezing. Just holding. Just claiming.

His grip slides upward, cupping your jaw instead, forcing your head back, tilting your throat up for him.

And then he bites.

Hard.

A sharp sting of teeth sinking into your skin, sucking, marking, owning.

You whimper, arching into him, your nails raking through his curls, tugging hard.

He groans against your neck, the sound low, wrecked, guttural.

His hips snap forward even harder.

"I fucking hate how much I want you," he growls, his breath hot against your skin.

His words send a violent shudder down your spine, fire licking at your nerves, pooling low in your stomach.

And you should hate him for saying it.

But you don’t.

Instead, your breath shatters, your fingers tightening in his hair, and you whisper something you shouldn’t.

"Then ruin me."

His body tenses.

His fingers dig into your hips, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

Then—

He does.

His growl vibrates against your skin as he snaps his hips forward, driving into you with reckless, devastating force.

You cry out, your body jolting against the counter, his grip the only thing keeping you steady.

His teeth scrape along your collarbone, his lips hot, open, desperate. His hands move, grabbing your thighs, yanking you closer, until there is no space left between you.

Your name leaves his lips like a curse. Like a prayer.

“You’re mine,” he pants against your throat, his voice rough, raw, primal.

And you don’t deny it.

You can’t.

Pleasure builds too fast.

Too sharp, too overwhelming, threatening to consume you whole.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red trails, and he groans at the sting, hips stuttering just slightly before slamming into you harder.

Every thrust is deeper, slower, heavier, wrecking you from the inside out.

His breathing is labored, erratic, desperate.

You’re so close.

Too close.

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding the spot that makes you tremble, pressing, circling, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

And then—

Then—

Your body tenses, back arching, head falling back as pleasure snaps like a live wire, a white-hot explosion tearing through you.

You cry out his name, shaking, unraveling, breaking apart in his hands.

Harry snaps.

His hips slam forward in deep, shuddering thrusts, his grip on you bruising as he buries himself inside you with a strangled, wrecked groan.

His forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath hot against your damp skin as he spills into you, his entire body shuddering against yours.

He doesn’t pull out.

And you don’t want him to.

Your bodies are still tangled, his weight pressing into you, grounding you. The only sound in the dimly lit room is the heavy rise and fall of your breaths, still uneven, still chasing the remnants of what just happened. His forehead rests against your shoulder, damp curls sticking to his skin. His hands haven’t moved—still gripping your hips, your waist, like he’s afraid to let go.

Your fingers slip into his hair, a slow, absentminded motion, soft in contrast to the brutal way you just had each other. You should say something. So should he. But the words feel too heavy, too dangerous. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s charged, pulsing with everything unsaid.

Then, he shifts. Leans back just enough to look at you. His eyes, dark and unreadable, search yours as if he’s looking for an answer he already knows but isn’t ready to hear. And then, almost too quiet to be real, he murmurs,

“You make it impossible to walk away.”

Your breath catches. Your heart clenches.

Because you know.

You know he won’t.

And neither will you.

But then—

A sharp chime shatters the quiet.

Your phone.

You don’t move at first, as if ignoring it will make it go away. But then another one. And another. The sound slices through the moment, through whatever fragile thing existed between you just seconds ago.

Harry watches as you reach for it, his brows furrowing when your fingers tremble. The screen is flooded with notifications, the words blurring together in your vision before your eyes finally settle on the headline.

EXCLUSIVE: PRIVATE MESSAGES LEAKED: THE TRUTH ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY STYLES

Your stomach drops.

The article is already live, the screenshots bold and glaring. Text messages. Voicemails. Private conversations never meant to be seen, dissected, twisted into something they’re not. This isn’t just a scandal anymore. This is targeted. Someone wants more than just a story—they want to ruin you.

Harry sits up, his body tense beside you. “What is it?”

You can’t speak. Just turn the screen toward him.

His jaw tightens as he reads. His fingers flex against his thigh, the same hands that had been holding you so delicately just moments ago now curling into fists. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Who the hell—?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice is barely a whisper. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the panic rising in your chest. “Harry, this is—this is bad.”

“We’ll fight it.” He doesn’t hesitate. His hands are on yours now, steady despite the storm brewing behind his eyes. “We’re going to fight this.”

You let out a shaky breath. “How?”

Then—

A flash.

Bright. Sudden. Blinding.

Your head snaps toward the window just in time to see movement. A shadow. A camera.

A fucking paparazzo.

Your stomach twists. Another picture. Another leak waiting to happen.

And just like that, the walls start closing in.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry @mema10 @angelbabyyy99 @iloveharrystyles04 @cinemharry @drwho06 @donutsandpalmtrees @panini @mads3502 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @one-sweet-gubler @rizosrizos26 @ciriceimpera @everyscarisahealingplace @hello-heyhi @sexymfharriet @lizsogolden @hannah9921 @chicabonitasblog @huhidontknowstuff @berrywoods1245 @jennovaaa @angeldavis777 @prettygurl-2009 @almostcontentcreator @run-for-the-hills @maudie-duan @dipmeinhoneyh @harrrrystylesslut @georgiarose94 @stylestarkey @watarmelon212 @hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east @bethiegurl19 @adoredeanna @secretisme4 @harry2121 @hopefullimaginer123 @fangirl509east @uncassettodiricordi @2601-london

[martian-astro10]

Astrology observations - Part 4 (use whole signs)

🌟 Moon in 4th is one of my favourite placements. These people usually have a good career, like an emotionally fulfilling one. They won't stay in a job that doesn't make them happy. Their mom can help them choose a career or give them interview tips.

🏮Mars in 2nd house people are so lucky when it comes to earning money, it's like, they get a new money making opportunity just when they're on their last penny. They're also not afraid to get their hands dirty and are willing to do almost anything, very hard working people. They're also the ones managing all the money in their family.

🌟 Mercury in 8th house people are the ones with a "sexy brain" like the WAY their mind works, are so good at analysing arguments and coming up with the best possible solution. Good debating skills. These people have great manifestation skills, I have a list of 100 + incidents, it's honestly a little scary. Can also develop clairvoyant abilities if they work on it.

🏮I haven't met a single non religious, Sun in 9th house person in my life. Even if they're not that religious in their younger years, they will be when they get older. Always willing to help others even when they themselves are suffering, my mom has this, and.....it pisses me off so bad. The "put your own oxygen mask on first" advice is for you all. Stop helping people, be selfish, it's not your duty to make everyone else's life better. My mom doesn't listen, but maybe you all will.

🌟 Venus in 11th house is a placement that's really good from a business perspective. They're great at negotiations so that's helpful. They won't like doing a regular 9 to 5 job as it will suppress their freedom and creativity. They will open their own business pretty early on in life, in like late 20's or early 30's. Great architects and interior designers. I remember when I made the architecture and astrology post, a lot of people had this.

🏮I haven't seen anyone talk about this, but moon in 6th house people can be really good leaders, they're very helpful and kind and their ability to understand emotions makes them extremely likable. They have more of a people oriented leadership style. They focus on building strong relationship with their group members or employees. Also, why are you all always sick 😭? Prone to anxiety and stress and this leads to body pain and digestive issues. Please put your health first.

🌟 It's really funny how ALL my friends, every single one, has Venus in 1st. I would say that rather than us being pretty, we're just very likable. Even if they're introvert or shy, they have a communication style that makes other people want to talk to them. It's just an aura thing, tbh. Also, they're huge people pleasers and will do their best not to offend anyone, like even if a person is being annoying, they won't say anything. (Mars in 1st can change this)

🏮 Jupiter in 2nd house is not good for marriage but great for career and friendships. I know people with this who are still in contact with their pre school friends. Their friends will help them in their career as well. They're intelligent but they think they're not, and this makes them lose a lot of opportunities. Need to have a little bit of courage to succeed in life.

🌟 Sun in 12th house people probably had a painful childhood (more so than others), if mercury is with sun in 12th, then they write poems to express this pain. They're good writers, and can be lyricists, authors, script/play writers, etc. these people are physically weak. Might also not know who they are, as in, not aware of their own personality traits.

🏮Saturn in 12th house people lack confidence when they're young, but become more confident as they get older and learn to get out of their comfort zone. These people have better luck outside of their homeland. This is a good placement if you want to become a psychologist as it gives you the ability to properly analyse those with mental disorders. They also look aloof most of the time. This is another placement that is good in terms of writing skills, many famous authors have this (those who write sad stuff)

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[honeyhotteoks]

₊ ⊹ ⟡ together; alternate version (정윤호 ♡ j.yh)

yunho's been away for tour, only this time, when he comes home you have very different news to share.

style: bullet drabble (alternative sequel to losing time) pairing: non idol!yunho x fem!reader word count: 2.5k tags/warnings: fluff, light angst, all things pregnancy and babies, light smut with breeding kink/preg kink (yunho is v happy she's pregnant essentially lmao) notes: this was fully inspired by an anon in my inbox who asked what would have happened in my short fic together if the news reader had to share was a pregnancy and how would yunho react to that. i don't take fic requests, but i love babyfic and this just turned into a little bullet and drabble fic i thought i would share with everyone.

[masterlist]

at the end of losing time, yunho leaves for tour and it’s a long one. a full two, two and a half months abroad in europe while you’re left at home in a different time zone missing him terribly. 

you find out the truth while he’s away, only a few weeks into tour when you start getting sick. it’s not something you can just spring on him while he’s on tour, it would distract him, it would stress him out, and frankly you just don’t know what to do. what decision to make. 

you know how you feel about yunho, and you knows how he feels about you….  but this type of news always changes everything. 

so you keep it to yourself, and you do your best to make it through. 

only when yunho does return.... you’re showing. it's not a lot, just the beginning stages of a curve at three months, but it's starting to be apparent if you’re wearing fitted clothing and it's not something you would be able to keep from him if he touched you. 

so when he comes home, finally, and texts you, asking if he can send a car to bring you to the studio, you want to say yes so badly but you can’t. 

this isn't a conversation you can have in front of anyone else so you say no. and you’re honestly terrified, so you lie, just a little white lie. you tell him you can't come and that you’re not feeling well, you’ll see him another day soon.

anxiety is fully eating you up and you’re spiraling, and you don’t know it but your texts fully freaked yunho out. he's convinced that you’re going to break up with him and waited until after tour to do it, and he's sick about it.

after dance practice, he sneaks out and comes to your place.

all of a sudden hes there, he’s knocking on your door. 

you thought you had more time, you still don’t know how to tell him, what to say- but he’s there 

and -

You're a mess. Your hair is tangled from running your fingers through it again and again, and you're pretty sure this sweatshirt has a coffee stain on it, but he's here and no matter what you have to face this.

He knocks again, a soft rap on the door, "y/n, please let me in,"

"Just a second," You call back, knotting your hair back into a bun and kicking on your slippers. Your stomach rolls with nervousness, but at least, you think, it's not morning sickness.

When you finally pull open the door your hands are trembling, and Yunho's pained expression doesn't help.

"Hey," You manage.

"Hi," His eyes dart over you, a crease of concern between his brows, "can I come in?"

You move to let him in immediately, stepping back into the apartment, "Sorry, of course,"

When you shut the door tight and flip the lock, silence fills the space, but somewhere within you, you find the strength to turn around and look up at him.

He shifts from foot to foot, clearly off balance at the strange discomfort between you, and finally he sighs, "Whatever it is," he says, "I know we can work it out."

A strike of panic lances up your spine at the thought he might already know what words are sitting like lead on your tongue, but all you can manage is a soft, "What?"

"You're avoiding me," His hands flex and release, "we haven't seen each other in months, and now I'm here, and you haven't even smiled. I don't think you're sick, I think something's wrong."

"Yunho," Your voice cracks, and you can feel tears threatening your eyes already. You wanted to hold it together, but this is already too hard.

He swallows tightly and keeps talking, his own voice laced with nerves, "I know two months was a long time, and I know I haven't been the best boyfriend, I should have called more, made more time for us, but, y/n," he takes a tentative step towards you, "I love you, and I really don't want to give up on us, please, don't,"

Things slot into place at his words and you shake your head, "Who said anything about giving up on us?"

The words hang for a moment, and then he softly exhales, "You're not breaking up with me?"

"No!" Your voice squeaks as you rush to dispel that idea, "No, oh my god, not at all,"

He grins, covering his face with his broad hands and sighing, "Jesus Christ," he sighs, "I was going out of my mind,"

"No," You shake your head again, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you like that."

He drops his hands and you can see the tension leave his tight shoulders, "Thank god," he smiles and steps towards you.

Panic bubbles back up inside you and you raise your hand to stop him, stepping back until your hips bump into the back of the couch, "Wait,"

His expression crumbles, "What's going on?"

You just have to say it.

"Um," Your stomach flips, "I do have some news."

"News," He repeats numbly.

"Yeah," You start to cross your arms over your chest but the realization that it would pull the fabric of the sweatshirt closer to you rockets through your brain and you drop your arms helplessly by your side. You have no idea how to tell him this.

"You can tell me anything," He says softly, reading your panic in a moment, "and you know, there's nothing we can't handle together."

"Yunho," Tears start to gather, making your eyes glassy, "I don't know how to tell you this,"

"I'm here,"

The panicked, terrified, anxious part of your brain scoffs, for now. You look away from him immediately, eyes glued to the floor. If this is how you lose him, then you guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

You take a steadying breath and jump, "I have something to tell you," you knot your fingers together, "and I didn't know how to tell you while you were away. I was afraid of distracting you or trying to figure this out while you weren't, you know, here,"

"Okay," He murmurs, taking a slow step in your direction, "I'm here,"

"A week after you left," You press your eyes closed tight, tears tracking down your cheeks, "I missed my period,"

He's silent. Your stomach churns again, but you keep going, "For a little bit I just thought it was stress, or something funny, I'm not always on schedule, but, then I started getting sick," With your eyes closed and with him so quiet, you can almost pretend you're practicing this speech, one of the many times you talked it through in the shower, lying in bed, pacing laps around your apartment. "I'm so sorry," Your voice cracks, "I'm pregnant," You can't bring yourself to open your eyes. "I know I should have told you," Tears rush forward a little faster now and you take a hitched breath, "and I know you don't want this, but you deserve to know, and I... I don't, Yunho, I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm s-supposed to do, and," Yunho steps forwards all at once, his hands cupping your cheeks and drawing your face upwards, "Hey, hey," he soothes, voice tender, "look at me," Your eyes finally open, meeting his gaze. You expect to find him terrified, any twenty-something guy with a delicate career would be, but all you find in his eyes is soft comfort. There's no trace of the idol in him, just your lover, your best friend. "It's okay," He wipes away your tears gently, "sweetheart, breathe," "Why aren't you angry?" Tears rush faster, your breath tight. He smiles, "I'm upset you didn't think you could tell me," he dips forwards and presses a kiss to your forehead, "but y/n, I love you, this isn't... baby, this could never be bad news." "W-what?" "The timing's terrible," He admits, "and I also have no idea what we're supposed to do, but I don't care. I love you, we'll figure this out." Of all the reactions you expected from him, this hadn't even crossed your mind. When he leans back from you a little to study your tear stained face again, he smiles, and it feels like everything about your life is about to change. Slowly, you pull his hands away from your face and take a steadying breath, "Yunho," you manage, "you're an idol, and besides, we're twenty-six, we're not even married, we're not, what the hell are we going to do with a baby," He slides his hands over yours and brings them together, lifting them so he can press his lips to the back of your knuckles, "We'll do what people do, we'll make it work." You shake your head, feeling fully unmoored, but he keeps going. "I knew you were it for me on the second date," He says and the world slows to a stop, "the only thing in the world I'm terrified of is losing you, but this? y/n, I'm in love with you. Did you think I haven't imagined what our lives would be like?" "I," You can't find the right words, but you try, "I love you," His smile widens, and he moves quickly, tugging you forwards and wrapping his arms around you properly. He's much taller, and he has to lean over you, but he wraps one arm smoothly around your lower back and your hands settle on his shoulders. He pulls you up in one smooth motion, his free hand slipping under your thighs as you wrap them around his waist to hold you tight against him. He kisses your lips, tender relief in every press of his mouth on yours and he nuzzles your nose with his, "I missed you," he breathes. "I missed you too," You confess, your body finally relaxing and melting into him, weeks and weeks of tension bleeding out of your body, "so much," He hugs you close, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you bury your face into his neck, and then he freezes, "Oh my god," his hand slides over your back, landing on your waist, "you really are pregnant," You know he can feel it, the change in your body when you're pressed flush against him like this, and you nod into his neck. "H-how," His hand pushes under your sweatshirt, searching your skin, "baby, how far?" "Fourteen weeks," He sucks in a breath, dropping you gingerly back to your feet, "I can't believe you didn't tell me," For a split second you think you're finally getting the anger you anticipated, but the giddy expression on his face says otherwise.

"I've missed so much," He snakes a hand under your hoodie, and lays his palm over your slightly distended belly, "I'm... god, I can't believe this," "You're not upset?" You check softly. "No," He shakes his head, and then he tugs gently at your sweatshirt, "No, but, can you take this off, can I see?" You're nervous again, but his easy energy wraps around you like a safety blanket and you nod, swallowing back any fears and pulling off the sweatshirt, leaving you in nothing but your sweat pants, and a tight tank top. His eyes zero in on the bump immediately, and the sliver of skin between your sweats and the hemline of your top. Your hands rest over your belly, a nervous, protective instinct, "I know," He blinks hard, tearing his eyes away from your changing body and up to your face. "What?" You ask, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "You're really pregnant," He says, his voice a little rough, and then he reaches again until his hand slides over the smooth plane of your stomach, tracing the curve, "that's my baby," "Yeah," You breathe softly. 

Tears track down his face and he laughs, reaching for you again, up into his arms and nestled against him. 

From there?

He’s kissing you and he just can’t stop. 

You’re a mess from stress and tears, and hardly feel sexy, but he doesn’t care. He’s missed you, he loves you so much and this news is unexpected and terrifying but he’s so happy he doesn’t care

So holding you in his arms still, he takes you to bed

And you’re apologetic about the mess, your bed stand is covered with water bottles and anti-nausea medication and it hits him all at once how you’ve just been holding it together by a thread 

And he pulls you into the bed - “You’ve been sick, this hasn’t been easy, has it? I could have been there for you, I wish I had been there,” 

But you assure him that you’re mostly on the other side of it, you’re only sick like once in a while now not every second of every day 

And he’s like….. we are talking about that later, but right now how are you feeling? 

And you’re good…. but god, you missed him and now you’re just so relieved

So he begs you to let him take care of you now, he’s home, he can carry that weight if you’ll let him

And teary tender kissing in bed leaves his hands wandering, noticing how much is different, losing his mind over your bump and the new fullness of your breasts

And he’s hard and you’re touch starved 

And then he’s just losing it a little - kissing your body, telling you how much he loves every inch of you, how insane it makes him that he did this to you, how you made something together

And all the tenderness to dirty talk sends your brain into overdrive. 

It’s all just desperate needy, thank god we didn’t break up i can’t believe i got you pregnant sex

Worshipping oral, lots of body kissing and feral groaning from Yunho

His absolute insanity at being inside you like this - and you’re tighter, wetter, and needier than ever, and he’s just feral for it

“You’ll be the prettiest mommy, won’t you?” 

Just heaps of breeding and preg dirty talk

“God, I hope you want a lot of kids,” 

“You look so good like this, I’ll have to knock you up again,” 

“So pretty with my baby inside you,” 

And when you’re done, you fall asleep instantly. you’ve been sleeping so much more all of a sudden, and you suppose your body needs it, but it feels like you’re finally resting for the first time in weeks

When you wake, your apartment is clean, he got take out (but he’s googling best soups for morning sickness and texting Wooyoung cooking questions), and he’s making a list of everything you’ll need. He’s already making a plan of what you’re going to do. 

So even though the tour was terrifying, he’s home, he’s got you. You’re together on this, always.

[mochamadeleines]

Sweethearts and Sweet Dreams <3

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.” (6.4k words)

tags!! - 18+ modern au! Husband! Joel Miller, Wife! Reader, you guys are happy and in love!, mutual obsession if u squint, lots of exposition im so freaking sorry, pervert Joel if u squint, praise kink joel if you squint, dumbification if you squint, written for those with daddy issues lowkeeyyyyy, written with game joel in mind but could be hbo joel no problem!, lowk i combined the two in my mind, mentions of shy old man joel, housewife! reader (by choice), unspecified age gap but reader is like. thirty? and joels Like...55??, talk about joel taking medication for his anxiety, p in v sex, dirty talk, public sex, outdoor sex, joel has a kink for dresses because i said so? service top joel if you squint, pet names, a pinch of jealousy and possessiveness for fun, playful banter, mentions of maria and tommy and their baby with a made up name Lol, mentions of ellie and sarah (rip), mentions of readers past abusive relationships, talk about joel struggling with substance abuse/addiction and being hospitalized.....Im sure u can theorize why </3, lots of lore ill get into in another fic MAYBE *smirks*, flip flop in perspective, sometimes showing what joel is thinking or what reader is thinking blah blah

authors notes!! - hi there!!! im mocha and this is my first joel fic ever + my first fic posted to tumblr!! im really nervous cuz i havent written anything in months and ive never written joel before so please let me know if you like it!! id love to write more of this au for u guys if theres a demand for it...Thank u for reading!! also barely proof read im ngl. ive been staring at this fic all day im sick of itttt. p.s i dont usually write smut i also kinda do idfk Is this bad or am i tweaking

You step out of the house, morning sun soaking into the roots of your hair and the driveway beneath your feet. Theres a package youve been waiting for. 

You cant contain your grin as you wiggle it out of the hot prison that is your mailbox.

“What the hell are you doin’ out there barefoot?” Joel chastises you from the front door, leaning his elbow on the frame. Joel, your lovely husband of two years. Been together for five. And because of how hard he works, you have the privilege of being a stay at home wife. Some people think that sort of life is stifling, but youve never felt so free. No more jobs you hate, no more financial struggles. Just you, Joel, and your cat, Cement. He likes to pretend it isnt a totally hilarious name for a pet.

You were his first relationship in almost a decade, so it was a lot of work helping him unpack his anxieties about dating, and a lot of work for you to feel safe and unafraid. Honestly? Youve been mistreated by enough men to land you in the psychward.

But Joel never yells at you, he never breaks things when hes angry or threatens to hurt you. He might raise his voice every now and again, but its never because of something you did. Sometimes the stress of life is just too much. 

He works hard, he loves his daughter- daughters- and he would do anything to keep you happy. Whatever you say goes, he says. Even now, you hardly argue. Of course you have disagreements, or off days thatd lead to one of you being especially moody, but the both of you do your best to communicate.

Behind that rough exterior, is someone who just wants to be needed. 

You first met Joel at a youth center you volunteered at, he taught guitar, you taught arts and crafts. Joel says it was your smile and sense of humor that charmed him. It was his singing and southern accent for you.

Your favorite thing about Joel is how soft he gets around you. He says its because you make it easy to be soft. 

Joel was a shy lover at first. He would get nervous just kissing you, or holding your hand. While most people become intimate very early on in their relationship, you and Joel didnt do anything sexual for the first five months of you dated. Sure, you almost did, plenty of times, but he would get so overwhelmed and cut things short. You broke two of your vibrators during this era of your relationship. Embarassing.

You remember your first time very vividly. Joel had worked back to back doubles trying to meet a deadline, and on the final day, after having barely spoken to you for almost a week, you had shown up to his house, unannounced. You were wringing water out of your jacket when he swung the door open. 

“How-” Joel blinks a few times, stepping forward to examine the rainfall. “How long you been out here?”

“Not that long,” You lie and pick up the container you brought off the porch chair. Part of you had a hard time mustering up the courage to even knock on the door. Droplets of water cascade down your chin. “Hi, sorry. I know youre tired.”

He shakes his head, voice soft and warm. “S’fine. Now c’mon, youre gonna get sick.”

Youre seated at the little dining table next to the kitchen now, trying to let the sound of the rainfall ease your nerves.

Joel was quick to grab you a towel, and does the honors of drying your face and hair with it. “Why didnt you jus’ call me? Woulda gotten out of the shower faster if i knew you were gettin’ soaked out there like this.”

“I dunno, sorry.”

“An’ whatd i tell you about apologizin’ all the time?”

“Sor- Uh. Right. Okay.” You tighten your jaw. No more.

Joel moves behind you, now squeezing water out the ends of your hair. “Whas’ that?”

“Oh!-” You peel back the lid, showing it to him. “Old fashion cake donuts are your favorite right? I remember you saying you liked eating them with your coffee in the mornings so…I made these. Youve been working a lot lately and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Joel gingerly grasps the container from your hands, looking into it. Theyre a warm golden brown, outside evenly fried, and the sweet scent of them hits his nose right away.

“I was just gonna leave them on the doorstep and call you to tell you they were there, but I wanted to see you.”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows the dryness in his throat. Youre too good for him. 

“Thank you very much.” He presses a kiss to your damp hair. “Now, lets get you into some dry clothes.”

Joel gives you a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to keep you modest while your clothes wash and dry. 

You wait patiently on his bed for the hot chocolate he promised you before you showered. Theres nothing to watch on the tv, so you just turn it off and reach for the lamp on his nightstand instead. 

He comes in quietly, and sets the mug down beside the lamp. You finally come into focus, clear as day even under the low lighting.

“You uh.. You look nice.”

You blink. “I look nice?”

“In my shirt.”

That gets a smile out of you. 

Joel tips his head towards the mug. “S’hot so, give it a few minutes. Dont want you burnin’ your mouth.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Hes sat beside you now and the two of you sit in silence for a while. Its not awkward, just the kind of silence where both of you want to say something but just.. Cant.

Joel unravels first. “Missed you, y’know. Just been tired.”

“I know.” Your voice wobbles, and Joels jaw tightens like hearing you sound so sad stings him. “I missed you, too.” 

He slides his hand over yours, giving it a squeeze. Its okay. 

“Hey Joel...Can I stay the night?” 

“Sure. Id really like that.”

While you drink your hot chocolate, you and Joel catch up. You both talk about work, and about your new found interest in baking. Joel teases you about your lack of cooking skills, you do the same. Youre both useless. 

When its time to climb into bed, neither of you can actually fall asleep. Joel rolls onto his side, away from you and the window. You follow, curling up like a little cat against his back. The sensation is nice for the both of you.

You speak up after a little while.

“Joel?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

He scoffs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Like I'd force you to leave after you brought me such a nice present.”

You let out a little giggle, “So if i didnt, youd kick me out?”

“Id think ‘bout it.”

You gasp, gently shoving at his back. “Thats mean…!”

“S’really not.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I poisoned them?.”

“Then itd jus' be a regular day of your cookin’ then.” Joel reminds you, lighthearted. Too many times where you left the shells in your eggs or burnt toast or left the bacon on the pan for too long.

“You cant get mad at me for my dark past when you made a perfectly good sirloin taste like horse leather.”

“Ugh. Dont remind me. That was like putting a one-hundred dollar bill into a paper shredder. How do either of us stay alive again?”

“Uh. Digiorno?”

“Digiorno.”

After a few moments, Joels rolling over again, and hes guiding your head to settle against his chest. Your arms wrap around him, and his arms around you. 

“Joel,” You whisper. He hums. “Im cold.”

“S’cause youre not wearin’ any pants.”

“And whos fault is that?”

“Still yours.”

“I was left out in the rain like a sad, sopping wet cat. One that was left in a box all alone with no family…” You pretend to sniffle. “Dont you feel bad for me?”

Joel sighs, not saying anything more except making sure the part of the comforter behind your back is tucked into your side so the cold air doesnt get in. When hes done, you do a little shimmy up his body, and throw your leg over his hip. Oh no.

Hes alert now. Very alert. Be normal. Joel hesitates, licking the dryness off his lips. “Uh. Feel better?”

“Mhm.” You push your face into his throat, cat-like, before settling down again. Hes like a radiator.

Actually scratch that, he cant be normal. 

“Darlin’.” He rasps, patting your back to get your attention.

“Mm?”

“Your leg. Move it.”

A few beats pass. “Why?”

“Because…” Wow,  he didnt think hed get this far. You shift forward and Joel lets out a quiet exhale through his nose, one that couldve been masked by the rain if you werent so close.

“Are you-”

“No! No. Its- Its not what you think-” He cant see your face in the darkness but he knows you feel the semi-hard struggling through the confines of his pants. Lame.

“Joel,” You say, soft. Your hands slide up his arm to cradle his jaw. Lightning flashes into the room, giving you a glimpse of Joels tight expression. He whispers your name back, just as soft.

“This is normal.” 

Its normal, it is! Except for the fact that you guys havent had sex yet. The stress of being intimate is too much, kills his boner in a blink. The longer he waits the worse the anxiety gets.

“I-I know.”

You place a hand on his chest, feeling it pound away like crazy through all the soft muscle.  

“Youve been taking your medication, right?”

Has he?

The silence of him thinking is proof enough. “Joel-”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes through the darkness .“I know, I know. Shoot, Im sorry. I just forget sometimes.”

“Its okay.” The pad of your thumb strokes the tops of his cheek, and you press a tender kiss to his mouth to soothe him.  “...Want me to remind you?”

The softness of your lips has him a bit dazed. “Huh?”

“I said, do you want me to remind you? I can- You know, call you before you leave work. Make sure you take them.”

“You know I wake up at five-o-clock in the mornin’ , right?”

“I know.” 

In a whisper, “Okay.”

Joels rough palms trail down your back and stop at the curve of your butt, finger tips delicately tracing the skin above your shorts. You shiver.

Barely above a whisper. “We dont have to go all the way.”

He says your name again, laced with worry. He doesnt want you to feel pressured. 

You pull your leg off his hip and push yourself up, settling your hands on either side of Joels head.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes-”

“-And you cant get all in your head about it. You stay here, with me. You stay present.”

“Okay, okay.” He nods, a bit defeated. “I will stay present.”

“When you...When you say you dont wanna have sex, what is it that youre thinking exactly? I know you said you just get really nervous but I feel like youre not being totally honest.”

Joel stays quiet, idly rubbing your sides. Maybe you are a cat. Just getting to feel any part of you is soothing. “I jus’ want you to feel good. ‘Fraid ill do somethin’ you dont like.”

“You cant assume how I feel, Joel. Being intimate.. It takes time to learn what the other person likes.”

He sighs. “I know.” Youre always right.

Adding on, “Like I said, we dont have to go all the way,” You lean further back, situating yourself on his hips. He lets out a shaky breath when he feels the pressure of your ass through his sweats.

“But, I want to start somewhere. I want to feel you.” 

“Fuck- Um-” Hes shaking now, letting you grind your hips down onto him. Joel cant seem to control the way his hips instinctively push up to meet yours. Youre both becoming of a mess of little gasps and hot breaths and tiny whimpers already.

You hunch forward, guiding his hand under your your shirt- His shirt- letting him feel up the supple skin of your stomach, then the area where your ribs are, then your-

“And I want you to feel me,”

Surprisingly, you did actually go all the way that night.

Your sex life was a bit of a rocky start, but after Joel got over most of his anxiety, you learned quickly just how goddamn insatiable he was. Five years in and he still regularly makes you sore. 

There are a couple things you learned about him and his sexual interests. He loves to take you in his truck, in your kitchen, in your bathroom, on your couch. Other, riskier places. Anywhere that isnt your bed apparently, not that he isnt fucking you there either.

Joel is handsy, so handsy infact it embarasses you to no end, especially when youre infront of others. Thats usually how it starts, too. First he kisses you, then gropes your hips and your ass, and the next thing you know, youre cumming on his fingers. Then hed bend you over, or get you on your back, or make you ride him. Is it really riding if hes just slamming up into you until your brain turns into mush?

He likes that too. Making you not think.

Youd be lying if you said its only ever him. Sleepy morning handjobs before work, whining to him over the phone and touching yourself to his voice, arching your back into him while you're washing dishes, sucking him off after hours in his office.

And while most men prefer lingerie or little costumes, Joel likes dresses. Dresses that are discreet so he can take you in the backyard when he comes home early and sees you gardening. Or when youre both at a friends house and hes had a little too much to drink and finds himself alone with you. Dresses that make it easy to play his favorite game with you. I touch you, and you make sure we dont get caught by being too loud. Joel really is the worst sometimes.

Now, you only ever wear pants when its cold, or to bed or sometimes when youre lounging, like today. Youre in some shorts and a tank top. Otherwise, its dresses all year round, usually retro styles or ones meant for spring. Joels not picky though, he loves any dress on you.

Even if you wear an extremely modest, white lacey sleep dress, looking like some kind of vintage ghost, the man would still keep you up all night. And he has. He said you looked like a princess. You guess you kind of did.

The entire thing is like an unspoken arrangement between you both. He doesnt tell you to wear them, you just do.

And he works hard to spoil you, so why not buy as many cute dresses as possible? 

You got a cute dress today too, on the same day Joel has off. You think its going to be a new favorite of his.

The big polymailer stays hidden behind your back. Be casual. “Uh- Nothing!”

“Nothin’?”

“Mhm.”

“Whats behind your back then?”

You sway in place, trying to suppress a knowing smile. “I dont have anything behind my back.”

“Lemme see then. Show me your hands-”

“Hey, Mrs. Miller!”

Both you and Joel turn your heads to the voice, and only one of you has the energy to fake a a smile. Your neighbor is stopping in his driveway, having come back from a jog it looks.

“Hi, Lee.” 

Joel really, really, really doesnt like Lee. You dont like him either, but youre not one to cause problems. Lee on the other hand, is. Hes a bit younger than you, and a lot younger than Joel. Hes one of those tech dudes with a massive ego, thinks that youll be swayed by his money and his “charm” and youth as if youre some sad housewife in need of saving. Gross. 

And another thing, Lee doesnt even actually live here! Hes here ever so often to visit his dad between, you dont know, tech expos? You forget. Joel believes he started showing up more often to see you. 

Youre walking towards the porch again. Joels looking especially unhappy to see him today, knuckles pulled taut into a fist. His lips stay pressed into a thin line, careful not to let anything slip out. He usually lets you do most of the talking, as much as it pains him. 

Joels really not a fan of the way Lees eyes take a trip up your bare legs. Little shit.

“Out with no shoes again, Mrs. Miller?”

“You know me, Im uh- Im weird.”

“The weird ones do it best.” He smiles, all teeth. It gives you the creeps. His attention is on Joel now. Its like watching a puppy try to one up a wolf. “Right, Joel?”

“Uh huh.” Whatever that means.

“Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, Mrs. Miller.” Lee crosses into your driveway and you glance briefly at Joel, as if to make sure he isnt going to start growling at the other to stay away. Youre clutching the package to your chest now. 

“Have you ever been to a support group for uh- you know, the spouses of addicts?  I have a friend from work and shes really struggling.”��

Lees tone is sugary sweet, but the fake kind you put in diet soda except that stuff is way better. Joel sighs from the door. You stand there, dumbfounded on the porch steps because what the fuck is he going on about. 

You clear your throat, keeping your voice firm. “No. Ive never needed to.”  

Joels voice cuts in like a knife. “Been clean for almost twenty years now.”

“Yeah but, you know,” He shrugs, squinting a bit under the morning sun. “Relapses happen.”

Joel and Lee are at a stand still, and the moment Joel lets the arm leaning on the frame drop to his side, you know youre in for a lot of trouble. You move quickly towards the door. “We have to get ready for a- uh- a thing? but Im sorry about your friend.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Im doing my best to support her.” And before he turns away, he just has to be slimy to you. “If you need someone to talk to, Im here for you.”

“No, that really wont be necess-”

Joels slinging a strong arm around you to yank you back inside before shutting the door. 

“Motherfucker,” He hisses to himself, stomping through the walkway and into the kitchen.

“How-” You rub your eyes, letting them adjust to the light inside of the house. You put the package down onto the bar counter that opens up the kitchen and follow Joel to the fridge. “How does he know?? I thought-”

“Been living in this house for decades now,” His expression is tight, brows knitted together while he chugs a bottle of water. “People talk. ‘Specially if I'm being rolled into an ambulance on more than one occasion.” Joel frowns. “Fuck- I shoulda punched him in the fuckin’ face- Do you see how hard he tries so hard to flirt with you infront’a me?”

“I know, love. I was there.” You take the bottle from his hand and set it to the side, then wrap your arms around him. “Try not to let it get to you okay?”

Joel sighs into your hair, giving your body a squeeze. “I know, I know, but jus’ hearin’ him tryin’ta use my baggage to make a pass at you…S’fuckin’ evil.”

“I agree, but I dont want his blood on the driveway.”

“So get it on his driveway instead, got it.”

You giggle and tip your head up to kiss him. The tension eases from Joels shoulders, and he cups your cheeks, letting his worries melt away into your mouth. When the pads of his fingers start to slide under your tank top, youre leaning back. Youll be here for a while if this goes any further.

Joel mindlessly chases your lips, looking a bit pouty now that its over.

“Im gonna start getting ready for the barbecue, okay?”

“This early?”

“I like being punctual.” 

“My brother wont give a damn if were late.” He noses your jaw, pressing a kiss here and there. Your knees are beginning to feel weak. The bastard is trying to distract you.

“But I do. The farmers market opened today, and I promised Maria I'd get her fresh strawberries before we got there, remember?”

“Alright, alright.” He grumbles into your shoulder.

Joel lets you go, watching you round the bar counter to get your package and disappear upstairs.

-

Ever since you came down to a freshly showered Joel, and got into the car with the gift bags you prepared for Maria and Tommy, Hes been staring at you. One wrong move and the drools gonna start pouring out of his mouth.

Your hair is in its relatively natural state, freshly washed and shiny from the oil you put in it. You put on some light makeup, and went a bit heavy handed on the blush to look sunkissed, and topped it off with a flavored lip gloss Joel especially enjoys. 

Now, the dress. Its a pink floral mid-length dress, with a low cut sweetheart neckline and a corset style backing to cinch your waist and push out your chest. The material is thick and pretty, and there are two other layers under the skirt to keep its shape. You have on a pair of little pink pumps with little bows to match. 

The drive to the farmers market is fairly peaceful, the windows are half down and theres music playing at low volume on the radio. You and Joel have different tastes in music, but one genre you can always agree on is alternative rock. 

The weathers beautiful, sun high in the sky, and its not too hot or humid. The day really is perfect. Youre gonna soak up some sun when youre at the barbecue. Hopefully, they made lemonade again too.

Joel has been mostly quiet throughout your shopping. While it would worry some, youve been with him long enough to know that he just has a lot on his mind. What hes thinking about? Maybe youll learn when you make it back home at the end of the day.

You gasp, strolling through the grass to a stand with a mountain of apples. Granny smith, Macintosh, Pink Ladys, Honeycrisp, the works. He grunts, trying to keep the things that are already in your basket steady. You came for strawberries and are going to leave with much more than that.

Joel nudges you softly. “Remember, this is quality stuff, meaning itll go bad faster. Dont get too much.”

“Okay, got it.” You beam, and then begin inspecting the Pink Lady apples first, trying to find the ones with the best color.  He keeps the basket within reach so you can drop your picks in.

"These were Sarahs favorites."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, it was funny 'cause we started arguin' over these or Red Delicious. I think Red Delicious is better."

"Thats so cute! Hmm. Should we get one for her? A Pink Lady?"

"Uh," He thinks on it for a moment, unsure, but the smile on your face helps him make a decision. "Sure, why not."

You drop two perfect Pink Ladys into the basket, moving onto the next pile.

“Hey, Joel.” You grin, holding out a wrinkled granny smith apple. “This one looks like you”

“Ha ha.” He deadpans, and grabs it from you to put back. In turn, hes reaching for the runt of the pile. A pathetically small one sitting near the bottom. “Now this one looks like you.”

“Does not!”

“Does too.” 

The next stand has golden kiwis, and youre practically dragging Joel forward to try them. You ask for one, and the man at the stand slices it into halves, giving you a plastic spoon to go with. 

You let Joel smell it first. “S’good.”

“Lets see if it tastes good.”

You sink your spoon into it, humming when you see how soft and easy it is to scoop out. In your mouth it goes!

Its tastes sweet, a bit mango-y and fucking delicious. You bounce in place, spoon feeding Joel next. “Oh yeah,” He smiles, smacking his lips a bit to really let the taste settle on his tongue. “Were takin’ some of these.”

You take one, then two, then three and four then five and as you reach for the sixth one, Joels stopping you with a gentle hand. 

“Darlin’.” 

“Right.” 

For the next few stands its just you and Joel trying various kinds of fruit. Starfruit, blueberries, some mangos, and then youre going back to the truck.

“I think my favorites were the mangos and golden kiwis. I hope Maria and Tommy have enough space in their fridge for all of this.”

“They moved into a bigger house, I reckon their fridge s’probably bigger, too.”

“What time is it?” 

You let go of Joels arm so he can switch the basket from one hand to the other. 

“‘Bout…” Hes squinting at his watch. “12:34 in the afternoon.”

“Oh! Guess we got the shopping done sooner than I expected. Hmm. Should we stop somewhere in the mean time?-" You snap your finger when you remember something. "They opened up this cafe that has cats in it! We can drink coffee and play with them for bit! The next fourty-five minutes will go by super fast."

“Youre gonna make Cement jealous.”

You bat your hand dismissively. “Hes not gonna caaare.” 

“Oh yes he will. And remind me again why we named our cat Cement?

“Uh, we were both drunk and had gotten him the day before without a name picked out?”

“A whole year later and we still kept it. Worst pet owners ever.” Joel chuckles, opening the passenger door for you like he always does. 

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

The giant basket of fruit goes into the back seat next to the gift bags before Joel slots himself into the drivers seat. 

You fumble with the radio a bit, trying to see what else is on but ultimately landing back on your preferred station. Theyve been playing a lot of Linkin Park recently. Hell yeah. Joel buckles himself in at last, and pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Marias gonna teach me how to make baked chicken,” You hum, gazing outside the window.

“You sure youre not jus’ unteachable?”

“Ha ha,” You lightly shove his shoulder, making him smile. “I thought you loved the meat sauce pasta I learned how to make.”

He settles into his seat more comfortably at the stop light, elbow rested on the window. “Got me with that one. Think I like ground turkey over beef, though.”

“Yeah? Me too. The beef tastes better but the turkey is lighter. Stops me from feeling all sick.”

“Agreed.”

Youre looking out the windshield now. Where did all the buildings go? Youre out of the city. 

“Uh, Joel?”

“Mm?”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere to kill time.”

“Yeah but where?”

“Youll see.” 

Your brows pinch together. “I see a whole lot of nothing except for trees."

“Almost there.”

Joel makes a hasty left turn onto some campgrounds. Your stomach starts to twist into excited knots. Is he gonna show you a baby deer or something? Bunnies? He used to be a park ranger for this area, and would tell you stories about all sorts of baby animals hed run into.

The car comes to a stop, and he turns the engine off. Silence.

“So…Were out in the woods to kill time?”

“Mhm.” Joel unbuckles his seat belt and twists into the back to grab the spare jacket he usually keeps there, then gets out of the truck and comes around the back to open the door for you. 

He holds your hand to help you get down from the passenger side, and as soon as both of your shoes hit the ground Joel is on you. 

You dont know where your hands should go, youve kissed Joel a thousand times and yet you still get so flustered when he catches you by surprise. You keep your hands on his shoulders for now, letting him press wet kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“This is new right? The dress?” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze through the fabric. “Thought you looked so pretty when you came down stairs in it.” 

Your heads spinning. Something about your dress? 

“Woulda been okay if you let me have you earlier.” He pulls away, examining your flushed face cradled by his hand. Every part of you just fits so well in his palms. “Then I thought, why not have you now? We got time to spare.”

“Joel- We- Someone could see us-” You sputter, and Joels already shaking his head with a knowing smirk. He pulls you around to the bed of the truck, popping it open, only pausing to spread open the jacket he grabbed, just having just thrown it in there when he came around to get you.

“No ones gonna come lookin’ for us.” He turns you around, pushing you down onto your front. “As long as youre quiet.” 

Fuck. You really hate this game. At least, you like to tell yourself that.

Blood rushes to your ears while Joels rough palms lift up the skirt of your dress, exposing your ass and thighs to the cool air. He whistles from behind you. 

“Red lace panties?” His fingers dont shy away from tracing along the fabric covering your cunt. “This new too?”

You crane your neck over your shoulder to look at his face. “Uh.. Surprise?”

Joels smiling now, fingers dipping under the lace. “Thas' awfully sweet of you.”

His touch slips and slides around your growing wetness, then trails down to your clit. Your voice wobbles a bit and fuck- fuck hes going too fast. “Joel- Ah-” You whimper and try to push yourself up to look at him but his hand is steady on your spine, keeping you down. 

Smug, “Go on, sweetheart. Keep sayin’ my name. Jus’ like that.”

A whine escapes you when he pulls away, “Nooo.” You push your ass back, as if to entice him. You succeed, because hes skipped his usual routine of fucking you with his hands and is now unbuckling his belt.

Joel rolls you onto your back, and peels your underwear all the way off, bunching it up and shoving it into his back pocket. Your face burns just watching him.

“Think i'll hold onto these for a lil’ while.”

His hands push the back of your knees towards your chest, exposing your heat. Youll never get used to the way he just seems so interested just watching your cunt squeeze around nothing. 

“Thats-” You swallow, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. "Joel.”

“Relax." He coos, "Seen it a thousand times already, and ill be seein' it a thousand more. Get used to it, honey.”

Your attention flickers down to where his dick is about to meet your entrance. Joels nudging you down onto your back again and pulling the top of your dress down to expose your chest. Its when youre distracted that he actually moves to push himself in.

Both of you groan together, and Joel could never get bored of fucking you, not when your cunt just pulses around him everytime hes inside you.

Joel wastes no time fucking you once he eases all the way inside. Youre trying your best to keep quiet. Shit is no easy task. Its like Joel is trying to get you guys arrested.

He props himself up with a hand near your head, and lets the other keep one of your legs pinned open. The moans start to claw out of your throat. “Joel- Joel-” 

“Shh. Thas’ enough.” He growls through his teeth, fucking you harder. “Youre gonna- Gh- Get us caught-”

Something rustles between the trees, making you both freeze. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching Joel straighten up to look around.

After a few seconds of squinting, Joel can see a few foxes moving about through the trees. Thank fuck. His shoulders visibly relax.

Hushed, “E-Everything okay?”

“Yeah, jus’ some animals.” 

And like that, hes back to it. His dick is going to make your eyes permanently stay rolled into your head. 

Joel is always just so handsome when hes pounding into you. His forehead gets shiny with sweat, and his jaw is tight from clenching his teeth, keeping himself quiet so he can focus on your moans. His face is noticeably redder against his usual farmers tan too. Really, hes just so attractive.

A flurry of yes and harder and fuck spills out of your mouth and into your palms. Not too loud, you try to remind yourself.

“Joel- S’too much-”

“Nah, thas’ not it.” He huffs, humorous. “You can take it. Y'always do. In fact, you love gettin’ your cunt bullied by me, aint that right?” As if to get his point across, he thrust in all the way to the hilt, making you keen. You forgot how to breathe, lungs drawing tight in your chest.

"Fuck," You manage to squeeze out.

Your palms push weakly at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself somehow. His head drops to the junction of your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.

“You good?” He checks in, breath hot on your skin. As if your crying isnt enough.

“So g-good, Joel- Fuck- Youre so good.” 

With a little nod, Joels pushing himself up, switching to slow and deep strokes, really digging himself into you, and trying to find that spot he likes to call home.

He massages your chest, then squeezes your sides and your hips and finally, his thumb finds your clit. Immediately, you jolt. 

“Oh fuck-” 

“Quiet.” And he says it to keep the charade going, even though his favorite thing is hearing your sobs.

His thumb rubbing incessantly against your that sweet little nub of yours. You choke, and Joels chuckling, watching the way you squirm, body not knowing whether it should lean into his touch because its too good or away because its too much.

It starts with this firey feeling under the pad of his thumb, then deep inside your stuffed cunt. Youre going to cum. 

Your hands fly to your mouth again, and you get all wide eyed from the sensation. Its cute. Your muscles pull taut, legs locking around Joels hips. Youre wailing into your palm when it happens.

“Good girl,” His voice soothes you through it. “Very good.”

He pets away the fly aways sticking to your sweaty face when its over. Your eyes drop shut while you catch your breath. 

Joels moving again now. He rolls his hips a few times, and thumb is building the foundation of another orgasm in you. Youre shaking badly.

Your words slur too, “Cant- Too soon- Joel- Joel-”

“Another one.” Joel says firmly, but breathless. 

Youre gasping, not sure where to focus your eyes. The trees around you look like theyre spinning. Your attention is back on Joel, whos looking rather satisfied watching you squirm and cry. If thats how wants to play, then fine.

Your hands slide up Joels biceps, and rests on the nap of his neck to bring him down. “Juh-Joel,” You pant, cradling his face with both hands. “Youre so good- The best-”

Oh, Joel likes that one, you can tell by the way he looks away briefly. Shyness. Excitement runs up your spine. Joel loves being told hes doing well. 

“You are- Nghh-” You swallow the drool in your mouth, trying to get the words out clearly. “The best husband I could ever ask for.”

Joel wheezes, head dropping into the curve of your shoulder. “Please.”

“S’true,” You nod rapidly, fingers curling into his hair. “Youre so good to me and-and youre mine and- Joel-  Im yours.”

“Jesus-” He groans, soaking up the feeling of you pressing kisses to his face and up his jaw. 

“Hhah-  No one else can have me, okay? No one- Not even-”

The name doesnt even come out of your mouth before Joels coming to a stop to slip his arms all the way around your middle. With the new leverage he has on your body, hes drilling his way into you. You fucking squeal, rules now long forgotten. Youre a useless ragdoll in his arms and he wouldnt have it any other way.

Your lips are shiny with spit and left over lip gloss, and he can still taste the mintiness in his tongue. Every now and again your eyes drop shut, but his dick just punches into your guts a little harder. Look at me. 

Your brain is mush, just the way he likes it, and youre perfectly pliant in his arms, babbling over how good you feel. Hes kisses along the valley of your breasts now, stopping to suck the flesh of your nipples.

Youre just so pretty. Even when you have bedhead, or youre snotty from a cold, or youre all dirty from working in the garden  youre still so pretty. Including now, all sweaty with you lipgloss all smudged and your mascara starting to run. Youre perfect. 

Joel grunts loud, jaw clenched tight as he gets lost in the feeling of your insides. His perfect little wife.

When he cums, hes doubling over with a loud grunt, getting a few last thrusts in before his spent floods your cunt.

Youre blinking away your tears, now watching the clouds inch along the sky. It really is a beautiful day. You pet Joels sweaty hair, and kiss the side of his temple. Your core throbs faintly. Jesus, he did a number on you.

“Love,” You say softly, patting his back.

“Mm?”

“Get up.” Another pat. “Youre squishing me.” 

Joel backs off to buckle himself up, but you stay seated to catch your breath and adjust your dress. At least it didnt get ripped during all the… Commotion. Not like last time.

“I need my underwear back.”

“Nope,”

“Joel.”

He kisses the center of your forehead and helps you down from the bed and into the passenger seat instead.  “Told you i'm keepin’ ‘em.”

You sputter, “I cant go to barbecue commando!”

“Sure you can.” He pops open the glove compartment and gets out some tissues, hand snaking under your dress again to clean you. You sigh softly at the sensation.

“Youre the worst.”

“I am indeed the worst.” Joel pulls the seatbelt over your chest and clicks it in. “You can tell me all about it on the way to Tommys.” 

[iamthatonefangirl]

relax - nsfw jackson era joel miller

writing (and hopefully posting) this before tonight's episode comes out bc. well. you all know.

not my best bc i am sick but this was on my mind<3

~~~

"that's it, pretty girl, come on over here," he encourages.

you're exhausted. every muscle in your body is yelling at you to go home and get some sleep. but you'd rather be here, in Joel's office with him, waiting for him to finish up.

"Joel, I can just–"

"be awfully rude o' me to keep you waiting, darlin'," he drawls in that beautiful southern accent of his. he's ever the gentleman, knowing he has to work but wanting to make sure you know that you are his priority.

you hang your head and pull yourself off of the doorway you're leaning on. you make your way over to where he's sitting, still at his desk, with those glasses on, the ones that make your head absolutely spin with desire.

you reach your hands out in front of you to take his as you stand in front of him, and he tightly holds onto them, not letting you go anywhere. your eyes are weary and part of you just wants to go sit on his couch and nap. you consider it, but deep down, you crave his touch more than anything.

"c'mere, darlin'. come on," he encourages once more, gently tugging on your hands to urge you closer. he spreads his legs apart, pulling you to stand hovering over his thigh before sitting you down on it.

his hands come to wrap around your waist. you rest your head on his shoulder, almost half asleep. his hair tickles your nose from having grown out.

you fucking love his longer hair. it makes him look so pretty, so good, all your own.

his hands are warm against you, his body heat seeping into your cold bones. your eyes stay shut as he tilts his face towards you, whispering, "want me to make you feel better, sweetheart?"

you nod against his shoulder. he always makes you feel so good, takes all your worries away. you're so grateful for him, making sure you're always taken care of, even now when he's supposed to be working.

his hands adjust to center themselves on your hips while yours remain gently wrapped around his torso.

"don't gotta move a muscle, babygirl," he assures you. "just let me take care o' ya."

his voice is like molasses in your ears, and you feel yourself melting against him. he slowly begins rocking your hips against his leg, ever so slowly. you turn your head to face downwards, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, and let out a low whine at the feeling he's stirring within you.

"shh, shh," he whispers, still dragging your hips so gently over his thigh, "just relax."

his strength to move you against him is no match for the friction of your denim pants against his. all you feel is the comfortable pressure of his leg between yours, gently rocking you in a perfect rhythm to ease the stress in your mind and help lure you into that sleepy state you're near.

you settle, as instructed, leaning all your weight against him as he continues to help build the heat you feel between your thighs.

"Joel," you whine, "'s good."

"yeah? you like that?" he begins. "bet you'd like me to take you home, wouldn't you? fuck you so soft, it'll put you to sleep, baby. would ya like that, baby, huh?"

you whine. that sounds like heaven.

"please," you whisper.

"oh, I will, baby. I will," he reassures you. "just need you to finish right here, baby. then I'll take you home. I'll put my mouth on you real nice, just the way you like, yeah?"

that's all you want. to go home, take a hot shower, and just let him worship you.

your whole body warms as the pressure of him against you finally takes over. your climax is ever so soft, a gentle release of the pressure and stress of your mind, all washing away. you whine when it happens, and any tension you might have had left in your bones falls away.

he's always there when you need him, always there to take on your stressors and anxieties as his own. he's your backbone, always supporting you when you need it the most.

and even when you fall, he'll be there to catch you.

~~~

this was my first work for joel and i need practice and it's kind of overshadowed by the fact that i have to go watch s2 e2 after this but oh well <3

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[bookshelf-dust]

kiss it better

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3,176

warnings: swearing, sick fic (sorta), steve not taking care of himself, anxiety, stress, mental breakdown?, best friends to lovers deal (let me know if i missed something)

a/n: hi! it’s been awhile. i’m sorry about that. this has been a very slow process for me. my mental health is shit, and that’s probably obvious. i hope it hasn’t seeped into this too much, but it probably will with the next few things i write. i apologize for taking so long to post, for disappearing, for not really making this the blog it once was. but i’m not the same person i was then. so we’ll see where this goes. i hope you enjoy this one a little. i love you.

————

The shrill sound of a phone ringing scares you awake, eyes flying open, heart pounding so aggressively you fear for a split second that it might burst. 

You sit up quickly, enough so that you make yourself dizzy trying to get your bearings. You roll onto your side, and reach blindly across the edge of your nightstand, grabbing for the green plastic that’s shaking with the force of which it’s ringing. 

You almost fall out of bed, just managing to catch yourself as you bring the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?”

Your voice comes out weak, thick with sleep and the longing for more rest. It startles you and makes you clear your throat. 

“Hey, it’s me.”

The voice on the other line is even weaker than your own. It’s quiet.

“Steve?”

Your eyes find the alarm clock on your dresser, bright red letters telling you it’s just after one in the morning. You might be half-asleep, but you’re conscious enough that your heart rate picks up, registering that this isn’t when your best friend normally calls. 

You hear him breathe, along with some shuffling. He’s nodding his head, but realizes you can’t see. 

“Yeah. Listen,” he drags a shaking hand down his face. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

He goes quiet for a moment, but you wait patiently for him to continue. He must be trying to get something out, and you don’t want to pressure him, or cause him stress in any way. 

Steve huffs, frustrated with himself. 

“I-I’ve got an insane headache, and we’re out of goddamn medicine. My parents were here, and my mom was hungover and I guess she must’ve emptied us out, but it hurts too bad to drive, and…” He trails off, breathing heavily. 

His pause lends you a moment to process, and you decide to speak up. If his head is killing him, you know finding the energy to speak to you, let alone call, has to be draining. You wouldn’t want him to suffer anymore than he already is. 

“Stevie?” you start, happy to hear a small hum that encourages you to go on. He registers what you’ve called him, something you don’t call him often, and his chest aches. “I’ve got some I can bring you. I think all the drugstores nearby are closed.” 

You swing your legs out from under the covers, pushing yourself off the mattress. Pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder, you pull on the pair of sweats slung over the end of your bed, trying not to bust your ass as you hop into them. 

“Is anything else hurting you?” you ask, gently as can be. 

“Honestly?” he responds. “I think I’m sick. I can’t be sick, can I?”

You stand upright once again, taking the phone firmly in your hand. 

“I think even King Steve can get sick from time to time. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

————

Steve’s not sure you understand him. He can’t be sick. He’s got shit to do. He has a shift tomorrow, and he’s pretty sure Dustin needs a ride one day this week because Claudia is on a “girls trip.” He has to keep working on his college essay, because he’d told you he was almost done, but really he isn’t. 

Steve doesn’t have the time to be sick. And he can’t have you ruining your own schedule to come and babysit him. He’s supposed to be the babysitter. Not the charge. 

He should be able to take care of himself, but of course, the one time his parents come home they clean out his mediocre supply of medicine. Something he’s always stocked up on, given his tendency to get the shit beat out of him, or the nasty string of tension headaches that just won’t quit. 

And his head is killing him. He has his palms pressed to his temples, trying (and failing) to dull the ache. There aren’t any lights on in the kitchen, where he’s sitting on the floor, back pressed to the cabinets. 

He’s trying not to move too much either, because he’s dizzy. This probably has to do with the fact that he skipped dinner, feeling too nauseous to eat. Now that Steve is hungry, he fears he won’t be able to get up and fix anything. 

Maybe you’ll be able to help, he thinks. But that voice is quick with a counter argument. No. I need to do it. 

He perks up at the sound of the front door opening. “Steve?” you call out, careful not to slam the door or yell too loud. It’s also why you hadn’t rung the doorbell. 

Steve raps his knuckles softly against the countertop, hoping it’ll be enough to clue you in. He can’t bring himself to shout right now. You follow the sound, taking the few steps toward the kitchen. 

When your eyes lock on his figure, see the way the heels of his hands press into his eyes, you realize how young he looks. He almost looks small, legs pulled up to his chest, big, lanky body compacted as much as possible. He looks vulnerable. You’re sure he hates that. 

“Hi, Steve,” you say, keeping your voice low. 

He looks up at you, and his face splits into a sweet grin. He’s happy that you’re here, even if that voice is screaming at him, wanting to punish him for asking for help. 

“Hey, honey.” You smile back at him, and his heart rate picks up. Sometimes he forgets how beautiful you are, and then you’re standing in front of him, snatching every last breath from his lungs. 

You set your bag down beside him and reach out, brushing his hair back from his forehead. He feels a little warm, but not feverishly so. 

You move away from him, grabbing a cup from the drying rack. You fill it up with water and crouch at his side. Steve takes the glass from you, head resting against the cabinet to watch as you grab him some medicine. You hand him a few pills, and he takes them quickly. If he doesn’t get this headache calmed down soon, he thinks he might just die. 

Steve keeps drinking the water you gave him, and you push his hair back again, watching the way it curls around his ears. 

He drinks about half of the water before he pauses, taking a deep breath. He looks at you then. It’s mostly dark in the kitchen, but the lamp on the table by the front door is on, so you’re a little backlit from it. Not to mention the moonlight seeping in from the window above the sink.

You look gorgeous. And you came over to take care of him. You got up, at one in the morning, and drove to his house, just because he asked you to. Hell, he hadn’t even asked. He hadn’t gotten the words out. But you’d known. You’d known exactly what he was trying to ask, and you’d offered your help with no qualms. 

Steve’s nose starts to sting, and that pressure from behind his eyes—it starts to release. Before he knows it, his vision is getting cloudy, and he’s crying. He can’t be crying, can he? 

You carefully remove the glass from his hand and move in between his spread knees. 

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m gonna take top notch care of you.” 

“I know you are,” he says, voice breaking. “But I should be able to do it myself. I always do it myself.” He presses his hands against his face, but you catch his wrists and gently pull them away. 

You hold your arms out, and Steve practically falls into you. He buries his face in your neck. He can feel the warmth of your skin, the cotton of your sleep shirt. You smell like soap, that fancy conditioner you use. 

One of your hands finds the base of his neck, nails scratching gently over his scalp, thumb dragging over the top of his spine. Your other rubs soothingly up and down his back. 

“But the thing is, Stevie, you don’t have to.” 

He’s not a loud crier. But he is sort of panicky, breaths coming quick and short, chest heaving against your own. “I know you’ve always had to do a lot by yourself, but you can ask for help, and you don’t have to punish yourself for it, either.”

You feel him nod against your collarbone. His hands are fisting the back of your shirt. Eventually, he pulls away, but keeps his eyes closed. He tries to keep his head turned from your gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

He does, albeit reluctantly. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, lashes clumped together and lips parted where he tries to suck in a good deep breath. 

You reach up, fingers gently sweeping away the remainder of the tears on his face. He leans into your touch, and you let him. You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his forehead. You’ve never done that before.

Steve recognizes that you’ve never done it before, even if it’s sort of fuzzy. Sure, he’s kissed the back of your hand and you’ve reciprocated, but he’s usually the one to initiate physical affection. You’re too shy most often, even if you ache to do it. 

Fuck, he wishes he were a little more coherent right now. 

“Can you stand for me? It’s late, and I think you need to rest.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure.” Now that he’s thinking about it, getting in bed sounds so nice. 

You stand first, and watch as Steve pushes off the floor, gripping the countertop on the way up to steady himself. 

“Come on. The stairs are gonna be a pain.”

He reaches out for you, and you let him take your arm. He pads out to the staircase, and you watch each precarious step he takes, hoping he won’t get too woozy and trip. 

By the time he finally makes it up there, he’s wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his face between your shoulder blades. You soften beneath his hold. 

You walk slowly towards his bedroom, and he waddles behind you. You push the door open. “M’kay, Steve. Wanna change clothes and hop into bed?” 

He pulls off of you and grabs hold of his dresser. “I’m not givin’ you a free show.”

You snort. “I’ll go get some more water and be right back.”

His grin fades. “Please be fast.” He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to leave him. 

“Steve, I’m practically The Flash.”

He laughs, pulling a pair of sweats and a t-shirt out of the drawer. Usually he’d sleep in less, but with you here he feels he should keep his modesty.

When you return, he takes the water from you, drinking it faster than he probably should. Steve feels like he’s had the shit beat out of him, and for once—he hasn’t. 

You’d sat down on the edge of the bed, not noticing the way he’s staring at you. You look up when he sets the glass down. He drags both hands down his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He exhales. “I want you to stay here with me, but I don’t want you to get sick. The idea of you being on the couch, which is like, miles away, is driving me insane.”

“Steve?”

“Huh?”

“Can’t I just sleep on the futon?”

His eyes move towards the other side of his room where said piece of furniture is pressed against the wall. He’d bought it when group sleepovers became a thing after all they’d dealt with. Jesus, his brain really isn’t working. 

“Oh. Yeah, honey. Just don’t want you to go far.” 

You lean forward and push his hair back from his forehead. You’ll need to remember to take his temperature come morning.

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I promise. Not until you’re all better.”

————

When Steve wakes up, you’re not there. He starts to panic, thinking maybe he’d been too much, maybe he’d shown you a side of himself he shouldn’t have, that maybe you left. 

But you return to his room just as he’s about to start looking for you. There’s a thermometer in your hand. 

“Morning, sleepy boy. Are you coherent enough for me to check your temperature? Or no?”

He yanks the covers off of himself, and his shirt has ridden up. You catch a sliver of tummy before he sits up fully, and you miss it the second it’s gone. 

“Hit me, I can take it.”

You roll your eyes but stick the thermometer under his tongue when he opens his mouth. When you pull it away, you’re happy to see he hasn’t got a fever. He was warm last night when you kissed his forehead, but you’re thinking it was from stress or just overheating. 

“No fever. What’s buggin’ you today, Stevie?”

He flops onto his back, and his shirt rides up again. You mentally slap yourself for being so enamored by it. All your brain can compute is tummy. Steve’s tummy. “My head still, and my stomach. I feel like I haven’t slept in four years.”

His words snap you out of your reverie. “Four years? That’s incredible. When’s the last time you ate something?”

Steve stares at you for a moment, though it looks as if there isn’t a single thought behind his eyes. “Yesterday…morning. I think. Yeah, I had a banana.”

You stare back, rather appalled at his statement. “Steve.”

“Hm?”

“All you’ve had to eat in the past twenty four hours is a banana?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus christ. Get your ass up and come with me.”

Steve doesn’t move. Rather he watches you move, right out the door and towards the top of the stairs. You pause and turn around, crossing your arms. 

He huffs. And then he slides down the side of the bed like a child before crawling up and following you to the kitchen. 

Over the course of the next few hours, you manage to get Steve to eat, shower, and go for a short walk, weather permitting and all. He’s looking astronomically better than he did last night. 

Steve sits opposite you on the couch, his socked feet in your lap. “What do you think my deal is?”

You rub your hand over his calf. “I think you just had a little bug. Or maybe you let yourself get too stressed out and your body couldn’t take it.”

He blinks. “Is that…that's not a thing? Is it?”

“When’s the last time you gave yourself a fuckin’ break, Steve? When you just took a day for yourself rather than worrying about who needs to go where, or if you’ll have to cover a shift? You have to take care of yourself, or this is the kind of shit that happens.”

“Being overwhelmed about your parents, not eating, worrying about that application, all of that is fucking with you. That headache was probably a stress headache. They’re killer. I want you to be healthy and comfortable, Steve.”

You exhale, and close your eyes. When you open them, Steve has sat up, scooting towards you on your end of the couch. 

He might still be tired, but he can’t believe this. He can’t believe you. No one has ever worried for him in this way. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. 

He barely even registers your words, too busy memorizing every line on your face. You look so fucking beautiful. It almost makes him angry. 

“I’m thinkin’ about how bad I want to kiss you.”

Your face starts to burn. You shove his shoulder. He looks at the place where you’d pushed, quirking a brow, but grinning nonetheless.

“What?”

“Steve, you can’t say shit like that.”

“How come?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Best friends.”

“Well yeah, but best friends don’t say that to one another.”

His grin widens. He looks more awake than he has this entire time. 

“Oh, but you haven’t said it.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Steve gets his voice up that little bit higher, doing a cheap imitation of you. “‘Best friends don’t say that to one another.’ Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but that implies you want a kiss too, doesn’t it?”

You drag your hands down your face and flop back against the arm of the couch. 

“So you gonna say it, or what?” He’s shifted, and you can feel him hovering over you, but you refuse to move your hands. 

“Of course I’m thinking about kissing you, Steve.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes, locking with his own. “But you’ve got cooties.”

Steve rolls his eyes before he backs up and yanks on your ankle so that you’re flat against the couch. 

“You did not just lecture me about self-care just to tell me I have cooties. I didn’t even have a fever.” 

“I didn’t even have a fever,” you mock, lowering your voice in what is quite possibly the worst impression of him you could do.

He’s quick about it. Almost stealthy, not that you’d ever boost his ego by telling him so. But his fingers are reaching for your sides, the tips dancing over your shirt, that tiny sliver of hip showing where it’s ridden up. 

Steve is practically drunk off of your laugh. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and when he goes for your neck, when you tilt your head and trap his fingers between your cheek and shoulder, he thinks he could die. 

You and your laugh. The fact that you drove over at one in the fucking morning, without even thinking about it, just because you care. That you stayed the night, listened to his pitiful thoughts, took care of him…it’s too much. 

Never in his life did he think he’d find someone like you. Someone who makes him feel like he matters. You’d made him realize how smart he is, how capable. That he could do things for himself and not just to please his dickhead father. 

You have made him whole. 

He lets up when you start breathing extra heavily, only to tickle the underside of your foot before he quits, just to piss you off. You kick him in the side. 

“I think a kiss from my very favorite person might be the best form of self-care there is, honey.”

You sit up. “Wow. King Steve really never died.” He raises his hands like he might tickle you again, but you catch them before he can do any damage. “Okay, sorry!” 

Before he can register it, you’ve leaned in and pressed your lips to his. When he does realize, he lets out a surprised hum, and you can feel that smartass smirk forming on his face. 

When you pull away, he whines. 

“All better?”

Steve falls back against the couch, pulling you with him just to get that laugh out of you again. 

“I’m healed.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[moon-ttokki-x]

hiii i see you hav angst fics, do uu write character death? if u do then can i request a reader death one and how the members react to it? totally okay if you can’t lolz

ok so this is the angstiest thing i've ever written . . . proceed with caution bc it gets quite intense >< it was a nice release though, i haven't been feeling too over the moon lately, so it helped me a little <3 also blurry header for added angsty vibes . anyway here you go, love~

don't go, please - skz hyung!line x reader

pairing: ot8!skz hyung!line x reader

summary: skz hyung line reactions to when you d*e.

genre: so so heavy on the angst i cannot stress that enough, kind of dark, mentions of not eating, depression, anxiety, reader doesn't really exist in this fic, sad skz which hurt me to write, mentions of pushing people away, unhealthy obsessions, loss of passion and interests, just really heavy grief themes

a/n: you can't expect me to get a request like this and not write the angstiest, most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking shit anyone has ever read . . . anyway suffer . div by @carnage-cathedral

if this content makes you uncomfortable, please skip it . the last thing i want is to make people upset, so don't read this if it's triggering for you. proceed with caution and be safe, my loves <3

skz masterlist

Chan who goes silent when he hears the news. Doesn't talk, doesn't move, and then gets up and leaves, walking endlessly and aimlessly through the streets until the members have to physically stop him. Doesn't wail or cry, doesn't make a fuss. Becomes less affectionate with everyone around him because physical affection reminds him of you; your hugs and kisses and your hands playing with his. Loses his leader attitude, becomes quiet and introverted, and can't seem to find as much passion in being a leader for his team like he did before. Is wary around everyone he's ever known, pushes people away like he did when he was a trainee. Sits in his room most days; is hardly ever seen, and when he is, he's looking at a little polaroid photo of you, clutched between shaking fingers as he wishes for you to come back.

Minho who immediately shuts himself away, refusing to see or talk to anyone. Spends all day in his dorm room, just sitting and staring placidly at the wall. Relives every single moment you've ever shared and wishes endlessly that he could have spent more time with you. Doesn't feel like dancing much anymore, and any remnants of energy he might have had when you were still here is gone. Becomes bitter and angry, harsh towards his own members. Even loves his cats a little less; most of his memories with them are ones shared with you, and they're far too painful for him to relive. His emotions dry up like a dead, shriveled plant and disappear, his teasing personality evaporating with it.

Changbin who goes radio silent over the phone; hangs up immediately after and can be heard throwing up from distress in the staff bathroom. Is taken sick for a week due to the shock, and doesn't eat much throughout. Ends up throwing all of his still-to-be-given-to-you love letters in the trash, along with the diamond ring he was planning to give you the night of your anniversary. Quits producing music; his words don't flow as smoothly as before, even when he rarely feels like talking to anyone. Permanent eye bags take place under his eyes as he goes online, clicking out of his gym membership. Doesn't want to touch any of your belongings, it's too painful, and quits working out due to the lack of energy in his body.

Hyunjin who choked out a terrible, wailing scream and tore out his hair when he found out what happened; begged his members for it not to be true. Spends all day just staring out the window; is no longer afraid of anything, and finds nothing but icy numbness and a deep blue sadness taking root in his heart. Covers the walls of his room and art studio in pictures of you; splatters the walls in scarlet red and peachy pink, and then splatters himself in the same shades. Can't find it in himself to paint for much longer after that; doesn't cut his hair or paint his nails anymore, because that was always your job. Sets fire to his sketchbook and puts the ashes of it in a jar; then sets it on his top shelf and tucks the rest of his supplies away. Is no longer able to find any beauty in the world, not if you aren't there with him to see it.

a/n: i'm not writing a part 2 unless someone requests it

[httpvomitello]

hey so how do you think the bayverse boys would deal with having a s/o where on the news, it says that the apartment above their’s, someone got murdered. And then suddenly with weird timing, they just hear something rolling behind them and someone huff and sit on their couch. They look over and see their s/o with a suitcase and saying “I’m gonna live here now”. They’re staying here for the next month or two cuz you know, murderers might still be in the building and s/o doesn’t wanna be next. Also if the boys want to deal with it, s/o basically knows what went down and can tell them?

Hello, hello! I hope you like it ♡♡♡♡

Leonardo

When you walk in with a suitcase and tell him someone got murdered in your building, Leo’s calm on the outside but inside, he's panicking

His first thought?

I should’ve been there to protect you

He won’t let you leave the lair for anything

"You’re staying here. No arguments.”

His tone leaves no room for negotiation

The thought of you being anywhere near that danger makes him feel sick

The longer you stay with him, the more on edge Leo gets

He’s constantly worrying about whether the murderer will come after you next

Leo wants to protect you but struggles with not being able to solve everything

He hates that you had to come to him in fear

"I should've stopped it before it even happened," he mutters one night

You remind him it’s not his fault, but he doesn’t seem convinced

Despite everything, you know Leo won't stop until he finds the killer

But one night, you ended up giving him a little earful, making him calm down a little.

Raphael

When you tell him what happened, Raph’s first reaction is pure rage

“Wait, you’re tellin’ me there was a murder right above you? And you’re just NOW telling me?”

He’s angry, at the situation, not you, but you can tell he’s freaked out inside

He won’t show it at first, but Raph feels guilty

The fact that you were that close to danger eats at him.

He’s punching the training dummy harder than usual, throwing himself into workouts as a way to blow off steam

“I shoulda been there.”

You staying with him makes him feel more protective, but also more on edge

He tries to act like it’s no big deal, but deep down, he’s scared of losing you

"If anything happens to you…"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but you know what he means

One night, you catch him snapping at his brothers and pacing the lair like a caged animal

"I hate this. You being in danger, and me not being able to do a damn thing about it!"

He doesn’t want to admit how scared he is, but you can see it in his eyes

He only managed to calm down when you dragged him to the bedroom and lay down together

For the rest of the night, you were the one calming Raph down and reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.

Donatello

The moment you tell Donnie about the murder, he’s already thinking about how to secure your old apartment

“Did they catch the guy? No? Okay, you’re staying here. No question.”

Donnie tries to play it cool, but his anxiety is through the roof

He spends hours obsessively monitoring your building through hacked security feeds and checking news reports

He doesn't mind spending a few more days awake just to catch the killer who can hurt you too

He can’t relax until he knows the threat is gone, and even then, he’s still tense

You wake up a few nights to find Donnie hunched over his computers, working on something

"Donnie, it’s 3 AM," you say, rubbing your eyes

He barely looks up. "I need to make sure everything’s secure before you even think about going back."

There’s a tremble in his voice, he’s scared to let you go

The stress finally gets to him

One night, after days of little sleep and constant worry, Donnie breaks down

"I-I can’t lose you. What if they come after you next? What if I’m not fast enough to stop it?"

You have to remind him that he’s already done everything he can to keep you safe

You had to ask Master Splinter for help to get Donnie into bed, but when he finally did, it didn't take long for him to close his eyes and fall asleep

And as you lay down next to him, your worry eased a little

The following afternoon, the killer was arrested.

Michelangelo

Mikey’s first reaction is shock

"Whoa, wait—someone got murdered?!"

He’s usually the carefree one, but the idea that something so dangerous happened near you?

It freaks him out more than he lets on

He tries to keep things light when you move in

“Guess you’re moving in with me then, huh? Roomies!”

But deep down, Mikey’s scared. He doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to you

One night, after everyone else is asleep, Mikey quietly admits how scared he is

"I know I act like it’s all cool, but... I’m terrified, y'know? What if that guy comes after you next? What if I’m not fast enough to help you?"

Hearing him confess his fears hits hard

Mikey sticks close to you, always wanting to be near

He’s always checking in

“Need anything? Another pizza? Some nunchucks?”

He’ll distract you with his usual antics, but his hugs linger a little longer, and you can see the fear behind his smile

So, to calm him down, you proposed an all-night video game marathon

And it worked...

Until Master Splinter shows up and tells you off for being up so late at night

But it was worth it, because in the end, Mikey seemed to be calmer than he had been on other days.

[sports-on-sundays]

i NEED some pedri enemies to lovers where the reader is dating joao felix and he is really abusive to her and when pedri finds out in a party he defends the reader

got your back / Pedri González

Summary: Pedri x female!reader - Pedri hates you. Well, that is, until he's faced with a situation to genuinely be concerned with you. Then? Of course he doesn't hate you!

Warnings: mention of sexual abuse/crossing boundaries, discomfort, language, unwanted physical/sexual action being pushed, mention of sickness, having to fake happiness/being fine, physical abuse, anxiety, fear, don't read if you could be sensitive to anything here- I'd hate to hurt anyone or bring back any pain or anxiety anyone might have - read at your own risk!

Author's Note: I got nothing against João, so instead of using him, I just made the guy an unnamed La Liga player, because I don't want to paint anyone in a terrible image, and I'm sorry if I have done that in the past, but I don't feel comfortable with it. I hope this makes sense and you understand! Thanks for the request!

Requested?: Yes.

You and Pedri hate each other. You've known each other forever, and from the very beginning, your personalities clashed. At times, things were better, but after fallout after fallout in your friendship, it's come to a point where both of you decided that what's done is done, and it's likely just the best for both of you to leave each other alone and stay out of each other's lives.

You don't think about Pedri. Not often, anyway. Now with your new relationship, too, anyway, and all the struggles that are coming with that, you're glad you don't have to worry about all the arguments you and Pedri used to have.

Your boyfriend really wanted you to come to this specific match, though. Against Barcelona. You tried to explain to him that you really would rather not go to a Barcelona game to watch him, simply because of the stress of possibly running into Pedri, though you know how unlikely that really is.

But with your bad luck, who even knows?

Well, the match goes alright, but, admittedly, your boyfriend's team gets hammered by Barcelona, so you suppose you're supposed to be disappointed.

You're walking out, waiting to meet up with your boyfriend, when suddenly, your bad luck strikes.

Of course.

Well, it really has nothing to do with luck, or the lack of it. Though you don't know that. You don't know that Pedri made the effort to find you when he saw that you're at the game.

To you, your bad luck is just making you run straight into Pedri.

"Y/n!" Pedri says as soon as he sees you, stopping in front of you.

You roll your eyes, looking away from him, murmuring simply, "Why are you talking to me."

He stares. Those stupid, stupid eyes, sharply bearing into you. He snorts, saying, "Jeez. Because I know you?"

"Didn't we agree it'd be best to go our separate ways?"

He stares, before snorting, saying, "Doesn't mean I have to treat you like a stranger."

You bite your lip, looking up. "After what you've done to me, I'd rather like it to be that way, actually."

He stares, almost dumbfounded, before the anger sets in. "Oh yeah, and what have I done to you? Get over yourself, you're acting as if I traumatized you! It was never that bad!"

"Pedri, I don't want to talk to you," you say simply, shoving past him as you see your boyfriend start heading down the hall towards you.

He snorts, shrugging, and snaps, "Well, alright, then! You fuck off, too, if that's what you want me to say back!" And with that, you both walk away, feeling angrier than you really have to be.

"He was bothering you?" your boyfriend asks, raising an eyebrows, his arms snaking around your waist.

But it doesn't provide much comfort, considering that probably part of the reason you reacted so harshly towards Pedri is because of the stress already welling up in your chest about your boyfriend himself.

He's over half the problem. In fact, he might be one hundred percent the problem, or at least close to it.

You don't want to be here. You don't want to be at your boyfriend's flat, either. In fact, all you want right now is to be in your own home, alone, in bed, with your pajamas on and a blanket enveloping you.

But instead, you have a drink in your hand, are wearing a black, lacy dress, and are thoroughly exhausted with having to stand there, arm linked with your boyfriend's, looking nice and pretty next to him.

It painfully feels just a little bit too much like all clout.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't done what he did to you last night after the match. He had forced you to do things you certainly weren't comfortable with. Especially not only four months into dating. It was too much for you.

Maybe for other people, it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe other girls would have actually loved that.

You? You've been feeling sick to your stomach for the last twenty-four hours, completely uncomfortable with your boyfriend, and having to fake it all the while. That hasn't been the first time something like this has happened. This time was just the worst.

You should've seen it coming. It's like on top of it all, regret is nawing at you as well.

The night is superficial and empty already, but your stomach lurches as soon as you get a glimpse of none other than Pedri González. You turn your head away, hoping for him to not recognize you, feeling even sicker than before, if that was even possible.

Your fucking luck, huh.

It's then, that, though you really thought things actually couldn't get any worse, that they really do.

Your boyfriend leans in and whispers close to your ear, "You look pale. Bored?"

You swallow, shrugging, "I guess."

"The night's still young, but there's nothing here for us." His hand on your lower back slips down a bit. You swallow as he continues, "We could step out and spice it up a bit."

Your jaw clenches. "Oh, no, that's okay..."

He chuckles. "Trying to be all neat and prissy? Don't play that game. C'mon," he murmurs, taking your hand and starting to lead you away through the groups of people around at the party.

"No, no, really... it's okay..." you murmur weakly, feeling dread and, frankly, fear sink in.

No, no, no. Not this again.

What's he going to do?

He seems to ignore you as you slip into a narrow hallway where some bathrooms are. Not the main bathrooms, though. You didn't even know there were bathrooms back here.

So no one promises to come this way.

Which means it's completely private.

You swallow.

It's then that he pushes you against the wall, getting close, and murmurs, "I could make this night very interesting for you, honey."

You turn your head away, looking down, towards the floor. "U-hm... You sure this is a... safe idea?"

"No," he grins. "I know it's fucking dangerous. But I also know it's a fucking good idea. Now, stop all this coy shit."

With that, he grabs your chin, shoving it up, making the back of your head hit the wall. "Ow-!" you murmur, your face crinkling with a quick grimace.

He hums. "Oh, get over yourself. You know you want this just as much as I do..."

"I-" you begin, but are interrupted by his lips meeting yours in a rough kiss.

It doesn't even feel good.

Your brain is screaming, your head pounding.

Fear grips your chest.

He moves his body against yours in a disgusting way, and every single cell in your body frantically searches for some way to make it stop.

It's then that you feel his hand stroking your thigh, grabbing at the bottom of your dress. You pull away long enough just to say desperately, "No- Please, no- Not here... please."

But he slaps your thigh, hard. You bite back a yelp as he murmurs, "I can do what I want to y-"

"And I can do what I want to you, too!" a voice suddenly says, before, in a flash, you watch as a hand slaps itself across your boyfriend's face. He stumbles back, which means you stumble forward, but there are arms there to catch you.

Not your boyfriend's, though- he's holding his face, looking absolutely shocked at-

You turn to see who has his arm around you from behind.

Pedri.

"What the hell?!" your boyfriend roars.

"Ask yourself that, asshole! Didn't she tell you to stop?"

"None of it is your business!"

"It is when you're doing it in a public area, for God's sake!"

You watch as your 'boyfriend' gulps and murmurs, "Let go of her."

"How about we stop talking as if Y/n isn't here? Y/n, do you want to fucking stay with him?"

You stare ahead, feeling so caught off guard by what has just happened, and the question that Pedri is apparently proposing for you to decide.

As unfortunate as it seems to you, you know which of them you trust more, despite all the trouble you've had with Pedri over the years.

"Listen," you say to your boyfriend, swallowing back tears. "I think you just better go now... I'll pick up my stuff from your flat in a few days... I think it'd be best- best to just end it here, now. I just don't think I'm the kind of person who's right for you."

As you ramble on anxiously, the rage builds up in his eyes more and more, before he yells, "Fine!" slaps you hard across the face, and leaves, walking off.

You stand, staring, your eyes watering in pain. You swallow.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

"I- I don't know."

Pedri folds you into his arms. "You can come back with me to my hotel room, if you want."

You sniff, holding back tears, before nodding. "I- Okay... Let's go."

Once there, you broke down. Sat on Pedri's hotel room bed and cried. And he sat there with you, being that shoulder to cry on. And your rivalry and friendship fall outs and all the other garbage between the two of you seem to slowly fade away. For now. At least just for tonight.

It's the least of your problems.

Now you lay, staring at the wall. You hear Pedri exiting the bathroom. Walking across the room. The weight on the bed shifting as he gets on.

"Y/n..." he says gently.

"Yeah?"

There's a few moments of hesitation, before he says softly, "Mind if I lay with you."

Now hesitation on your part. "Go ahead."

You feel him lay down next to you. His arm gently, tentatively wraps around you.

You lay together, in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry," Pedri suddenly says after long enough.

"For what? You helped me."

"For every single thing I did wrong over the years. I'm sorry for the fact that every time, I screwed it up again."

"It wasn't just you. I was fifty percent of the problem."

"I guess I just... I just like you a lot, you know? I just don't know what to do with that. I didn't realize it until you've been out of my life for six months now."

You nod slowly.

"I'm glad I found you when I did."

"I am, too," you say simply back.

"Seeing him do that to you... That... it's like all I could feel was pure... rage."

You don't have much to say to that, so just whisper softly, "Thank you... for helping me."

He nods slowly. Pulls you closer.

You don't mind. This kind of thing; it feels comforting. Not scary.

You lay there in more silence, before Pedri says softly, "Can we try this again?"

"Can I trust you?"

He sighs. "I think I finally realized how much I can't live without you. How much I care about you."

You snort, yawning. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that almost sounds romantic."

More silence, before he finally says, "Maybe it is. But even if it were, would that even matter right now?"

You shrug, looking back at him with sleepy eyes. "I reckon not. But it might matter someday."

He smiles softly, kisses your nose, and silences himself fully before sleep takes the both of you.

[luveline]

hi jade !! this is me resending my hotch request bc of ur recent post 🤍 i sent the one about hotch taking care of bau!reader who has a really bad stomachache, thanks so much, i think you’re amazing 💞💞💞

thank you for requesting angel! fem

You do this sad thing with your hands when you're in pain. Aaron wishes he didn't know your tell, that he'd never had reason to understand it, but he does. Your fingers, in particular your pinky, curl toward your palm frenetically, and he has an ample view of your closed off face in the chair opposite. He can pin the moment he knows you're in pain down to the minute twitch of your lip. 

He peeks at Morgan where he lays on the couch before leaning across the table to touch your arm. The jet offers little privacy, so Aaron tries to be delicate. 

“L/N? Are you alright?” 

“Mm,” you hum, too high-pitched to have come out the way you meant it. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Nothing.” You say this, and yet you can't open your eyes, leaning less than subtly away from him as though your pain is catching.

Aaron keeps his head down as he stands so as not to attract attention. You've sat near the wall, leaving an empty seat for him to sit in. “Hey,” he says, touching the crook of your elbow, wanting to fix it, soothe the twitch from your hand, “you're in pain.” 

“It's nothing.” 

“Saying it won't necessarily make it true,” he says. 

“It felt worth trying.” 

He is genuinely perturbed to see you in pain like this without explanation. “You have to tell me what's wrong.” 

“Hotch, I…” you say, your voice wrought with embarrassment as you open your eyes, “it's just my stomach hurts. That's all.” 

“Sharp pains?” 

“Just hurts. Nothing dire.” 

“How do you know?” he asks. 

“Happens sometimes.” 

He puts his arm around you, careful not to jostle your back. You're tense as a rubber band about to snap. It's unlike you to be the more rigid of the two of you, less foreign for Hotch to have softened, especially when it's you. “How often?” he asks, wary of the tears brimming like silver at the corners of your eyes. 

“Just sometimes, I don't know.” You speak in a concise, panicked tenor. 

In this line of work, it could be anything. Not eating enough, not having time to stop for breath. You could be thirsty, sick, anxious, stressed into pain. It could be purely psychosomatic or you could be injured. He can't remember you taking any blows during the last few days away. It could be your period. You might not want to mention that. 

“Y/N,” he says, falling out of boss mode now he's sure it's not going to kill you, and into someone who cares for you, “what can I do?” 

You shudder a breath, slouched under his touch. “It's not that bad.” 

It's clearly a shocking amount of pain. Your shuddering worsens as he pulls you into his side. He's prepared to sit with you until you can give him better instructions, or until the pain passes, or, God forbid, things get worse. “I'm here,” he says, rubbing your arm gently. “Try to breathe.” 

He's wondering why you might think this amount of pain is normal, or acceptable. Wondering why he shouldn't just call for medical assistance here and now, but then you start to come around, your face shining with perspiration. “Oh,” you sigh, wiping your face with your sleeve, leaning into your hand, hiding. 

“Is it getting better?” he asks. 

“I think it's anxiety or something.” Your breath slips out in disjointed huffs. 

He can't guess what it is. Have you been to the doctor? he wants to ask, but perhaps in a moment, when you're steady in yourself again. “From the jet?” 

“No. Maybe.” You frown. 

“Jack doesn't understand that I'm on a plane.” 

You lift your gaze in confusion. Aaron moves onwards.

“He doesn't understand that this is a plane. I brought him by, once, to try to explain why I can't always answer the phone. It's thick metal, you know?” It was an easier explanation than having no signal in the sky. “But he didn't get that it was something that could move. I had to take him to the airport. We watched…” He slows as your eyes meet his completely. “We watched them take off for hours. Now he doesn't get so angry when I don't answer.” 

“Jack was angry?” you ask, half incredulous. 

“A bit.” He tries to string the story together before you can realise what it is he's doing, his arm curling around your from behind, fingers making the most tenuous of circles into the very side of your stomach. A barely there sort of comfort. “It's not like him. He reminds me of his mom when he's angry.” 

Your smile is a physical relief to see. “Does he have tantrums?” 

“Doesn't every kid?” 

You talk about Jack in dulcet tones while he tries to keep the pain at bay, his arm steadfast behind you, your faces closer than they have any platonic business being. He'll pester you into doctors appointments when you touch down, but for now, he just holds you and talks to you like everything is normal. 

You cover his hand with yours when the pain starts anew, talking through it, pain in the soft line of your bottom lip. 

“Am I hurting you?” he asks. You give him a weak smile. He feels awful, but it makes his heart race. So close, and so pretty, and so upset. “Is there anything I can do?” 

An embarrassing amount of weight lies in ‘anything’. You shake your head, whispering, “Nothing. This is enough.” 

Aaron pulls you in closer and wraps both of his arms around you, hiding you from the others, an aimless attempt to protect you from a pain he can't touch. Someone puts a cup of tea on the table for you, but otherwise you're left alone for the rest of the flight.