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violentdelightsandviolentends · 27 days ago

Note

You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!

I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.

Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.

word count - 3k

authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3

masterlist. inbox.

The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.

“Hello?”

You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.

“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.

“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”

“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”

“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”

“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”

You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.

“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”

“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.

“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.

“I’ll put some shoes on.”

“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”

You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.

“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”

“I will.”

I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.

The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.

You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.

Almost.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.

You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.

You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.

Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.

His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.

“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.

“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”

He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”

“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”

It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.

“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”

You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.

“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.

“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”

He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.

“Do ya want to?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”

You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”

“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”

“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.

“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”

“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”

He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”

“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”

He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.

“Declan.”

“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”

You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.

“You should break things off.”

He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.

“What?”

“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”

Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.

“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.

“Because I love you.”

Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.

“You-”

“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”

There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.

“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”

All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.

“Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.

“C’mere.”

Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.

“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.

“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”

You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”

“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”

You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.

“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”

You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.

You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.

“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”

All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.

“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”

He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.

“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”

You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.

“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”

You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.

“Declan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.

“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.

“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”

“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”

He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.

Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.

The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.

“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”

He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.

The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.

“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”

You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.

You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.

You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.

Rupert Campbell Black.

He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.

Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.

“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”

@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles

as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3

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jezebelblues · 2 months ago

Text

talk to me | h.s

summary: holland tunnel for a nose, it’s always backed up! or, harry struggles with sobriety after y/n leaves

cw: cocaine usage/addiction, angst!!! ex!harry, fem!reader, unedited. ladies imagine the vine boom sound as i dare to say.. toxic!harry 🤨

word count: approx 6.1k

| pls don’t read if you’re sensitive to substance abuse. this is pure angst. i literally wrote this on a whim after seeing the car photo on my tl.

masterlist

harry was stubborn. but then again, so was YN.

he didn’t mean for things to end the way they did, he was stuck in a lull since love on tour ended. it was always the inbetween—purgatory, he would call it. a euphoria cut short, leaving him marooned in a space before the settle.

touring ignited his soul, an always occurring rebirth every time he steps upon the stage. but now it’s march, and he’s standing alone in the heathrow airport after his self-imposed exile in italy.

the air was crisp, biting, and tangled with the faintest trace of her perfume—vanilla, the one he'd bought her, the one she wore on the nights they'd venture out together. if he closed his eyes, he could picture her bathed in neon, colors playing on her skin like she was something holy.

if he thought hard enough, he could feel the phantom burn in his nose as it did in october. he could feel the warm trickle of blood drip down his cupid’s-bow if he overdid it. he could taste the metallic crimson that would slip past his lips and stain his teeth. he could remember the look of horror on her face as he shot her a bloody smile, eyes too dilated to come into his senses—too far gone.

but if he fished through his wallet, he wouldn’t find his old debit card—the one he had closed out in 2011 when his fame started to rise. it’s what he always used to form his lines, and remnants of the white powder were a staple on that card. a relic from a life he was beginning to lose control over.

after that night in october, when they got home, YN had snatched it from his wallet and cut it to pieces in front of him, her face twisted in anguish, not anger. she loved him, and that was the worst part.

a superstar like him could indulge, sure. a line here, a hit there—california sober, he used to joke. but as the tour ended, that fleeting thrill had turned into something darker, something that clawed at his insides when the spotlight faded. something he’d turn to for the semblance of exhilaration he had on the road.

so, now he was out of his lucky, unusable debit card. and, sometimes at night, he would think of the way the pieces are drifting around a landfill, scattered and forgotten.

but then he would think of YN. and no, that couldn’t compare, it wouldn’t.

he didn’t have to squint or fish through his contacts, she was just gone. and he knew it.

that night she had threatened to leave if he didn’t get sober, and harry fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around her bare thighs and begged her to stay. he could feel the lotion lift from her skin because of his tears, the way it burned his eyes. she had fell down to the floor with him that night, combing through his curls and whispering promises that she wouldn’t leave if he just tried. that’s all he had to do. they fell asleep on the couch that night.

harry thought he had gotten rid of everything. he had one slip up, and he remembered how YN’s eyes glossed over when she told him he had one more chance.

it was the day before halloween when she found a dime bag of the familiar white powder stashed away in one of his drawers—an afterthought. a remnant, a leftover.

harry tried to explain it wasn’t new, something that remained forgotten. he desperately followed her out to her car in the rain, holding the drivers door open as he pleaded. but she started the engine. she was leaving, and he knew it.

he remembers the way his frustration boiled over. maybe it was projection, withdrawal, or the pain of watching the love of his life walk away. but he had slammed the drivers door shut, slapping his palm against the window with a shaky sob as she drove off.

he hadn’t seen her since. he disappeared into italy afterward, hiding in his villa. he would have virtual therapy sessions every thursday, lots of which ended in his tears.

he knew he was blocked, he could tell by the way his blue messages no longer had the word delivered underneath them. because they weren’t. just conversations with a ghost. a stonewalled grave.

he had only started to come to terms with the end of their relationship in february, after his thirtieth birthday. there was no message, no phone call, no knock upon his door. he was just alone in italy.

harry thought about relapsing that day. he thought about calling a friend of a friend and falling into the vibrant world only the blow could offer.

but he didn’t, he called his mum. he called his therapist. he drank some wine, sang himself a somber happy birthday over a strawberry cupcake, and then slept for thirteen hours.

now he was at the airport in the heart of london. he only had his carry on, roses from the gift shop, and so many words left unsaid. the airport was unusually quiet that afternoon, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over harry as he stood there, unmoving. london was a different reality, pulling him back into the damp chill of march and the weight of everything he'd left unresolved. he tasted a tinge of salt in the air, his nerves raw as he thought of her—the girl he'd lost, the girl he couldn't let go of.

he didn’t even know if she still lived in the same brick townhouse, but it was worth a shot. he didn’t really even think this through, he had enough clothing for about three days, and his car was about thirty minutes away from her place at his own house.

but he ubered there anyway, grateful it was only an older fellow who had no clue who he was. he would shove his nose into the flowers occasionally, smelling them with a gentle inhale. he shifted in his seat, turned his phone on and off with every passing minute to watch the time pass. he was restless, he was nervous.

her flat looked the same as it always did when he was dropped off, but there was a festive little reef still hanging on her door from christmas. a whisper of a smile tugged at his lips from that.

his own body felt heavier on his feet as he stood before her door, it felt like he could topple over and perish in that moment. harry thought it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he did, perhaps she would even miss him—no, he thought, tempting as it was—really messed up.

right?

he shook his head at his own thoughts, raising his fist to knock on her door. it was light, he wasn’t even sure if it’s something she’d hear. the brunette debated knocking again, harder this time, but he heard her voice behind the barrier.

“coming!”

he felt weak in the knees. it was her voice, no mistaking it. she was real, still here, just behind the door. YN’s voice felt like a fresh sherpa blanket, still soft and unused. it sounded like honey stirred into tea. harry really thought he could topple over at that point.

the door swung open and there she was, only a foot away after being hundreds of miles apart for so long. her hair was different, and she had a pair of glasses he hadn’t seen before resting on the bridge of her nose. her lips were parted, face drained of all color as she stared at him.

the words caught in harry’s throat, and he stood speechless. he only raised the roses toward her with a shaky hand, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

she looked down at the deep red flowers, then back into his green eyes. the eyes that were so familiar, eyes that took in every part of her being and imprinted into his brain. but the petals resembled the blood pooled between his teeth only a few months ago, the way it dripped onto her new dress as she eased him out of the club that night.

her throat ran dry as she swallowed hard, her stomach lurching and threatening to spill all over her porch and harry’s beat up sambas. “what–what’re you doing here?” her voice barely a whisper, both broken and brimming with something he couldn't place. she had missed him—he could feel it—but the anger lingered, a smoldering ember just beneath the surface.

the bouquet continued to tremble in his hands. “i had to see you.” he murmured, voice shaking underneath his nerves. he couldn’t hold eye contact with her, something he had never struggled with before. “i couldn’t—i miss you, YN.”

she pressed her lips together, the sight of him here in front of her resembling that of whiplash. it’s been five months, how do you even respond to that? he dropped off the face of the earth after she left, and she understood that to an extent. she’s the one who left, she’s the one who blocked him after he would constantly reach out.

she called his mum on his birthday, needing to reach out in some form, needing to know how he was. she begged her not to tell him that she phoned, something anne kept away from her son with an ache in her heart. “why now?” she mustered out, the pressure behind her eyes almost to much to bear.

he blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

he had expected a door slammed in his face, anger, roses thrown onto the snowy pavement. but this—a fragile, weary version of her—felt like a wound laid bare. the question hovered in the air, unanswered. he wasn't sure if he had the words to explain.

"i know i hurt you.” his voice cracked, breaking under the weight of his guilt. he hated himself for it—for leaving her, for drowning in his own mess, for not being stronger. "i thought maybe if i went away, if i fixed myself, i could come back."

"come back?” her laugh was bitter, sharp. "you think this is something you can just come back to, like nothing happened?" she shook her head, taking a step back, as if his presence was suffocating her. "you don't get it, do you? i spent my days worrying if you were okay, if i were going to find you dead on the floor next to a bag of coke. and now you just show up?"

harry flinched at her words, at the coldness in her tone, though he couldn't blame her. he had done this. he had broken this.

“i messed up," he said, his voice thick with desperation. "i know i should've done more. i should've been better f’you, but i wasn't. i’m trying now. i’ve been trying every day, YN."

she stared at him, her eyes glossed with unshed tears, but her expression was hard, unreadable.

she wasn't going to make this easy for him, and he knew it. she shouldn't. "trying?" she repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. "you’re trying now? after everything? after the lies, the broken promises? after you begged me to stay, told me you'd quit, and then i found that–” her voice broke, "–that bag? that was it for me, harry. that was it.”

harry opened his mouth to speak, but YN’s soft, wavering sniffle filled the space between them. her pretty eyes fell shut, and she muttered, “you should go.” the words barely made it past her lips before she closed the door, shutting him out in one quiet, final motion. no glance back.

for a moment, he just stood there, arm hanging loosely at his side, the roses brushing against his knee. his shoulders sagged as the reality settled—he had expected this, even told himself it was inevitable. but still, some desperate part of him had clung to hope.

with a sigh that cut deep, he turned, trudging down the narrow stairwell outside her flat. his heart felt like dead weight in his chest, and each step echoed softly, swallowed by the damp, early evening air. at the last step, he sat, letting his jeans absorb the chill from the wet concrete. he laid the flowers beside him, petals dark against the fading light, and clasped his hands in front of him, jaw tight as he fought the burning in his eyes.

harry couldn’t bring himself to go back to his house. he knew what waited for him there: bits and pieces of her, scattered reminders he couldn’t bear to see right now. a sweater still draped over his armchair. little notes she’d left him during the tour, folded scraps of her handwriting. even the faint smell of her perfume clinging to the blankets. no, he couldn’t face that.

he tilted his head back, gazing into the overcast sky. gray clouds swirled above, blurring the line between evening and night. he sniffled, noticing a modest inn just down the street, its sign hanging askew, light dimly flickering. it wasn’t much—a little rundown, with the look of a place that had seen better days. perfectly unremarkable. and right now, all he needed was a bed.

inside the hotel room, he dropped his backpack onto the chair and stood there, staring at the neatly made bed, the cheap, plush white blankets tucked in tight. the silence pressed in on him, too thick and heavy. without much thought, he shrugged off his jacket, toed off his shoes, and sank into the mattress, the springs squeaking under his weight. sleep embraced him like a reluctant lover, drifting in after nearly an hour of restless thoughts. but it didn’t stay. he awoke after just four hours, staring up at the ceiling as moonlight spilled in through the thin curtains, casting faint shadows across the room.

he groaned, reaching under his pillow for his phone, squinting as the screen lit up his face. only the usual notifications—nothing out of the ordinary, but still, he’d hoped. he didn’t know why. YN had been clear. she’d left no room for misinterpretation.

his fingers hesitated, then he opened her contact anyway. the photo still there—the one he’d taken on the tour bus last summer. a blurred shot from above, a silly close-up she’d protested, but they’d both laughed at it, something shared just between the two of them.

he typed the words, fingers slow, deliberate.

i love you.

his heart twisted as he pressed send, watching the message linger for a second before the familiar rejection—not delivered.

still blocked. still gone.

harry let his phone fall onto the mattress, dragging a hand over his face, groaning into the empty room. his chest tightened with frustration, desperation edging close to something frantic. he didn’t want to seem like he was clinging, but this couldn’t be the end, could it?

would it be futile to try again? sure. definitely in vain. he just wanted to give it one more try.

he sat up, slipping his sambas back on, the leather scuffed and worn from tour, loose enough he didn’t bother with the laces. he left the jacket where it lay, grabbed his wallet, and in a few determined strides, pushed himself through the door into the night, unwilling to let go just yet.

the cold bit at harry’s skin the moment he stepped outside, the wind cutting through his thin sweater as he walked down the dimly lit street. he barely noticed the sting. his breath puffed in front of him in small clouds, quickly dissolving into the frosty air. snow had begun to fall again, light flakes swirling under the streetlamps, but he didn’t slow down. each step was deliberate, his sneakers scuffing against the half-melted snow on the pavement, but his mind raced with a dozen unfinished thoughts. he hadn’t even grabbed his coat. he hadn’t thought it through.

he just needed to be close to her again.

the city was quiet, the usual rush dulled by the late hour and the snowfall blanketing everything in a soft silence. as he turned the corner toward her flat, his heart picked up speed, thudding painfully in his chest. her building was just down the road, its familiar outline coming into view. every step toward it felt heavier, each one laced with the weight of the unsaid things between them.

when he reached her street, he stopped for a moment, breath clouding the air in front of him as he tried to steady himself. his eyes scanned the row of cars parked along the curb, and there it was—her car, parked in the same spot it always was, snow gathering over the windshield, the roof, coating it like a layer of frost. the sight of it hit him harder than he expected. It was the last tether to her, something still close, something that made her feel real, just beyond that door.

but he didn’t go to her flat. he didn’t knock on her door. his feet carried him to her car instead, the snow crunching softly under his shoes as he approached. harry paused, standing before the vehicle, his breath hitching in his throat. his fingers hovered at his sides, the air biting into the exposed skin, but he didn’t care. the snow covering the windshield was smooth, untouched, and he stalled for a moment, the night wrapping around him like a blanket of quiet.

this was weird. he knew it was. but he couldn’t stop himself.

slowly, almost hesitantly, harry reached out, his fingertips brushing against the icy layer of snow on the glass. it was cold, stinging his skin as he dragged his fingers across the surface, but he kept going, his touch leaving a thin, delicate trail through the frost. he could feel the slight resistance as he wrote, each stroke of his finger deliberate, like the weight of his feelings pressed into every curve of the letters.

we should talk

the words were simple, almost too simple for everything he wanted to say, but they were enough. enough for a desperate message left on a windshield, at least—all he could offer now, standing out against the stark whiteness of the snow like a whisper in the dark. his hand lingered for a moment, fingers resting against the cold glass as if he could reach through the car, through the frost, and touch her somehow.

he stepped back, breath shaky, eyes fixed on the message he had left behind. the snow continued to fall, light and steady, the flakes already beginning to gather in the grooves of his writing, slowly erasing it even as he stood there. his hands dropped to his sides, curling into fists, and he closed his eyes for a long moment, the cold finally seeping into his bones. he felt exposed out here, vulnerable, like every part of him was on display in the silence of the night.

he also felt like he was doing something illegal.

but still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. he looked up at her flat, the windows dark and still, like nothing inside had changed. for all he knew, she was asleep, completely unaware that he was standing here, just feet away. or maybe she wasn’t. maybe she was lying awake, thinking about him too, wondering what could possibly come next after everything they had been through.

the snowflakes clung to his hair, his clothes, but he didn’t move. he stood there, staring at the message on her windshield, his heart caught between hope and fear.

the words seemed to echo in the quiet, fragile and fleeting, like the snow itself. he didn’t know if she’d see them, or if the snow would bury them by morning, but for now, it was all he had left to say. he turned to walk away, his heart heavy but his resolve set. it was up to her now.

inside her flat, YN lay in bed, the dim glow of her phone the only light cutting through the darkness. she had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, trying to force herself to sleep, but her mind kept circling back to him—harry. the knock at her door earlier had left her rattled, emotions stirring like a storm inside her. she’d shut him out, forced the door between them because it was the only way she knew how to protect herself. but it hadn’t stopped the ache in her chest.

the soft chime of her phone interrupted the silence, a faint buzz. she frowned, lifting it off the pillow beside her. the notification made her heart stutter.

ring doorbell: movement detected.

her stomach dropped. for a moment, she just stared at the screen, unsure of whether to open the app, her fingers hesitating. maybe it was just a stray cat, or the wind shaking the snow loose from the trees. but deep down, she knew. she knew who it would be.

with trembling hands, she tapped the screen, and there he was—harry. standing in the cold by her car, his figure a shadowy outline under the soft glow of the streetlamp. his hands were stuffed into his pockets, his head bowed slightly, his breath visible in the cold air. she watched, her heart pounding in her chest as he lifted a finger to the snow-covered windshield, slowly writing something in the frost. the words began to take shape, and she felt her throat tighten, her pulse quickening.

we should talk.

her heart constricted, emotions warring inside her. he hadn’t disappeared. even after she’d shut the door in his face, he was still here. the sight of him standing there, exposed to the biting cold without even a coat, tugged at something deep inside her—something she had tried to bury the night she walked away.

she swallowed hard, sitting up in bed, her fingers hovering over the phone for a moment longer. she could ignore it, let the snow cover the words he’d written and pretend none of this was happening—a biased fate. but she couldn’t shake the image of him standing there, shoulders slumped, his vulnerability written in the frost as clearly as the message itself.

with a sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and pulled on a hoodie, her mind racing. what was she even going to say to him? she was angry, she was hurt, but she also couldn’t deny the pull he still had on her. the years of love and heartache had tangled them together in a way that was impossible to untangle in one night. and now, he was standing outside her flat, waiting in the cold.

YN slipped on her shoes and grabbed her phone, her heart pounding harder with each step as she made her way to the front door. her fingers shook as she unlocked it, pulling the door open just enough to peek outside, the cold air rushing in.

there he was, standing by her car, his back to her, staring down at the message he had written, threatening to step away. his breath puffed in front of him, his head hung low as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. the sight of him, so lost and alone, tugged at her heartstrings in a way that made her chest ache.

“harry,” she called softly, her voice carrying through the quiet night.

he turned slowly, his face pale in the moonlight, eyes wide with surprise. for a second, he just stared at her, as if unsure if she was real or some apparition conjured up by his restless mind.

maybe he got frostbite and this is the last thing he’d see before decaying into the snow, he thought.

but then his expression softened, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, though the tension in his eyes remained.

she stepped out onto the snowy path, the cold biting at her skin as she approached him. “what are you doing here?” her voice was steadier than she felt, but the cracks in her resolve showed through.

“i–” he faltered, glancing down at the words on the windshield, then back up at her. “i’m sorry. i’m not stalker. i just–” he paused, sighing exasperatedly. “m’blocked and had to try.”

her breath caught in her throat, the rawness in his voice unraveling her. she looked down at the words he’d written in the snow, her heart twisting painfully at the sight of them. he was trying, she knew that. but it didn’t make it any easier. her chest tightened, memories of him crashing over her in waves—good ones, bad ones, all tangled together in a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite sorted through. she opened her mouth to speak, but the words jumbled in her mouth, only letting out a delicate, fleeting stutter. she wanted to stay strong, to protect herself, but looking at him now, standing in the freezing night without so much as a coat, the walls she’d built began to crack. “you don’t even have a coat,” she whispered, her voice softer now, laced with concern.

he looked down at himself, almost sheepish, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “i didn’t really think.”

her heart ached at the sight of him, so lost, so vulnerable. for all the hurt, for all the walls she’d tried to put up, a part of her still missed him—missed this. missed the sound of his voice, the way he always found his way back to her, even when things seemed broken beyond repair.

before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “come inside.”

harry blinked, surprised, and for a moment he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. YN stepped aside, opening the door wider, the warmth from inside spilling out into the cold. “you’re freezing, and we need to talk,” she said, more firmly this time, gesturing to her snowy windshield he wrote upon.

he hesitated for a beat, then nodded, shuffling forward. she watched as he walked past her, his footsteps slow and unsure, like he was afraid the invitation might disappear if he moved too quickly. once he was inside, she closed the door behind them, the soft click of the lock somehow louder in the quiet that followed.

the contrast between the freezing air outside and the muted heat inside hit him all at once, his body tensing, unsure if he should relax. the space felt familiar, yet foreign—like stepping into a memory that had shifted in his absence. the soft hum of the radiator, the faint scent of her lavender diffuser, the quiet—all of it made his chest tighten.

he stood by the door, unsure of what to do with himself. his hands hovered at his sides before he stuffed them into his pockets, glancing around.

the apartment was exactly as he remembered, yet somehow smaller, more intimate. her big winter coat was draped over a chair, a half-finished cup of tea sat on the coffee table, and a pile of books lay stacked by the corner of the couch. there were still traces of their life together—small things, like the framed picture on the shelf they made together on a whim—glued seashells and colorful iridescent beads. the frame was still there, but the photo had been replaced, its new image hidden behind a layer of dust. he didn’t know what it was, all he knew is that he didn’t see the familiar photo of them at his mum’s house during christmas.

he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was erased, like a ghost she had swept away in her effort to move forward.

his throat tightened as he took in the subtle changes, the pieces of her life that had moved on without him.

she hadn't moved far from the door, standing with her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes flicking between him and the room, as if she, too, was seeing the space differently now that he was in it again. her silence isn't cold, but it wasn't inviting either. It was careful.

“you can sit." she murmured, nodding toward the couch, her voice steady but distant. "if you want."

harry hesitated, then nodded, slowly making his way to the couch. he moved carefully, as though the wrong movement might shatter the fragile understanding between them. he sat down, feeling the familiar creak of the old cushions beneath him. the last time he'd been here, he hadn't thought twice about dropping onto this couch, sprawled out with her beside him, both of them laughing at something ridiculous. now, every inch of space between them felt heavy.

she moved to the armchair across from him, settling into it with her legs tucked underneath her, but still keeping a distance. she watched him, her gaze cautious, as though waiting for him to explain himself. to fill the silence.

harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came at first. his mind was a blur, his heart pounding louder than the words he wanted to say.

he looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since he walked in. she seemed different, but not in a way he could pinpoint. her hair seemed softer, her glasses discarded, left upstairs on the nightstand. she had a new freckle he didn’t notice till now, and it immediately fell into the category of his favorite parts about her. “i don't even know where to start," he finally admitted, his voice low, breaking the stillness.

she didn't respond right away, just looked at him, her expression unreadable. "then why are you here?" she asked softly, her tone not accusing, but raw, like she was trying to understand. "you disappeared and now you’re back with no words.”

his breath caught, and he shook his head quickly, trying to explain. "no, i didn’t–” he paused, sighing, running a hand through his hair. "i didn't just leave like that. you left me, YN. that night, you walked out and–”

"–of course I did," she cut him off, her voice rising slightly. "you didn't give me a choice. i couldn’t recognize you. you relied on blow, harry. it wasn’t just for fun.”

harry flinched at the words, guilt settling like a heavy stone in his chest. he’d seen it happening, but at the time, he couldn't pull himself out of the spiral. "i know i fucked up. but leaving me? blocking me?—" his voice caught, raw emotion surfacing as he gestured helplessly. "y’just just cut me off. i had my slip ups, and i regret it immensely, y’didn’t deserve that. y’promised one more chance, and that i did. you found an old bag and didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.”

her face hardened, her arms tightening around herself as she shook her head. "i couldn't watch you destroy yourself anymore. that bag wasn't just an accident, h. it was a reminder of everything i’d been fighting to save you from. and you��you didn't see it. all you saw was me leaving, that’s it.”

his heart ached at the truth in her words, the weight of his failures crashing down on him. he ran a hand down his face, pinching his bottom lip, frustration and pain coursing through him. "i cared. god, i cared. but i didn't know how to pull myself out of it. i didn't know how t’fix what i was breaking. ‘nd then you were gone, and i didn't know how to–how t’do it without you."

the silence that followed was heavy, both of them sitting there, lost in the mess of emotions that had been left behind. YN looked away, her jaw clenched, her eyes misting over as she stared at the floor. the tension in the room was suffocating, the distance between them widening, and harry felt himself slipping, like everything he had come here to say was unraveling before he even had the chance.

"i didn't want to hurt you," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "i never wanted to be that person. i’m trying to be better, YN. i’m getting help. i’ve been sober since halloween. m’not perfect, but i’m getting better.”

her gaze flicked back to him, her expression softening just slightly, the anger fading into something quieter, something sadder. "you should have told me," she whispered. "i was supposed to be your person, harry. you shut me out, and I had to pick up your pieces on my own."

he swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. "i know. and i’m so sorry. for everything. i’m here now because i don't want to lose you. not again."

she didn't respond right away, her eyes searching his face, as if looking for the man she had once loved—the man she wasn't sure still existed. but something in the way she looked at him, the way her guard wavered, told him that part of her still wanted to believe him. still wanted to believe in them. "you’re asking me to trust you again," she said finally, her voice small, barely above a whisper. “i don't know if i can."

“m’not asking for your trust.” his lip quivered, shaking his head as he slipped from the couch onto the carpet. he crawled over to her, sitting on his heels as he hesitantly raised his large, cold hands to her knees.

it felt like a shock, his touch in general and the temperature of his hands. his eyes burrowed into hers, as if silently gauging on whether he was crossing a line.

“i love you. even if y’never want to be my love again. i just want back in. i want to know you’re okay. i want to be able to send you a good morning text, or if you’d like to come to the studio like y’use to.” his voice almost sounded like that of a whimper, a stray tear falling from bloodshot eyes. “i can’t live without even a semblance of you in my life.”

she let out a choked sob, quickly wiping her fallen tears with the back of her hand. “don’t say that, harry.”

he ducked his head, leaning in to catch her averted gaze again. he rubbed small circles into her kneecap with his thumb, his voice cracking. “i don’t mean it a horrible way. yes, i can live.” he sadly chuckled, trying to backtrack how pathetic he must’ve sounded. “it just won’t feel like a life without you in it.”

her hand was hesitant, painfully hesitant as she stretched it out toward harry’s, softly lying it over his. she stared down at his hands, his skin warming just being against her, though his medal rings were still cool to the touch. she traced the veins with a shaky breath, shifting her eyes up his arm, past his shoulder, and finally onto his face. his cheeks were red, glistening in the warm glow of the lamp from his tears. his lips were swollen, hair disheveled and a bit damp from the melted snowflakes. “i want you in my life, too.”

his gaze was unwavering, all he could do was squeeze her knee gently, urging her to continue.

“slowly. friends, just friends. and we can see what happens from there.”

it felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders, a weight that only got heavier after five months.

he wanted to kiss her, tell her how in love with her he was. he wanted to hold her until the sun rose, he wanted to put their stupid christmas photo back into their diy picture frame. he wanted to kiss the ground she walked on and follow her around like a lost puppy. he wanted her to be his again.

but friends? it’s a start. it’s something he could live with. even if all she remained was his friend, he would still thank his lucky starts for her decision to come back.

he couldn’t control his tears at that point, moving his hands from her knees to loop his arms around in a makeshift hug around her legs.

it reminded him of the time he had begged her to stay.

but this time he wasn’t begging, he was thankful.

he nestled his head between her thighs as his shoulders shook from his sobs. she combed her fingers through his hair, softly shushing him and reminding him it’ll be okay.

her pink silk pajama bottoms dampened from his sorrow, a messy mixture of his tears, snot and saliva staining the fabric as he let out his loud whimpers, but she didn’t mind. her fingers fell from his curls onto his back, tracing soft circles into the trembling muscles.

his raw, unguarded grief tore her heart in two, each shuddering sob a reminder of the man she loved, a man who was struggling to rise from the ruin he’d left in his wake. and in the quiet of the room, as his sobs filled the space, she realized his tears, painful as they were—were stitching back together the shredded pieces of her heart.

he’s healing. he’s sober. he’s alive.

and that was enough.

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles sad #harry styles ex #harry styles drugs

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matchamiko · 9 months ago

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₊˚⊹ ᰔ Daydreams about Yuuji

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: Oral (m -> receiving): sloppy, messy oral; masturbation: dirty talk; AFAB reader (use of girl, girlfriend,); established new relationship; mentions of oral (f -> receiving).

Daydreaming about giving Yuuji his first blowjob. Being his cute, soft, bundle-of-fun girlfriend for a few months before asking him if he wants to fuck your mouth, a little crudely in your tone but quietly, a whisper from your quivering lips. Quivering only in anticipation and the mere thought of him spread out, spilling down your throat. You’re painting your nails on a book on the floor, polish bottles positioned carefully so they don’t tip. A glass of iced yuzu tea sits next to Yuuji’s on the side table, forgotten in your concentration and forgotten in your distraction.

Your nails are long dry now, a pretty pearl that glimmers in the light. They’re fisted on your folded thighs, clenching and cracking when Yuuji shifts uncomfortably under the heat of your gaze.

“You wanna - what?” Golden thighs fog any semblance of sobriety you have left, craving the warm supple skin before you like a wolf to prey. He’s reclined on the foldaway couch he’d thrifted from the side of the road, gym shorts pulled tight over the very tops of his thighs and over his crotch. Staring down at you with sweat beading his hairline and his lower lip dropped open at your sultry admission,

“Please? Should I have said please first?” You shuffle towards him, not touching but so desperately obvious in your lust that Yuuji struggles on where to look, “please can I suck your cock? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

You two hadn’t had sex yet, not that it hadn’t come close. Something had always interrupted, whether it was a noisy neighbour or an irritating friend or mentor, or even the cat that roams your apartment as if it was his own. Kissing him was a dream, touching him made you too hot for your own skin and only he had made you come so far, fingers deep and a little clumsy but deft and strong in their wringing of your orgasm(s) on steamy summer’s afternoons tangled up on the couch.

So asking him for favours wasn’t really out of the question. Yuuji adored it when you politely asked for a kiss, positively beams at you before swallowing your radiating embarrassment with his lips. He’s not beaming now, not in the same way.

He’s - sweating. Squirming as he nods with a dry throat, swallowing and grinding his mouth shut. You’re picture perfect between his thighs, pearly nails digging welts into his muscle and humming at the give of the blonde hairs there. He’s afraid of what might happen if he opens his mouth, some kind of animalistic whimper or a loud sob? He feels rather pathetic before you, but gloriously so, bent to your will and your pretty painted nails.

“Bet you taste so good Yuuji,” you simper, lips picking out the moles and freckles leading up to his groin, “might give me some kinda oral fixation,”

Yuuji moans then, out-loud and deep from his chest. You grin wolfishly, fingers deft as they slip over the sweat resistant material of his shorts and up under his t-shirt. It’s tight, a little musty from drying in the bathroom and it gives way for the trail over his belly,

“Hold this f’me Yuuji,” broad hands hover over the edge of his shirt and then over you, biting his lip and then biting the fabric, “Mhm, thank you for letting me do this, been wanting to taste your cock for ages,”

“Yea-sh,” his voice is crackled and muffled by his shirt, spittle damping it but you’re pulling down the band of his shorts and suddenly it’s a little too real, hands raising to pause you, “Baby wait - I -,”

Anything he was going to say dies in a guttural grunt as you envelope the top of his weepy cock in your mouth. Hands that were intended to push you away grab you closer, cradling your throat and squeezing your shoulder.

“Mmmm,” you hum, one hand squeezing the base and the other squeezing his thigh, eyes rolling into the back of your head with the salty, bitter taste of him. Little sucks and kisses have Yuuji barely containing his groans and choked whines, hips flexing beneath you. The shirt has fallen to just below his pecs, belly tightening and flexing with every kick of his cock against your soft palate, but you don’t mind because he’s still trying to keep it out of your sloppy, drooly way, fisting the fabric and giving you a peak of a soft brown nipple, hard and aching.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please please please,” he babbles, the hand on your neck moving to the back of your head, shaking as he follows your bobbing movements. His dick is thick, long and warm in the cavern of your mouth, the mushroom tip pink and slimy with pre, and you swallow every drop a little over enthusiastically. Humming and moaning and whimpering, you’re practically dripping through your underwear, positive you’ve wet through to the carpet.

And when you breathe in through your nose and take him as far as you can, the tip of your nose just shy of his pubes; the two of you practically lose your minds. Yuuji trembles above you, hunched over and incoherent; and you shimmy your thighs together in a squeeze of relief, drool coating the base of his cock and tears skimming your lashes.

“Y-you’re so hot baby look at ya’,” he can see the way you’re wiggling your hips, craning over you with sleepy eyes and heavy pants, “why - why don’t you play with your pretty pussy? Seein’ as you’re practically milking me dry,” Yuuji’s words come out slurred and muffled, as if his mouth were socked with cotton. A large hand comes down on the back of your neck, sweetly holding you and a stark contrast to the way his cock jerks in the tunnel of your throat as you deftly skim your fingers into your shorts.

The angle is all wrong and you can barely feel the hard bud of your clit but you can feel the pearly arousal that sloshes around your underwear, loud but not loud enough over the slurps and kisses over his cock. You make it work, squirming and widening your knees a little but it still isn’t really enough, not that it mattered because he’s enough, Yuuji is always enough to get you off whether he’s touching you or not. And the heavy head of his cock popping from the seal of your lips is just that right kind of salacious that has your mind fuzzy and dizzy with lust.

“Ah - fuck!” Yuuji chokes on his spit, throwing himself back against the folded futon that serves as the padding of the couch, one arm slumped over his eyes as you focus your attention on the root of his cock, looking up at him through your lashes and fluttering them when your index finger catches on your clit. His breathing comes out in heaving huffs, chest expanding gloriously above you and abs flexing with every clench of his belly. It’s heaven to you, a vision you always knew would be one to keep locked away in the deepest caverns of your mind, something precious and treasured and so disgustingly debauched. You slow your ministrations for a moment, content with just watching the reactions your boyfriend has when you twist your hand, squeeze a little harder, suckle at the vein on the side of his dick. Yuuji seems to appreciate the little break, catching his breath and adjusting his hips, jutting his length into your cheek and it’s amusing that such a kind boy doesn’t even apologise for it.

“D’you want me to make you cum? Or - do you wanna fuck my mouth?” a long, drawn out groan answers you and you return it with a long lick right up the thickening root of him,

“I - get to choose?” Yuuji’s voice is hoarse, cracked and strained from his addictive noises, deep with lust and something a little darker, “Really?”

At your nod, you delve back into the leaking warmth of him. Yuuji gives a strangled grunt and gives his hips a little experimental thrust, pulsing upwards into the deeper depths of your throat. He seems torn between letting you do as you pleased, and giving in to his most debauched fantasies. He’d been given oral before, blowies or whatever his friends called them but they were nothing like you, none of them paid attention to his every reaction and noise, none of them gave him any choice or option on what he wanted to do. So to have you licking him deep and soft and all things sweet, eyes open and questioning with little bias; he’s all a fluster.

“You - you can do it, I want you to make me cum baby,” the words were supposed to be gentle, coaxing, all the things Yuuji wished he was to you but his jaw is set and his voice is more of a growl, especially when he spots your tongue lathing over the base, leaving a trail and a string of drool. He tips his head back, bottom lip tugged into his mouth and his thighs drop open further,

“But make sure you don’t stop playing with that pretty pussy, want you to feel just as good as me,” a whimper answers him and Yuuji isn’t sure if he’ll actually last as long as he thought he would, as he conveyed through his words. And he definitely isn’t sure because you abandon his cock in favour of his balls for a moment, and he’s suddenly all tight in his belly. You’re still squeezing and jerking and flexing your fingers around him, but your wet little tongue is skimming over the soft skin of his sac and drawing them into your mouth with the most wanton moan he think he’s ever heard. You’re visibly more aroused than before, wrist working diligently in your underwear, stretched tight and a much darker colour than earlier, but Yuuji can’t focus on your pleasure right now, for once, for the first time in your relationship. All he can think about is himself and how good it feels to have his pretty girl absolutely worshipping his cock, and he doesn’t care that you’re getting sloppy in your clouded lust; you’re back to sucking him feverently and whining around the thick of him.

“Gonna - baby you’re gonna make me c -,” His admission has you shuffling even closer, abandoning your poor, suffering cunt and slapping a gooey, sticky hand on his thigh to brace yourself.

And it's the wet little smear you leave behind, webbing between your fingers and joining the pre dripping down his cock as you hold him with both hands that has him positively howling your name. Hips pulse into your face, forcing his cock deeper as it swells down your throat and shoots hot, wet and salty into your belly. A hand comes down to his hip, the other fisting the shirt over his chest and catching on his nipple with a startled yelp. You’re strong in your restraint, letting him thrash and writhe beneath you, keeping yourself rooted in his lap and swallowing everything you can, shivering at the taste and the feeling of his cock kicking and twitching with every pulse of his orgasm.

“I gotta - you gotta get off baby,” you don’t realise that he’s come down, don’t realise that he’s still twitching but with overstimulation and softening against the limp muscle of your tongue, “I can’t, I can’t do another yet, m’sorry but -,” Yuuji, through the jelly-like jitter of his limbs, heaves you off the floor and into his lap with a grunt, “That was the best head anyone’s ever given me,”

You’re shy all of a sudden, as if you’re not still swallowing the remains of his spend and sporting the slickest arousal you’ve ever experienced. Yuuji kisses your nose with an appreciative smile,

“Really? I just wanted to do it y’know? You make me wanna suck your cock all the time, s’just something about you,” you tuck your chin into your chest, almost giving in to the little kisses he pecks all over your face, stopping at your temple and deflating with a sigh at your admission,

“You’re cute baby,” his cock twitches from where it’s nestled between his stomach and your cotton covered crotch, “But a meanie, I swear you’ll be the death of me, thought I was gonna black out at one point,”

“Yeah, yeah,” your fingers twist into the fine hairs at the back of his neck, sagging into him and kissing him with a deflated breath. Yuuji licks into your mouth lazily, hands squeezing up the length of your waist and back down again, urging your hips into a soft grind. You’re still sat up on your knees, so all you can feel is the syrupy chafe of your underwear over your cunt and you huff,

“S’okay pretty girl, I got you,” Yuuji smiles at your apparent distress, “You want me to return the favour huh? Let you fuck my mouth instead? That what you want?” his long, thick fingers trickle into your underwear, choking at the slick he finds there, slipping and sliding over the swell of your clit, “Fuck - you got so fuckin’ worked up, bet you won’t last long, not as long as me,”

“Just, I don’t know - Yuuji, please,” a little circle of your hips puts his fingers where you need them most, “Do something or I’m gonna cry,” he shushes you, kissing you again with a loud smack,

“I got you baby, gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, I promise,” Yuuji physically flinches when he pulls his hand from between your thighs, covered nearly to the wrist with your arousal and he inhales deep, dark, nostrils flaring at your scent. His tongue drops between his fingers, slurping up to the knuckles and down to the callouses on his palms, eyes fluttering and reopening to stare at you, “You taste insane - fuck - ‘m gonna eat you so fucking good, you’re not gonna know what hit you,”

#miko.writes #yuuji itadori smut #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #itadori yuuji #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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baronessvonglitter · 7 months ago

Text

Blue Hour

outlaw!Joel Miller x runaway hitchhiker!f!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: hitchhiking in the cruel Texas desert, you're picked up by a handsome stranger

WARNINGS: outlaw!Joel (not mentioned exactly what criminal activity he's involved in, but he does bear scars and looks as if he's been in a fight recently), also he's on the run, brief mentions of parental abuse and alcoholism, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (birth control is briefly discussed), soft!Joel (he's respectful of boundaries)

Author's Note: I had initially wanted to do a trucker story, but thought that the criminal element fit better here. I would absolutely love to see a trucker!Joel fic if it doesn't already exist. Please do tag me if it does! Also this is lightly edited but the love is there..

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're both running from something; that's how you find each other.

On a lonely stretch of highway in West Texas, Joel Miller picks you up on the side of the road, his mindset one of penance. If he does a good thing by saving someone maybe he can save himself. You're just glad to get away, as far away as possible from a mom who drank all the time, berated you, beat you, and was only at her most peaceful when she was passed out cold.

It's a danger in and of itself to get into Joel's truck, and a danger to come into his motel room, but to you, any other place is safer than where you grew up. The little roadside motel is brightly lit, welcoming, the sign neon against the cerulean summer evening sky.

By the fluorescent glow of the cheap TV screen with its staticky channels you exchange your stories. Joel doesn't tell you much apart from the fact that he's headed to New Mexico, and the scar on his nose, the way he's healing from a black eye you surmise is probably from a couple weeks ago. He carries a gun and his wallet is thick with cash. You can tell he's bad news but you don't care. You're just happy to have a roof over your head for the night and a plan of some sort of future taking shape in your mind.

With only one bed he offers to take the floor, but you insist it's fine to share. He's been a gentleman so far, despite the obvious flirtatious vibes you've been giving. It's impossible to keep to yourself as you both settle down to sleep. Your new life started the day you walked away from your home. You're a different person in this bed, laying on a cheap mattress with a handsome stranger. And, though you've never gone much farther than kissing, the newness of desire tugs at you from deep within.

"Joel.." his back is turned to you and he barely catches you calling for him. You press your hands to his back, which immediately gets his attention. He looks at you with slight confusion, as if he'd forgotten you were there, and when he sees the meaningful look in your eyes he knows what it is you want, and you don't stop him when he pulls you close.

Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand roaming over your waist and hip, caressing and claiming you with a hungry and desperate fervor. You moan softly, your tongues dancing against each other, and you melt under the sweet shared pleasure. Your fingers slip beneath his shirt, feeling the broad smooth expanse of his back.

His senses are afire as your fingers trace along his bare skin, and his own hands continue to wander, skimming along your sides, gently caressing the curve of your hip. He pulls back just enough to take a breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

"I like the way you taste," you tell him, your confession soft and simple in the twilight glow of the room, your words caressing his lips. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah? And how do I taste, darlin'?" There's an edge of a growl to his words, his fingers stroking softly along your cheek, a fusion of longing and restraint etched into his expression.

"Like cinnamon, and whiskey," you whisper. "You taste like pleasure.."

He pulls you closer, nudging his nose against yours as a low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. "You taste like sunshine and sweetness, sugar.." He dips his head back down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing your moans. Every sound, every gasp you make, fuels the fire burning within him, igniting an intoxicating blend of desire and hunger.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand slides down your back, trailing fire along your skin as he moves lower, gently cupping your ass and pulling you against the heated length of his body. You gasp at the intimate touch. The way he presses you to his hardness awakens and excites something in you. "Joel!" you gasp.

The sound of his name, breathed out so sweetly from your lips, sends a shiver down his spine. "That's it. darlin'.. say my name.."

You whimper at the sweet friction as he continues to deliberately press you to his hardened arousal, kneading your cheeks. "Joel.." you say obediently, whispered in innocent pleasure.

He groans softly. "That's my good girl.." He presses you against him once more, allowing you to feel the full extent of his arousal, the heat and weight of it grinding against your core. Desire floods your veins and you slowly undulate your hips, finding little comfort in merely rubbing against him. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, darlin'," his voice is husky and raw with need.

"I want you.. please don't make me wait.." you tell him.

"Yeah? You want me.. like this? Is this how you want me to fuck you?" Joel's voice drips with primal need as he grinds against you, feeling the heat and wetness, his own arousal painfully hard at this point.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. "I can't think about anything else right now. Just you.. with me."

"Darlin', I can't hold back anymore.." he warns, but he takes time to ask about birth control, and you assure him you are covered.

You reach up to kiss him, before breaking apart a moment to take off your top and help him remove his own. The feel of his warm flesh against yours is heavenly. He bears scars and old wounds upon his flesh, evidence of a life lived in danger. But right now you only think about how warm he feels, how strong he is. "I just want to feel your skin against mine for a little bit.."

Joel's touch is almost reverent as his large, calloused hands roam your bare skin, learning the contours of your soft supple flesh, cupping each breast. "My sweet girl.." he whispers in awe.

Likewise, you trace every little scar, thinking on how each of those fights, those deadly interactions, brought him one step closer to you. "I need you," he whispers, feeling more alive, brand new under the heat of your palms on his chest. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and his eyes quickly flick to yours, seeking permission. "Is this all right?" You nod eagerly, "Lift up your hips for me," comes his quiet command, and he gently tugs at the elastic, slowly pulling your panties down your thighs. He sees you laid bare before him, your inner thighs moist with desire, the curls on your mound dewy with want. "God damn.. you're so beautiful.. I wanna taste you.." he groans, pressing a heated kiss against the sensitive skin just beneath your hipbone.

You sigh at his kiss, his beard pleasantly scratching your skin. "Yes.. please.."

Joel's tongue flicks out to taste the heated flesh between your thighs, groaning softly at the flavor of you on his tongue before he begins to lick through your slick, puffy folds. He smiles as you gasp, your eyes wide and mouth parted in an O. "Joel!" you moan, panting as his tongue explores you. When he said he wanted to taste you, you assumed he meant more kissing. You hadn't expected this, hadn't known this was possible. Your fingers fist in his hair as he continues. He groans against you, the sound vibrating deliciously against your cunt. "Taste so sweet,.. like heaven.. my sweet girl.." he whispers between long, languid licks, his arms wrapping around your trembling thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts. His tongue flicks and dances over your clit, swirling and teasing, wanting to learn every inch of you, what makes you scream and what makes you whimper, getting drunk on your taste like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

Your hips arch up to meet each lick, each worshiping swipe as his pace becomes more insistent, following the sound of your moans and sighs, feeling the shivering in your body, his tongue flicking and circling in a hungry rhythm, determined to bring you to the brink.

Your thighs start to quake but he expertly keeps them spread open, feasting on you. "God! Joel, I'm coming!" Pleasure uncoils from the very center of you, radiating outward, controlling every other sense and thought. His hands grip your shaking thighs, lapping up all your sweet nectar. "That's it, darlin', let go for me.. I got you.." he whispers. He gently eases you through your orgasm, tongue slowing, savoring every drop he can. "God damn, sweetheart.. you taste so damn good.. you doing okay?"

"Yes," you pant, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. "Oh, Joel," you moan, bringing him to you for a kiss and tasting your flavor on his lips and tongue. He rises, crawling up your body until his weight is draped over you, his arms caging you in as you kiss, sharing your taste with you. He gazes down at you, the way you trust him implicitly ignites a mix of feelings: a raging, possessive need, a deep sense of responsibility, and a swelling of unbridled affection and adoration. He lifts a hand to gently caress your cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns against your skin. You can see his heart and soul bared to you in that simple touch. Your skin is flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. You've never looked more beautiful.

Joel shifts his weight, pressing closer against you, the pressure of his hard length against your hip undeniable as your eyes meet. You take him gently into your hands, grasping and feeling him. He groans at the softness of your hands wrapping around his arousal, eyes glazing over with pleasure. "God.. I want you.. need to feel you around me, sweetheart.."

You sense now that you have the power. Slowly you run your hands over his rigid cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, wiping away a bead of moisture. "Is it going to fit?" you ask, feeling the heft of it, both length and girth.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest and his head bows down to bury his face against your neck. "It'll fit, sugar, I promise. Just take your time."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the ultimate thing that can bring you together, and will forever change what you mean to each other. "I'm ready for you.."

Joel's hands gently grip your thighs, guiding you to move and open further as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock resting against your entrance. His heart pounds as he looks down at you. "You sure, darlin'? I promise I'll go slow."

"I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, just tell me if you need me to stop. I don't wanna hurt you." He presses to you a little more, eager to fill you but waiting on your word.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

He pours all his love and need into the kiss, swallowing your gasp as he presses forward, his thick cockhead just barely breaching you, his groan joining with yours at the feel of your tight heat around him. You break the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders as he enters you, a little at a time. His fingers dig into your thighs, his expression a cross between pleasure and concern as he pauses, giving you a chance to adjust to him. "How is that, sweetheart? Am I hurtin' you at all?"

"Wait." You press your hands to his chest. "Wait a little bit," you pant, forcing yourself to relax around him in order to accommodate him.

Joel nods. "Take your time, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stills himself, using every inch of willpower in his possession, "Just breathe, darlin', you're doin' so good," he coos. "You feel so damn good... touch yourself, darlin'," he growls.

Your breath falters as you acquiesce, fingers flitting lightly over your distended clit, adding pressure, circling the cluster of nerve endings, making yourself wetter, letting him slide in a little bit more. Joel fights to maintain his control. "Fuck, you feel so good, so tight."

Despite his willingness to take it slow, your hormones are asking for something else. "Take what's yours," you whisper. "I want you to."

A deep groan rips loose from his chest at your words, the sound thick with need and desire, his control fraying at the thought of claiming you with a hard and deep thrust. "Take a deep breath, darlin'." He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, his grip reassuring. "I love you, my sweet girl, my sunshine.." He pulls out slightly, his body tensing as he prepares, and his eyes lock with yours as he thrusts forward, hard and deep. You cry out in surprise and pain, which is little more than a brief shock before you become acclimated, leaving you with a lingering dull throb.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay darlin', breathe for me. You did so good, you took me all, such a good girl," comes Joel's praise as he cups your cheek with one hand and stroking your belly, easing the pressure there from his length taking up room so deep inside you. When you inadvertently squeeze around him, stretching to fit him, it sends a shock of pleasure spiraling through him. "Damn.. if you keep squeezin' me like that I ain't gonna last long, darlin'," he warns. He takes a deep breath, slowly pulling out, savoring the drag of it, before slowly pushing back in, starting a gentle, deliberate rhythm. "You're perfect, sugar."

Soon the friction begins to cancel out the dull ache, more so with each thrust. "Feels good," you sigh.

Joel's eyes flutter closed, his rhythm remaining slow and gentle, the feel of you surrounding him, the feel of being buried inside your warmth as the most perfect sort of pleasure, his breath coming in short pants. "Sweetheart.. oh sweetheart.. oh god.. damn you feel so right, like you were made for me."

"You were right," you smile, "you do fit."

"Yeah darlin', I'm right where I'm meant to be, buried so deep inside my sweet girl." He keeps moving against you, spine tingling with delight as he feels you moving with him, naturally, your bodies in sync with one another. "Yes, just like that.. move with me, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in pleasure, heart swelling at his praise. "Joel.. give me more.."

He groans, his eyes darkening as his pace quickens, hips rolling forward with a little more determination, the sounds of your flesh slapping together filling the air. "Like this, sugar?"

"Yes! Fuck!" you groan, lightning filling your veins as you move quicker together. Your words shoot straight to his soul, heat pooling and coiling in his gut. "God, Joel, I'm so close!" you whimper. His breath comes in sharp pants as he drives you closer to the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, less controlled. "Me too, sugar. I'm right there with you.. wanna feel you come around me, wanna hear you say my name. Say it, darlin', come for me and say my name."

"God!!" Eyes scrunched tight you let go, coming hard as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering hard and fast. "Oh!! Joel!!" you scream. Joel's pushed over the edge, giving a few jerky thrusts before you feel him twitching and pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum, his thighs shaking from the force of his pleasure. "Oh, fuuuucckk," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, heart pounding wildly.

You feel his heart racing next to yours, almost as if beating with the same cadence, both of you trembling, spent, satisfied. He raises himself on his arms to look down at you. "You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? Especially when you're all breathless and flushed, still quakin' from comin' so hard."

Despite the breathtaking passion you'd just shared, you still blush. "Came hard thanks to you," you give him a soft kiss.

Joel grins, a cocky, proud smirk tugging at his lips, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He gently brushes back a strand of your hair. "How you feelin', sugar?"

"A little sore," you admit. "But I think, considering what we're working with, a little pressure was to be expected," you smirk, still feeling him inside you.

He chuckles, the sound of it making your heart thrum, as he slowly pulls out, knowing your still sensitive. "You took me like a goddamn champ, sweetheart."

You whimper at the loss of him, feeling his cum dribble out of you, and your eyes light up at his praise. "Really?"

"Really." He gazes down at you, his eyes a mixture of speculation and resourcefulness. "You wanna come with me to New Mexico, darlin'?"

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

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thedensworld · 11 days ago

Text

Thicker Than Blood | K. Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: Non-biological parents au!, angst

Summary: It was an impulsive decision to take the kid home, but who knows it will bloom the flower in your family

Warning: mention of child abuse, PTSD, abusive act.

You held your breath when you saw the bruises on her small body, a wave of unease settling heavily in your chest. Mingyu’s grip on your hand tightened, his jaw clenching as he glared at the sight before him. "How dare him!" The thought burned hot in his mind. The doctor’s sharp gaze shifted between the two of you, eyes filled with suspicion.

“We need an explanation before we proceed with the examination, Mr. Kim,” the doctor said firmly, his tone unwavering. His eyes lingered on the bruises that marred the child’s delicate skin. It was a sight that would send any parent into a frenzy of worry, but the doctor's eyes held doubt.

The nurse moved swiftly, taking little Jia’s hand and guiding her toward the play corner. The child followed obediently, her curious gaze flicking back to the two of you. Her innocence made the sight of those bruises even more painful.

Mingyu exhaled slowly, adjusting his posture in the chair. His fingers tapped against his knee in slow, deliberate motions. “It’s a complicated story,” he admitted, his voice low but steady.

Mingyu had received news that his mother’s youngest brother had passed away. The man had always been a thorn in the family’s side — loud, reckless, and perpetually jobless. He drank from morning till night, draining not only his wallet but also the patience of everyone around him. Even after their grandmother’s passing, he remained a source of endless frustration, often bothering Mingyu's mother with his demands. So, when the news of his death arrived, Mingyu had felt an unexpected sense of relief.

But that relief didn’t last.

When you and Mingyu arrived at the funeral house, the air was thick with incense and murmured prayers. Relatives filled the room, most of them offering shallow condolences for a man none of them seemed to truly grieve. Mingyu hadn’t expected anything more — until whispers reached his ears.

“Did you see her? She’s so young. Poor thing.”

“Didn’t even know he had a kid.”

“Where’s the mother? How could she just leave her like this?”

His gaze followed theirs until it landed on a little girl standing off to the side. Her clothes were slightly wrinkled, her hair tied up in a loose, messy ponytail. She was clutching a stuffed rabbit that looked like it had seen better days. Her wide, observant eyes darted around the room like she was looking for something — or someone.

“Is the mother here?” Mingyu had asked, turning to one of the older relatives.

The older woman clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Ran off ages ago. No one's seen her since.”

She was raised by your uncle alone — or so they said. But knowing the kind of man your uncle was, Mingyu found it hard to believe. A man who spent his days drowning in alcohol, stumbling through life with no sense of responsibility, hardly seemed like someone capable of raising a child. Even the way he died — struck by a car while drunkenly crossing the road — spoke volumes about the reckless life he led.

So, when Mingyu first heard about the girl, doubt immediately took root in his mind. Did he really raise her? Or was she just another person he neglected? The questions lingered in his head, heavy and unsettling.

But then he saw her with his own eyes.

Her clothes were tattered and clung to her like old rags. Dirt smudged her cheeks and arms, leaving faint streaks across her skin. Her hair was long — far too long — wild and unkempt, hanging in tangled strands down her back. She didn't look up when people spoke to her. She didn't reach out for comfort. She just stood there, silent and still, like a forgotten doll abandoned in the corner of a crowded room.

Mingyu’s heart twisted at the sight. How long had she been living like this?

"She smells like cigarettes," you whispered to Mingyu as Jia was seated near you. The faint but distinct scent lingered in the air, sharp and unsettling. Mingyu's eyes flickered toward the girl, his brows knitting together. He noticed it too.

Was my uncle really raising her alone?

The thought echoed in his mind, each repetition hitting harder than the last. Did he smoke around her too? His jaw tightened, anger simmering just beneath the surface. The image of a little girl surrounded by secondhand smoke while her father drank himself numb was enough to make his stomach churn.

Meanwhile, the room buzzed with low murmurs as the family discussed who would take care of Jia now. The adults sat in a loose circle, voices laced with uncertainty and half-hearted sympathy. The phrases were all too familiar — "It’s not the right time for us." "We’ve got too much on our plate already." "Maybe she could stay with someone else." Even Mingyu’s own mother was subtly searching for reasons to excuse herself from the responsibility.

No one said it outright, but it was clear. No one wanted her.

Mingyu leaned back against the wall, his eyes never leaving Jia. She sat next to you, her small hands playing with the hem of her oversized shirt. You had crouched beside her, your voice soft as you tried to draw her into conversation. She didn’t speak, but she responded with small gestures — a nod, a glance, a hesitant tug on your sleeve. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She’s not ignoring you, Mingyu thought. She’s just scared.

On the drive home, the air in the car was quiet, except for the soft hum of the engine. You stared out the window, your eyes distant, lost in thought. Then, after a moment, you spoke.

“When my parents passed away, I had to take care of myself,” you said, your voice calm but heavy with meaning.

Mingyu glanced at you, his eyes shifting from the road to your face. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was listening. He always listened when it mattered.

"I have older siblings," you continued, "but they had their own families to think about. So, at the end of the day, it was just me." Your gaze remained on the window, watching the world blur past.

"I had to keep going. Finish school. Work part-time jobs. Take care of the house." Your voice grew quieter, almost like you were speaking to yourself now.

Mingyu’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He knew you were strong, but hearing it laid out like this made him realize just how much you’d carried on your own.

You turned to him then, offering a small, tired smile. "But I was 18," you said, your eyes soft but firm. Then you glanced forward, gaze hardening. "Jia is only 5." Your voice dropped to a whisper, but the weight of those words filled the car like a thunderclap.

Silence followed. It wasn’t awkward or tense — it was the kind of silence that made room for realization.

Mingyu’s eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror. For a moment, his gaze was distant, locked on something only he could see. Then, without warning, he turned the wheel sharply, pulling into a U-turn on the empty street.

“Wait, what are you—?” you started, gripping the seat as the car shifted direction.

But Mingyu didn’t answer. His focus was sharp, his jaw set with quiet determination. His silence said more than words ever could.

He drove back to the funeral house, his hands steady on the wheel, his heart moving faster than his mind could catch up. When he arrived, he barely turned off the engine before stepping out. You watched him jog toward the house, his long strides urgent but purposeful.

Moments later, he returned — and in his arms was Jia.

She clung to him like she’d always belonged there, her small hands gripping his jacket as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Her wild hair brushed against his neck, and for once, she looked less like a forgotten child and more like someone being held.

Mingyu opened the car door and sat her in the back seat, buckling her in with careful, deliberate movements. When he finally slid back into the driver’s seat, he glanced at you. His eyes were calm but certain, like he’d already made up his mind long before you’d even spoken.

“Let’s take care of her,” he said, his voice steady, as if it were the most natural decision in the world.

The examination results were difficult to hear, though not entirely unexpected. Jia was malnourished, significantly shorter and underweight for a child her age. Her verbal communication was delayed, and the doctor suggested it might be the result of prolonged trauma. His words hung in the air like a heavy weight neither you nor Mingyu could shake off.

“You should consider seeing a child behaviorist,” the doctor recommended, glancing between the two of you. “It would help to better understand her psychological condition and ensure she gets the support she needs.”

Mingyu nodded, his expression unreadable but his grip on your hand was firm. You felt his resolve in that silent squeeze.

On the drive home, Jia sat quietly in the back seat. Her head leaned against the window, her eyes following the blur of passing buildings, cars, and trees. She didn’t speak, didn’t hum, didn’t ask questions the way most five-year-olds did. The only sound was the gentle hum of the engine.

You stopped by a supermarket on the way home to pick up essentials — clothes, children’s toiletries, snacks, and other necessities. It felt surreal, walking down the aisles and filling the cart with items meant for a child you’d only just met. You exchanged glances with Mingyu every now and then, wordlessly checking if you were doing this right. His eyes held the same unspoken question.

The two of you had only gotten married earlier this year. Conversations about children had always been distant, hypothetical musings — “If we have kids someday, maybe they’ll have your eyes.” Or, “When we have kids, we’ll have to childproof everything.” Idle thoughts that didn’t demand any real action. But now, it wasn’t a thought or a dream. It was reality.

You were raising a child. A five-year-old. A child who wasn’t biologically yours.

The weight of it settled on your shoulders as you loaded the shopping bags into the trunk. Mingyu’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes soft with quiet reassurance. He didn't say anything, but he didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

At home, the air felt still but not uncomfortable. While you unpacked the shopping bags, Mingyu moved to the kitchen to prepare a small meal for Jia, just in case she hadn’t eaten that day. You glanced toward the living room where she sat on the couch, her tiny feet barely touching the edge, her hands resting on her lap. She was looking down at her fingers, fidgeting with them like she was trying to keep herself busy.

You were about to call her for dinner when her voice — small, soft, and fragile like a thread on the verge of snapping — broke the quiet.

“My dad is dead?”

The words hit you like a sudden gust of cold wind, sharp and unyielding. Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, you didn’t move. Mingyu froze too, turning his head from the stove to watch you. His gaze was alert but gentle, like he was ready to step in if you needed him to.

Slowly, you walked over to Jia, crouching down in front of her until you were at her eye level. Her eyes met yours, wide and searching for something you weren’t sure you could give her. The weight of her question settled in the space between you.

“Yes,” you said softly, your voice as steady as you could make it. “Your dad is gone.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes blinking rapidly as if she was trying to hold back tears.

“But…” you continued, tilting your head toward Mingyu, “that man right there?” You pointed at him, and her gaze followed your finger. “He’s your dad now.”

Mingyu glanced at you, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. But then his expression softened, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. He turned off the stove and walked over, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before kneeling beside you.

“And me,” you said, tapping your chest with a gentle smile. “I’m your mom.”

Jia’s eyes flickered between the two of you, her fingers still fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Her lips parted just slightly as if to speak, but she hesitated. Then, after a long pause, she muttered, “Mom…” The word was so soft it was almost inaudible, but you heard it.

It was enough to make your chest ache.

You nodded, your eyes warm with quiet encouragement. You opened your arms slowly, offering her a hug, hoping she’d lean into it. “Come here, sweetheart,” you said softly.

But she didn’t move. She stayed still, her eyes watching you carefully, as if trying to figure out if it was safe. Her fingers kept twisting and untwisting the fabric of her shirt.

Your heart ached, but you nodded in understanding, lowering your arms slowly. “It’s okay,” you said with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

Mingyu reached out and lightly patted her head, his touch gentle but firm, like he was reminding her she wasn’t alone. She glanced up at him, her gaze lingering just a little longer this time.

"Jia's going to be okay here," you said firmly, your voice filled with certainty. You didn’t say it just for her — you said it for yourself too. "With mom and dad, you’ll be safe. We promise."

Jia blinked slowly, her gaze still cautious but a little less distant. She didn’t say anything, but this time, when Mingyu ruffled her hair again, she didn’t flinch.

It was a start. And sometimes, a start was all you needed.

The first week was an emotional whirlwind. Both of you had to rearrange your entire lives. Remote work became the only option when you quickly realized that daycare wasn’t a suitable choice for Jia — not with everything she’d been through. It wasn’t just about leaving her in someone else’s care. It was about trust. And Jia had already learned, far too young, that adults couldn’t always be trusted.

The visit to the child behaviorist was the hardest part. Sitting in that small, sterile office, you listened as the specialist laid out the results with a calm but empathetic tone.

“For a five-year-old, Jia is showing clear signs of depression,” the behaviorist explained, their gaze shifting gently between you and Mingyu. “Her speech delay, difficulty making decisions, and avoidance of communication — these are all symptoms of the environment she grew up in.”

You sat in stunned silence, gripping Mingyu’s hand tightly. His thumb rubbed slow, steady circles against your palm, but you could feel the tension in his grip. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the floor, his breathing slow and deliberate — the only sign that he was trying to control the anger brewing inside him.

“Children her age should be exploring, talking, asking questions,” the behaviorist continued. “But it sounds like she spent most of her time in survival mode.”

That phrase stuck with you. Survival mode. For five years, Jia had lived like that. And now, at only five years old, she was already exhausted.

At home, the puzzle pieces started coming together. She flinched every time someone reached toward her too quickly. Her whole body would tense, her eyes darting toward the source of the movement like she was bracing for impact. It didn’t matter if it was you, Mingyu, or even a harmless gesture like placing a blanket over her shoulders. She always reacted the same way.

It broke you.

She hated cigarette boxes. The sight of them made her shrink into herself, her small frame folding inward like she was trying to disappear. She’d stare at them with wide, fearful eyes, refusing to move until they were out of sight. It didn’t take long to figure out why.

The soju bottles had a similar effect. Once, while you and Mingyu were clearing out the kitchen cabinets, a soju bottle slipped from the top shelf and clattered loudly on the counter. Jia had been in the living room playing with a puzzle, but at the sound of glass clinking, she froze. Her little hands stopped mid-movement, her face going pale as her eyes locked on the bottle.

Her breathing grew shallow. Her eyes darted to the front door like she was ready to bolt.

“Jia, it’s okay,” you said softly, stepping toward her slowly, hands raised so she could see them. "It’s just a bottle. No one’s going to hurt you."

But she didn’t move. She didn’t even blink.

Mingyu moved faster than you. He was already at her side, kneeling down, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. “Look at me, Jia,” he said gently, his deep voice unusually soft. His eyes stayed locked on hers, never once looking at the bottle. “That’s just a bottle, nothing else. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

Her gaze flickered to him, her tiny chest rising and falling rapidly. Slowly, she shifted her focus from the bottle to his face. He smiled at her, a warm, reassuring smile that didn’t rush her to respond.

“See? No one’s mad. No one’s angry,” he continued, his voice like a steady heartbeat. "You're safe, okay? Safe."

It took time, but eventually, her breathing steadied. She looked at the bottle once more, then slowly looked away, her hands curling into fists on her lap.

Later that night, while you were tucking her into bed, Mingyu stood by the door with his arms crossed, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

“She’s terrified of cigarettes, terrified of soju, and she flinches every time she’s touched,” he muttered, his voice low but sharp as broken glass. His eyes stayed on Jia, his gaze softening only for her. But his next words were filled with quiet, seething rage. “That man won’t rest in peace for what he did to her.”

You glanced at him, your heart heavy with shared anger and grief. “She’ll need therapy,” you said softly, smoothing a hand over Jia’s blanket. She had already fallen asleep, her small face finally at ease after a long, difficult day. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Mingyu's eyes flicked toward you, his gaze steady but fierce. “Everything,” he echoed firmly, like a vow.

And from the way he looked at Jia, you knew he meant it.

Mingyu's mother visited after the first month, her arrival stirring a mix of nerves and anticipation. But as she sat in the living room, her eyes naturally found Jia, who was on the floor, carefully stacking her colorful blocks with the kind of quiet concentration only children could master.

There was a noticeable difference in her. Jia was no longer the withdrawn, fearful girl she had been when she first came into your home. She felt safer now — it showed in the way she moved freely around you and Mingyu, no longer flinching at sudden movements. Her small giggles echoed through the house like sunlight spilling through cracks, and every laugh she let out sent butterflies fluttering in your chest.

She was still shy, especially around adults, but she had started to show an interest in making friends her age. You saw it with your own eyes during her first day at daycare a week ago. She had stood quietly for a while, watching the other kids play, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. Then, with hesitant but determined steps, she approached a little girl nearby. You watched as she extended her small hand for a handshake. Her lips moved softly, and though you couldn’t hear her, you knew she was introducing herself. The sight had made your heart swell with pride, and you couldn't wait to tell Mingyu.

“She introduced herself,” you had shared with him later that night. “She actually walked up to another kid and said her name. Can you believe that?”

Mingyu had smiled so wide his eyes disappeared. “She’s brave,” he said, his voice filled with pride. "Our brave little girl."

But now, the air in the house felt different. Mingyu’s mother sipped her tea slowly, her gaze shifting between you, Mingyu, and the little girl quietly playing in the corner. She set her cup down, her eyes sharp but cautious.

“Are the two of you sure about legally adopting her?” she asked, her voice calm but pointed.

Mingyu, who had been stirring his tea with absent-minded patience, finally put his spoon down. He placed a cup of tea in front of his mother before sitting beside you on the couch, his posture straight but not stiff.

"Yes, mother," he said firmly. "We have to take action since no one else will." His tone was steady, each word deliberate.

"That’s a big decision," she said, her fingers lacing together on her lap. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tilted her head. "Have you really thought it through?"

Mingyu nodded. "We have. We talked about it, thought it over for weeks. We’ve even discussed finances, education, and everything else we might face in the future.” His hand slid beneath the table, finding yours. His fingers interlocked with yours, and each time he was about to speak, his grip would tighten. It was subtle but clear — he was asking you to let him handle it. This was his mother, after all, and he knew her best.

“But she’s not blood-related,” his mother said, her gaze flickering toward Jia for a brief moment before settling back on Mingyu. Her eyes grew colder, her voice quieter but no less cutting. “Her mother was a prostitute.”

Silence filled the room like heavy fog.

Mingyu let out a slow, controlled sigh, his jaw flexing for a brief second before he leaned forward, his eyes locked on his mother.

“Mom, that doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice sharp but calm. “She’s five. Five. Her mother’s choices have nothing to do with her.” His eyes narrowed, his voice firm but respectful. “And let’s not forget that your brother — your brother — didn’t take care of her either. He left her hungry, bruised, and scared for years. You think I should do the same?”

His mother blinked, visibly taken aback. Her fingers fidgeted on the table, tapping lightly against the wood. She glanced at Jia, who was still playing quietly, blissfully unaware of the conversation. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“We could send her to a foster home,” she muttered, her eyes fixed on the tea in front of her.

Mingyu let out a short, bitter laugh, tilting his head back as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle in the room. Slowly, he picked up his tea and took a slow sip, his eyes watching his mother from over the rim of the cup.

He didn’t have to say anything for her to know what he was thinking. The silence said it all.

After a long pause, he set the cup down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes were sharper now, his voice low but firm. “Mom, listen to me carefully,” he said, and for the first time, she looked directly at him. "Jia isn’t some responsibility we’re trying to avoid. She’s family. Family isn’t just blood — it’s the people who love you, protect you, and make sure you’re safe.” He glanced at you briefly before looking back at his mother. “That little girl has lived through things a child her age should never have to experience. So, no, we’re not sending her to a foster home. We’re her home now.”

You glanced at Mingyu, pride swelling in your chest. His hand still gripped yours tightly, anchoring the both of you.

“I know you’re worried for us,” you added, your voice softer than his but no less firm. "I know you’re thinking about how hard this will be, and you’re right. It’s going to be hard. But we’ve already spent a month with her, and you’ve seen it yourself. She’s growing, changing, and finally learning to feel safe.” Your gaze softened as you looked at his mother. “If things get difficult, we’ll ask for help. From you, from family, from friends. But we’re not giving up on her. Not now. Not ever.”

Mingyu's mother didn’t speak immediately. Her eyes flickered to Jia once more, watching as she carefully balanced a red block on top of a blue one, her tongue peeking out as she focused. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if the tower of blocks was the most important thing in the world.

"She’s a sweet girl,” his mother finally said, her voice softer now. Her eyes lingered on Jia for a moment longer before turning back to you and Mingyu. "But sweet doesn’t mean easy.”

Mingyu nodded, his gaze unwavering. "We know."

For a moment, no one said anything. His mother picked up her cup, taking another slow sip of tea. Her eyes remained thoughtful as she gazed down at the cup, her fingers no longer tapping nervously.

“You’ll call me if you need help?” she asked, her tone lighter this time, less sharp.

“Of course,” Mingyu said, his lips curving into a small smile. "But only if you're ready to see her as family too."

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no real fight in her gaze this time. Instead, she sighed, setting the teacup back on the table with a quiet clink.

“Fine,” she muttered, folding her arms. “But if she calls me grandma one day, I’ll hold you responsible.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with a knowing grin. “Deal.”

You watched as his mother shook her head, hiding a small, reluctant smile behind her hand. Her gaze wandered to Jia one more time, her eyes just a little softer than before.

The day the adoption papers were approved felt surreal, like a weight you didn’t realize you’d been carrying had finally lifted. It was official now — Jia was no longer just the little girl you were caring for. She was Kim Jia, legally and irrevocably your daughter. You and Mingyu were her parents in every sense of the word.

The moment you received the confirmation call, Mingyu pulled you into a tight hug, his grin so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. "She's ours," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder and pride. "Officially, legally, and forever ours."

That night, you celebrated quietly with a small cake at home. Jia sat between you and Mingyu at the kitchen table, her wide eyes focused on the flickering candle. You guided her small hands to clasp them together, showing her how to make a wish.

"Close your eyes and think of something you really want," you said softly, watching her from the side. She squeezed her eyes shut, her brows furrowed in concentration. After a few seconds, she looked up at you with a small nod, ready to blow out the candle. Her breath was small but determined, the tiny flame vanishing with a single huff.

“What did you wish for, sweetie?” Mingyu asked, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes warm and curious.

Jia glanced at him, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Secret,” she muttered with a small, mischievous smile.

You and Mingyu exchanged a glance before bursting into soft laughter. It was moments like these that reminded you just how far she’d come.

Since starting regular speech therapy sessions, Jia's speech had blossomed. Her words were still short and simple, but they were hers — words she chose for herself, not ones prompted or forced from her.

Her quiet voice had become your favorite sound in the world. She wasn't as talkative or curious as other five-year-olds, but she didn’t have to be. Each word she spoke felt like a little victory.

“Jia, do you want pancakes or eggs for breakfast?” you’d ask in the mornings.

“Eggs,” she’d say, her tiny voice as soft as a breeze.

“Scrambled or fried?”

“Scrambled,” she’d reply, her eyes peeking at you shyly before focusing on her plate.

Every time she spoke, you and Mingyu shared a glance, silently celebrating her growth. It wasn’t just her voice that had changed. She was learning to make choices, to have preferences, and to express them out loud. It was something that once seemed so far away, but here she was, making it feel so natural.

But not all questions were as simple as what to have for breakfast.

One evening, as you were folding laundry in the living room, Jia sat on the carpet nearby, brushing her doll’s hair with careful strokes. Her eyes stayed on the doll’s face as she spoke, her voice quieter than usual but clear enough for you to hear.

“Why are you and Daddy my parents?” she asked, not looking up from her doll. Her small fingers smoothed the doll’s tangled strands with slow, gentle patience.

The question stopped you mid-fold, the shirt in your hands suddenly feeling heavier than it should. You glanced at Mingyu, who was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. He froze too, his eyes lifting to meet yours.

He set his phone aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. You could see him thinking, carefully picking his words before he spoke.

“Because you needed us,” he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. “And we needed you.”

Jia’s hands paused on the doll’s hair. She glanced up at him, her eyes round and thoughtful. "Needed me?" she repeated slowly, as if testing the words on her tongue.

Mingyu smiled, nodding. "Yup. We didn’t know it at first, but the moment we met you, we realized it." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes steady and sincere as he gazed at her. “Families aren’t just about who you’re born to. Sometimes, families are made by love, not blood.”

You sat down on the carpet beside Jia, placing a hand on her back, rubbing slow circles. “We chose you, Jia,” you said softly. “We saw you, and we decided we wanted to be your parents. And we’re really, really happy we did.”

Her little brows scrunched together, her lips pursed as if she were processing everything at once. Her eyes moved from you to Mingyu, then back to her doll. She resumed brushing its hair, her strokes slower than before.

"Other kids have one mommy, one daddy," she muttered. "I had no mommy... then two?"

Her words hit like a punch straight to your heart. You glanced at Mingyu, and he was already looking at you, his eyes filled with that quiet understanding only the two of you shared.

“That’s true,” you replied, keeping your voice soft but steady. “Some kids have one mom and one dad. Some have two moms. Some have two dads. And some kids, like you, have a mommy and daddy who chose them.” You reached for her hand, gently holding it in yours. “It’s not about how many you start with, sweetie. It’s about how many people love you.”

Her fingers curled around yours, tiny but warm. She didn't look up, still focused on the doll in her lap. Her grip on your hand was firm, though, like she understood something deeper than what her five-year-old mind could fully put into words.

“Did you choose Daddy too?” she asked suddenly, peeking up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

This time, it was Mingyu who choked on a laugh. “She did,” he answered before you could. “She picked me, and I got lucky.” He reached over to ruffle her hair, and for once, she didn’t flinch. She giggled, pushing his hand away with an exaggerated pout.

“No, no,” she said, her cheeks puffed out in mock annoyance. But her smile betrayed her.

"Yup," you said, grinning as you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I picked him because I knew he’d be a good dad one day.”

Jia tilted her head up at him, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Is Daddy good?” she asked, her lips curling into a tiny, mischievous smile.

“The best,” you whispered loud enough for Mingyu to hear, giving him a teasing glance.

“Darn right, I am,” he said with a dramatic huff, crossing his arms. “Don’t forget it, little one.”

Her giggle burst out like a bell, bright and clear, and just like that, the air felt lighter again. Moments like this — these little, precious, fleeting moments — reminded you why everything had been worth it.

Later that night, as you tucked Jia into bed, she stared at the ceiling, her eyes far away in thought. You leaned down, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Goodnight, Jia," you whispered, pulling her blanket up to her shoulders.

Her eyes shifted to you, and just as you were about to stand, she reached out, gripping the sleeve of your shirt.

"Mommy," she said, her voice so soft it could have been a breath.

"Yes, baby?"

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours. Then she whispered, “Thank you for choosing me.”

Your heart squeezed so tightly you thought it might stop. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. Instead, you cupped her cheek with your hand, your thumb brushing against her soft skin.

“Thank you for letting us,” you replied, your voice shaking just a little.

She nodded, her eyes slowly fluttering closed as she relaxed into the pillow. You stayed for a while, watching her breathe, letting the quiet peace of the room settle around you.

When you finally stepped out of her room, Mingyu was waiting in the hallway, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. He tilted his head toward you, raising a brow.

“She call you ‘Mommy’ just now?” he asked, his voice quiet with awe.

You nodded, wiping at the corner of your eye. “Yeah. She did.”

Mingyu let out a breathy laugh, covering his face with his hands. “Man,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I think that just broke me.”

You stepped into his arms, letting him pull you into a hug. He pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you a little tighter than usual.

"Kim Jia," he murmured against your hair, his voice filled with warmth and certainty. "Our little girl."

334 notes · View notes

dreaming-medium · 1 year ago

Text

Thanksgiving With You

Relationship: Lee Minho x reader

Tags: Pure fluff

Summary: Your plans to go home to America for Thanksgiving are uprooted the night before you're supposed to leave. Unable to stand seeing you upset, Minho decides to take matters into his own hands and make sure you get to celebrate no matter what.

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The TV was on in the shared apartment, all of the boys were laying all over the couches in various comfy positions. Legs tangled up in knots, blankets draped over different laps.

Living in the same building as one another definitely had its perks, that’s for sure. Even if everyone starts their days in their own apartments, by dinner time, everyone congregates to one.

Today, you and Minho’s apartment was the lucky winner.

When you answered a roommate ad two years ago, you didn’t know it would come with seven other men on top of that. But, you wouldn’t change anything that’s happened since then.

Felix’s head rests on Hyunjin’s lap while he plays on his phone with Changbin watching over his shoulder. Seungmin takes up two seats while Jeongin sits on the ground next to his legs. Minho is lounging in the corner seat of the couch, Chan on his left, Jisung on his right.

For the first time, they’re all silent. Each of their conversations were cut short when a news broadcast cut through the movie they were “watching”.

A female news anchor sat behind a desk looking directly into the camera.

“We interrupt your program with a breaking news report from The National Weather Service. Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Normally, none of the boys would care about a storm. This meant time off from work, time to relax and stay inside while everyone gets some much needed rest but…

“Minho!” your voice calls out into the living room. Your roommate perks up off the couch, tearing his eyes away from the news broadcast. “Can I borrow your neck pillow? I’m going to need it for the flight. Sixteen hours on the plane is going to be killer without it.”

His jaw clenches and he looks around at the other boys on the couch who all have equally flustered expressions. They each stare at one another like deer in headlights.

“Ah,” he hums and looks around the room.

Oh, you were so excited to go home for Thanksgiving, how was he going to tell you that the airport is closed due to the incoming storm? Why does he have to be the one to break the news to you?

The news anchor continues talking about the snowstorm, predicting record levels of snowfall and high speed winds.

All month, all you could talk about was how much you missed Thanksgiving: the turkey, the parade, the pie, everything.

He didn’t really understand it.

“Minho?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer. Your figure appears in the doorway into the living room.

As soon as you stand in front of all of them, their heads snap towards you.

Your eyes widen, obviously startled. “Guys?” You ask, laughing nervously. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Felix moves a bit, his mouth opening to say something before the news anchor cuts him off again.

“Again, we repeat the broadcast: Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Your mouth drops open and you step further into the room to look at the TV.

“What?” You say to yourself, your heart dropping to your stomach. Everyone else’s does as well from your devastated tone.

Chan reaches forward with the remote, turning the volume up for you to hear.

“No, no…” you whisper.

Minho watches you, feeling his own heart break for you.

“M-Maybe I can book a flight for tonight. The storm starts tomorrow, maybe I can get out at the last minute.” You practically run back to your room, frantically looking for your phone.

All of the boys stay silent.

Apple pie this, mashed potatoes that, homemade pineapple … something. Minho couldn’t remember what you had said. You would always talk too fast when you were excited.

It only got harder for him to understand when you would go into English.

On top of all of this, you haven’t been back to America since you moved here two years ago. It was going to be your first time home.

You were just so busy when you started your new job that there was never any time to take off.

And now that you finally could? It’s falling through your fingers.

“Such a shame…” Hyunjin is the first one to break the silence. His voice carries the same sadness that they all hold on their shoulders.

Minho keeps looking down the hall where your room is, hoping to try and hear anything— any news of an earlier flight, a phone call, anything.

Only a few moments pass before Minho gets too antsy to sit still. He stands up from the couch and makes his way down the hallway.

Your door is cracked open a bit.

When he gets closer, he hears you on the phone. “N-No, you don’t understand, I was going home for the holidays— Yes… Yes I understand that everyone else is too, b-but I haven’t been home in two years.”

You sound so heartbroken, it’s physically killing him.

“There are no open seats? ….. the 5:30 flight? That’s in… that’s in ten minutes I live forty minutes away from the airport!”

Minho leans against the wall behind him, your open door to his left.

“There’s nothing else? … No, I understand. Thank you very much for your time... You as well.”

There’s a long moment of silence and a thump against your mattress.

Ten more seconds pass before he hears hiccups and sniffles coming from inside your room. That’s when Minho caves in, coming up to your door frame.

He can never withstand hearing you cry, on the rare occasions that you do.

You look so small curled up on the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. Your suitcase is open on top of your bed with various clothes and toiletries all over the place.

Your shoulders shake as you sob quietly into your hands.

A frown pulls at his face. Minho reaches up and knocks gently on the doorframe.

Your head shoots up in surprise, hands furiously wiping away the tears under your eyes.

“Oh, hey Minho!” You try to smile, but the tears won’t stop, but you continue wiping them away. “Sorry, um… I don’t think I need your neck pillow after all.”

A sob wracks your chest.

“Sorry,” you apologize again and wipe the tears some more.

His frown depends and he walks over to the bed, taking a seat directly next to you.

“You don’t need to apologize, Y/N.”

You sniffle and look down at your lap, the sleeves of your sweater coming over your hands. “It’s dumb to be this upset, I know. I was just really looking forward to Thanksgiving, you know?”

His entire side is pressed against yours. His warmth seeps into you in a comforting manner.

Minho listens to you carefully. He’s never been the best at comforting a crying person, he knows that, but he’s learned that all you ever crave when you’re upset is someone to listen.

“We have this tradition in my family, god, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to do it,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes. “We wake up around nine, and my sister and I make cinnamon rolls and watch the Macy’s parade from New York while we eat them. Then, while we get ready we watch the National dog show and ugh…”

He leans back on one of his hands placed behind you on your bed. The cogs in his brain are already turning.

Cinnamon rolls… Parade…

“God, I really missed my mom’s Pecan Pie.”

“Pecan Pie.” Minho mouths to himself. You don’t see it.

You sniffle.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers to you, his hand coming up to rub your back gently.

“It’s alright, there’s always Christmas. The airline said they can move my ticket without me losing money. I guess it’s better to go then.” You hum and wipe the tears off your face again.

Not knowing what else to say, Minho stays quiet, his hand continuing to rub up and down your spine.

He knows next to nothing about Thanksgiving; it’s an American holiday. All he knows are the little things he’s seen in movies: turkey, hats with buckles on them, eating until you explode.

What parade did you say? Macy’s Parade? Okay…

Minho loses track of how long you both sit there, you trying to pull yourself together while he rubs your back.

His eyes dart around the floor unfocused as he makes a mental checklist in his head. He’s definitely going to need to employ the help of the seven other men in his living room if he hopes to pull this off.

“Thank you, Minho.” Your voice pulls his attention. He looks over at your face, hand pausing between your shoulder blades.

Your eyes are red rimmed and cheeks are rosy from all your crying. A sad smile sits on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he responds, getting a bit flustered under your gaze.

You move your head to rest on his shoulder, like second nature, his arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you close.

Butterflies swirl in his stomach at the contact. Yes, you’re his roommate, but it was in the last six months or so that his heart started seeing you as so much more.

It all started with you cooking his favorite dinner when you knew he had just had one of the worst days of his life.

He had texted you around noon complaining about the rough day he was having, you consoled him shortly, and that was that.

The day had dragged on, getting worse and worse; he opened the door to your shared apartment around midnight to find you moving around the kitchen.

When he peered over your shoulder and saw his favorite meal, his heart melted.

“To cure your bad day,” you smiled at him.

He fell so hard for you, there was no coming back.

Minho turns his head to rest his chin on the crown of your hair.

“Well, I have off work; maybe I can take the day to catch up on a project without being bothered to join meetings.” You trail off.

“Or you could take the day to relax.” He chuckles.

You pause. “Nah.”

He laughs again and hugs you close.

“I better unpack everything.” You peel yourself out of his arms. Minho’s body already feels so much colder without you pressed against him.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Minho stands up from your bed and makes towards the door.

“Minho,” you grab his attention. He turns back to look at you.

You’re smiling at him again, but the sparkle is missing from your eyes.

“Thank you, really.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

Minho pulls your door closed behind him and makes his way down the hall. He has a mission and a checklist.

And he needed to get to the grocery store tonight if he wanted to pull it off.

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Three quick knocks rap against your door at 9:00 AM sharp on November 23rd.

With a disgruntled groan, you shift around in bed and pull the blankets up over your shoulder more.

After a few seconds, the door cracks open slowly, the hinges creaking loudly in the silent morning air.

A huff-like laugh forced through the invader’s nose.

Slippers pad against the carpet of your room and the mattress dips down on the side of your bed.

Gentle, warm fingers push your hair off your forehead. Your eyes squint a bit and you snuggle further into your blanket.

“Minhooo…” you whine without opening your eyes. “I have the day off, remember? I don’t need to wake up.”

“Ah,” he hums, fingers still carding through your hair. “But the parade is on.”

Your brain is still booting up. All your movements pause, your eyes snap open and you look at the man sitting on the side of your bed.

He’s in his cooking apron; the blue one you got him for his birthday last year.

“What?”

That smirk of his spreads over his face, his eyes squint the more he smiles down at you. “The parade is on, Y/N, don’t you want to watch it?”

With wide eyes, you stare at your roommate. “The.. parade? The Macy’s Day Parade?”

He hums with a beautiful, genuine smile. “I didn’t think you wanted to miss it.”

You sit up and kick the blankets off, leaping out of bed and down the hallway. Minho’s laughter follows you.

Sure enough, playing on your TV, is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, from New York City.

“Wha…” you trail off. If it’s 9 AM here… it’s only 7 PM the night before Thanksgiving in New York, how is he…?

Your eyes scan the TV to see the small graphic that displays “2022” in the corner.

He’s playing a recorded broadcast of last year's parade. A laugh of disbelief bubbles out of your chest and you whirl around to look at your roommate standing in the hallway.

“Minho!” You squeal.

“We still have to bake cinnamon rolls, come on.” He waves you to follow him to the kitchen. Your jaw drops and you can only stare at him.

Minho looks over his shoulder and sees you’re not following him. “Are you coming? I’m not baking them by myself!”

Another snort of disbelief forces its way out. Your one hand reaches over and pinches your arm.

“No, I’m awake,” you whisper to yourself.

The sound of the parade announcers talking in their thick New York accent makes you feel right at home. There was a specific sound quality of audio that comes from these events and it brings you right back to the East Coast.

Minho walks into the kitchen and you follow after him with an extra spring in your step.

———————————————

“And here comes Snoopy and his good friend Woodstock!” The TV announcer says happily.

You take another bite of your cinnamon roll, chewing happily and watching the TV. Doongie curled up next to you, tail swishing around.

Minho can’t decide what he wants to watch more: you or the TV. You’re positively beaming, and he hasn’t even told you the best part yet.

He scratches Soonie’s head absentmindedly.

There’s a couple knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Minho calls out.

The door creaks open. “Minho, your timer went off. I think you need to baste the turkey.”

Your head whips around to see Felix poking his head into the apartment. He makes eye contact with you and his smile brightens instantly.

“Hi, Y/N! Happy Thanksgiving!” Felix chirps from the door.

“Thank you?”

Minho stands up off the couch, “Thanks, Felix, I’ll be right over.”

“Gotcha, see you soon, Y/N!” Felix closes the door behind him.

You look up at Minho. “Turkey? You’re making a turkey?”

He stands in front of you and smiles. “I am, you can’t have Thanksgiving dinner without turkey, right?”

“You– Are we..?”

“We are. But not until after the parade, and the dog show, of course. I told everyone to come around 2:00, that works, right?”

You stare up at him, cinnamon roll still in your hand.

“Y… Yeah, that works.” You truly cannot believe your ears. Are you sure you’re not still sleeping? Do you need to pinch yourself again?

“Good, I’ll be right back.”

Minho moves past you towards the door, scratching your head a few times as he passes by. You make no move to fix your hair after he leaves.

Slowly, you take another bite of the roll, eyes spacing out watching the parade.

Inside your chest, you can feel your heart stutter and swell, heat rising to your cheeks and turning your ears red. He’s really doing so much for you, isn’t he?

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“Y/N! Come on out, Chan and Jisung are here and Jeongin needs help with the mashed potatoes!” Minho calls down the hall.

Like a kid on Christmas, you peel down the hall, adjusting the earring you’re wearing.

You’re in a black turtleneck tucked into a cute light brown pencil skirt with black tights and fuzzy socks. The most typical Thanksgiving outfit.

Your favorite jewelry adorning your body.

The four boys turn around and greet you happily. Each of them in their own fuzzy sweaters and comfy pants.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” They all say to you in unison.

“Ah, happy Thanksgiving!” You cheer back and wrap Jisung and Chan into a tight hug since they were the closest. “Thank you so much for this!”

Both of them wrap an arm around you with giddy smiles. “It was all Minho’s idea,” says Chan. “If you wanna thank anyone, thank him.”

“Or you could help, instead.” Minho teases from behind the kitchen counter, sliding over a can of cranberry sauce.

“Oh my god!” You squeal and come around to grab it. “Where did you find this? I didn’t think any stores in Korea sold this!”

Minho hums happily and stirs a pot on the stove. “There’s an American store a few blocks away. It’s where I got most of the groceries for today.”

A timer beeps at the same time the door swings open.

“Hot bird coming through!” Felix calls into the room. “I have a turkey too!”

Everyone gives Felix a pity laugh as briskly walks towards the kitchen and places the cooked turkey onto the counter. The smell that wafts through the house is heavenly.

Jisung hands you a glass of sangria with a wink. You clink glasses and take a small sip.

Changbin walks through the door after Felix, holding a stack of about three pies in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” he calls inside as he kicks his shoes off.

Everyone responds with the same greeting.

“Minho, where do you want desserts?”

“Just put them on the side by the main table for now!”

There’s more hustle and bustle next to you while Jisung attempts to use the can opener for the cranberry sauce.

“Y/N, could you help me? I don’t think I’ve ever made mashed potatoes before…” Jeongin trails off in front of a pot of boiled potatoes.

You beam at him and skip over to his side. “I absolutely can, it’s a lot easier than you think!”

Chan walks over to the living area with the couches.

“What do you usually have on the TV at home?” he calls in to you.

You’re dumping all of the potatoes into a mixing bowl while you answer him. “Typically, my dad commandeers the TV and has football playing all day, but I really don’t want to watch old football reruns.”

Jeongin watches over your shoulder as you shake the bowl to settle the potatoes. “Could you grab the butter and milk from the fridge?” You ask him and he nods and walks off.

Seungmin comes in with Hyunjin, both of them holding trays of food.

You greet the two of them happily.

While Jeongin is gathering the ingredients from the fridge, you take a moment to look around at all of the boys in your apartment.

They must have looked up ‘What to wear to Thanksgiving’; each of them is in a sweater and dress pants. Some of them have turtlenecks underneath the sweater, some don’t, but they all look like the same font as one another.

“What can I do to help?” Seungmin asks, him and Hyunjin further crowding the kitchen.

“Go set the table with Hyunjin.” Minho points to the long dining room table, shooing them out of the already small space. Plates, napkins, forks, knives, glasses– everything you can think of, is placed on the corner of the table in stacks and piles.

“I’ll help too!” Felix chirps and makes his way over with the two men.

“Y/N!” Changbin calls your attention. Both him and Chan have beer bottles in their hands, bodies facing the TV. The two of them look like dads with the way they’re standing. “What about a Christmas movie? Is that allowed on Thanksgiving?”

Jeongin plops the milk and butter on the counter next to you.

You call back into the living room. “Yeah, that’s fine! But make it a good one– a classic! Oh! What about Christmas Vacation? That’s my favorite!”

“I’ll find it, don’t worry!” Chan responds.

Another timer beeps, Minho opens the oven and pulls out a tray full of fresh rolls. Jisung finally wrestles the can of cranberry sauce open.

Your heart grows three sizes.

“Ten more minutes on the Pineapple Bake.” Minho says to himself but you hear it.

Your head snaps around so fast it might tumble off your shoulders. “Pineapple Bake? You made Pineapple Bake?”

A flush crawls up Minho’s neck to his ears when he turns and meets your sparkly eyes.

“You had mentioned it…” he trails off and finds something else on the counter to fidget with.

“How did you get the recipe?”

“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I have your mother’s number from when you first moved in and all.”

“You texted my mom?”

“Is that alright?”

The hustle and bustle of the seven other bodies around your apartment fades into the background. Even with Jeongin standing directly next to you, he seems to disappear.

“You texted my mom and asked for her Pineapple Bake recipe?” You choke out again, your eyebrows raising, lips parting in an emotionally shocked expression.

Minho visibly gets a bit more nervous at your repeated question. His jaw clenches and he plays with the tie of the apron. “Did I overstep?”

Without any warning, you cross the few steps of the kitchen towards him and throw your arms around your roommate, burying your face into his shoulder. Small tears of joy well in the corners of your eyes, throat constricting with so many emotions.

After a moment of hesitation, Minho wraps his arms around you and rests his cheek on top of your hair.

“Thank you, Minho,” you whisper to him, squeezing him even tighter.

Minho’s shoulders visibly react from your hug, relaxing from the tension of the past few moments.

He smells like the holidays, the softness of his sweater is so comforting against your cheek. You just want to bury your nose in it and drown in the scent.

“This means so much to me.” Your words are so sincere, he could cry from hearing them. His arms tighten around you, eyes closing to relish in your hold.

He basks in it. Despite a third timer screaming in his ear, he continues to hold you like if he let go, you would disappear forever.

Having you in his arms like this has always been the equivalent of drinking warm tea before bed. It sends a wave of comfort and safety through his entire being.

The timer continues to beep.

“You can thank me after you eat.”

You giggle, any sadness he’s ever felt disappears for a split second.

Hyunjin calls into this kitchen. “Can you please turn that thing off before I go insane?”

Minho sighs, the air blowing into your hair. He keeps you close for a few more heartbeats before letting go.

“It’s time for dinner anyway.”

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Everyone was quiet, the TV still playing Christmas movies in the background. The streaming service that Chan had put on had autoplayed movie after movie while you ate dinner and then dessert.

The last surprise Minho had for you was that he also had asked your mother for her Pecan Pie recipe two nights ago.

Everything about today left you floored and speechless. Your heart has never felt this full in your life.

All eight of them sat around the table looking uncomfortably full. The table that was once filled with every side dish known to Thanksgiving enjoyers, every dessert you could dream of, was now littered with empty dishes.

“We should just be thankful for being together. I think that’s what they mean by Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.” Marcie’s animated voice rings through the apartment.

Again, your throat tightens up with so many happy emotions, you clench your jaw to keep them down.

From directly next to you, Minho must’ve noticed your expression, his hand reaching under the table and resting on your knee, squeezing it once to comfort you.

You look over at him.

His heart catches in his chest.

There’s that sparkle in your eyes. The one that disappeared two nights ago, he got it back. His entire face softens as he stares at you as if you hung the moon and vice versa.

“I need a nap,” Felix groans from his chair.

You hum and look over at him. He’s slumped in his seat, head back, eyes closed.

“That’s the best part of Thanksgiving, sleeping with a full stomach.” You tell him.

“Full is an understatement.” Jeongin adds.

“I think I found a new favorite holiday…” Changbin trails off.

“Ditto,” adds Chan.

“Yeah? Well maybe we can have a Friendsgiving next year and do it all over again.” You tell the table.

Minho groans. “I’ll need more help next time, then!”

Everyone grunts in agreement.

You reach under the table and take a hold of Minho’s hand still on your leg. Your fingers wind together and you beam at him again with that dazzling smile.

“I would do anything to do this again.”

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“I still can’t believe they took that many leftovers,” Minho mutters, dipping the sponge in the sink.

“I can’t believe we had that many leftovers.” You dry a dish with the towel and place it on the other clean ones.

The exhaustion from eating is still heavy in your bones; but both you and Minho decided it was better to get all the washing out of the way so that you could just relax for the rest of the night.

It felt like you’ve been washing dishes for hours.

Soft twinkling of Christmas music plays through the speakers of the TV from the movie.

“Minho?” You ask suddenly, your voice is a bit weak and unconfident.

He looks over at you with his undivided attention, one eyebrow raised.

“There’s one more Thanksgiving tradition I didn’t tell you about.”

His eyebrows furrow more and he puts the dish down in the sink full of sudsy water. “What is it?”

Smiling, you put the towel down.

“Will you dance to Christmas music with me? To ring in the Holiday Season.”

Minho’s taken aback for a moment, he laughs– almost in disbelief. “Really?”

You bite your lip nervously, nodding once.

With a playful smile, he grabs the towel and dries his hands. “You want to dance? We can dance, Y/N.”

Squealing, you happily skip to the living room. “Alexa, play Christmas music!” You call out and she immediately begins to play music at the perfect volume.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ plays through the speaker. The happy saxophones and trumpets blare and your spirits lift even more than you thought they could.

You bounce on your heels to the beat a few times, swaying with the rhythm in a silly way.

When you turn around, you see Minho stepping towards you to the beat. One of the happiest looks ever on his face. His hair still slightly styled from this morning, just a bit more relaxed as the day went on.

His sweater is so cozy with a black turtleneck underneath, heather gray dress pants on the bottom. Lee Minho looks like the Holidays wrapped up in a warm, cable knit package, and he’s currently dancing towards you.

Once he is up on you, he takes your one hand and places the other on your waist. Both of you look like absolute goof balls, swaying and bobbing to the rhythm of Frank Sinatra in your living room.

The scent of Thanksgiving dinner still hangs in the air; the warmth from the ovens and stove hasn’t faded one bit.

Minho leads you all around the living room in a beautifully clumsy dance. The smiles on your faces never drop, even for a moment. They only grow with each giggle passed from one to another.

His eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. Nothing could interrupt your moment,

You mouth the lyrics to him; it’s English, so he’s not really able to keep up as much. But the emotion is there. And just the idea that you’re singing to him makes his heart soar.

“What do I care how much it may storm,” you sing, “I’ve got my love to keep me warm.”

Minho spins you around, you squeal with happiness with your arm above your head. He brings you back in and grabs your waist with both hands, lifting you into the air and twirling more as the music swells. You place both of your hands on his shoulders for balance.

He gently places you back on the ground, the song ending and fading into the next one.

Michael Buble’s ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ follows it up. The rhythm of the song slows down the energy in the room dramatically.

Neither you nor Minho let go of one another. Instead of backing away, the two of you step even closer. Your arms wind around his neck, his hands interlock on your lower back.

Your eyes look all around his perfect face, meanwhile his stay locked on your eyes. He’s so enchanted by you, it feels like you placed him under some sort of spell.

If he could, Minho would do this entire day over and over again until he died, just to see this beautiful look in your eye each time, to hear your glee filled laughter after each surprise.

Instead of moving around the room, the two of you simply sway side to side in time with the beat of the song. Minho spins the two of you very slowly in place.

A beautiful, festive, Christmas bubble begins forming around the two of you.

“I cannot even begin to tell you how much today meant to me, Minho.” You break the silence between the two of you.

He chuckles. “I’m glad I was able to do it for you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever run to the store that fast in my life.”

Mirroring him, you laugh softly. “I can only imagine what you looked like trying to get everything together.”

He moves his head side to side. “I had a lot of help.”

You shake your head. “This was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“You deserve it.”

Another laugh from you. He just watches you. He watches each emotion cross your face with such admiration, with such a fond, sweet gaze, it could rot your teeth.

Piano keys tinkle in the music. Michael Buble’s smooth voice wrapping around your private bubble.

“I am endlessly thankful for you, Lee Minho.”

His gaze softens even more.

You’re his soft spot. You– beautiful, wonderful, joyous you– are Lee Minho’s weak point.

Slowly, the swaying to the song begins to slow down as you both get lost within one another. Everything about the scene was like a movie, down to the storm swelling outside your window.

Minho’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second.

You grin. His heart thuds in his chest.

“I don’t suppose you got any mistletoe?” you ask cheekily.

His eyes widen for a second, but he quickly catches on to your joke. “That wasn’t on any of the Thanksgiving websites I found.”

“Oh well.”

Without another word, and with the goofiest of grins on both of your faces, you pull Minho in for a kiss.

His entire world stops when his lips meet yours, everything pauses and the only thing that exists is you. Nothing else matters except for the girl in his arms.

The world could end right now and he would be the happiest man on Earth.

Both of his arms tighten around you, one hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling it softly.

Your arms around his neck bring him even closer to you.

His kiss is everything, it’s sugar cookies rising in the oven, it’s a sunrise on the beach, it’s waking up to the smell of cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving– everything.

It’s everything you’ve always needed. He is everything you’ve always needed.

Eventually, the two of you pull away from one another, but not without a last few stolen pecks on the other’s lips.

The kisses end up short, you both keep smiling and pulling away, too happy to continue.

Minho keeps his eyes closed, his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “I think I have a new favorite holiday.” Another peck to your lips.

You giggle and kiss him again and again, “Me too, Lee Minho.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know drabble #lee minho x y/n #lee know reader insert #lee know fanfic #lee know is the definition of If He Wanted To He Would #stray kids x y/n #skz x y/n

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archivequinn · 6 days ago

Note

Can you please do an eddie angst? I love your fluff. I'm in the mood to read angst.

I've never tried angst before, but I hope you like it!

Summary: You and Eddie are breaking up.

On a cold winter evening, the wind was fiercely rattling the window frames, the city was shrouded in darkness, but inside the house, it was warm and filled with excitement for Eddie’s arrival. You read the postcard he had sent once more: “I’ll be there tomorrow night, princess. Wait for me. I miss you so much.” The words, written in Eddie’s messy handwriting, made you feel as though you could hear his voice. You had been apart for a month; such a long separation was unusual for you, and tonight would be a reunion where everything would fall back into place.

Finally, you heard the sound of an engine outside the door. Your heart began to race, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. It felt as though your feet weren’t touching the ground. You ran to the door, your hands trembling slightly.

Eddie was there. His face looked tired, but the sparkle in his eyes and the scent of the wind clinging to him spoke volumes. He seemed like a man who had let go of all his burdens and was now overflowing with you. Smiling, he took a step toward you. “I’ve missed you so much…” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. Then he opened his arms and hugged you tightly.

His breath brushed past the side of your neck, warming you like a gentle breeze, and the rhythm of his heartbeat mingled with yours. The hug lasted so long that it felt as if all the troubles in the world had disappeared in that embrace. Tears welled up in your eyes; his warmth, his scent, his presence enveloped you completely. “Eddie…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He whispered back, “I know…”

You went inside. Eddie’s eyes wandered around the room, as if he was trying to recall a memory from a long time ago. “I even missed the smell of this house,” he said with a slight smile. Hats and scarves piled in a corner, the small details seemed to remind him of your shared story. He took you in his arms again, pressed his lips to your forehead, and closed his eyes. In that moment, time truly seemed to stand still. It was just the two of you; the noise, chaos, and confusion of the world were nothing more than a distant echo.

Finally, Eddie pulled back slightly, though his hands still rested on your waist. Looking at your face, he began to speak excitedly. “I have so much to tell you!” he said, his eyes gleaming. He talked about his adventures on the road, the places he had seen, the excitement on stage. “One time, a light bulb burst in the middle of a performance, and the whole set almost fell apart, but I shouted so much that people thought it was part of the show!” His laughter lit up the room, but a growing unease was building inside you.

During dinner, you noticed that Eddie kept glancing at the clock. At first, it seemed insignificant—maybe he was tired, or something was on his mind. But the peace of the evening gradually turned into tension. Finally, Eddie leaned slightly toward you, taking a deep breath. He put his fork down and placed his hands over yours.

“Listen,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. In his eyes, there was both happiness and deep indecision. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He paused for a moment, biting his lip as if weighing his words. Then, taking a deep breath, he continued. “I’ve received a new offer. A big tour… but I need to start immediately. I have to leave in a few hours.”

He looked at you, and you tried to understand the turmoil in his eyes. “This has been my dream. You know that, don’t you? You’re proud of me, right?” he said, his voice fragile like shattered glass.

“Of course, Eddie,” you replied, forcing a smile.

Eddie’s words trailed off, and there was an intensity behind his gaze. You looked into his eyes, but the words stuck in your throat, tangled with the weight of your emotions. “How long is the tour?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie took a deep breath, placing his hands on the edge of the table, his eyes cast downward. “A year,” he said. His voice wavered, and the strong, energetic man you knew now seemed like a boy struggling to find the right words. “We’ll be apart for a year.”

Those words felt like they had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. You felt a heaviness in your chest, struggling to breathe. When you looked into Eddie’s eyes, you saw both determination and fear. “Eddie…” you began, but couldn’t continue. The words collided in your mind, replaced by the sorrow you felt.

“Eddie, how can we handle such a long separation? A month was already so hard; a year… it feels impossible,” you said, your eyes filling with tears. You hadn’t expected them to come so quickly, but you couldn’t hold them back in front of Eddie.

Eddie reached out and held your hands. “I know. But I have to do this; I’m doing this for us. You’ve always been with me in this dream. I can’t do it without you,” he said, his voice cracking. In his eyes, there was both a plea and a deep guilt.

“Eddie, you say you’re doing this for us, but how meaningful can it be without us?” you asked. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you forced yourself to keep speaking. “You’re everything to me. But to not see you, to miss you, to think of you every day for a whole year… it will destroy me.”

A look of pain appeared on Eddie’s face, as if you had taken a piece of his heart and placed it in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair, lowering his head. “I can’t do this without you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible. But then he raised his eyes to meet yours, a flicker of hope dancing within them. “But maybe we can figure it out together. I want you to come with me. Let’s go on this tour together. I want to live my dreams with you by my side. Please, think about it.”

The moment you heard his proposal, your heart clenched with both joy and sorrow. The thought of being with Eddie, waking up every morning to his smile, warmed you for a brief moment. But then reality reminded you of itself. “Eddie, no… I can’t do that,” you said, your voice cracking. “I have a life here. A job, a routine. Leaving everything behind to be with you sounds like a beautiful dream, but… that’s not how things work in real life.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, as if your words had deeply wounded him. “Don’t I mean anything to you?” he asked, his voice fragile and desperate. “I don’t want to live this dream without you. But if you’re not with me, living while missing you this much will tear me apart.”

“Eddie…” you said, your voice choking amidst sobs. “You mean everything to me. But sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes the realities of life overshadow our dreams.”

Eddie remained silent for a moment, as though your words echoed in his mind. Tears streamed down his face, completely breaking the strong mask he usually wore. He reached out for you, but you stayed where you were, your eyes locked on his. “I love you,” he said, his voice cracking like shattered glass. “But how can we make this work? We have to find a way… I can’t do this without you.”

You brought your hands to your face, wiping away tears that only returned immediately. “I know you’ll never stop loving me,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I’ll always love you, too. But maybe loving each other isn’t enough to change our situation right now. And maybe… maybe this is the best we can do for now.”

Eddie took a step back, the desperation and heartbreak on his face resonating throughout the room. He closed his eyes, his lips moving silently as though searching for words but saying nothing. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he took a trembling breath and opened his eyes to look at you again. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you,” he said. “I never want to say goodbye to you.”

In that moment, time seemed to stop. As you gazed at each other in silence, everything felt both unbearably heavy and inexplicably light. Eddie wrapped his arms around you once more, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to pull you into his very being. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking with sobs. “I’ll always love you.”

In that embrace, as you felt each other’s heartbeats, you both wished this moment could last forever. But you knew; even if this wasn’t a goodbye, nothing would be the same after this.

Eddie held you for a while longer, but the embrace no longer carried warmth—it carried a weight. You both knew this was the final connection before you let go of each other. Eddie’s breath was uneven, and each time it hit your shoulder, your heart broke a little more. His hands moved gently over your back, as if trying to etch the feeling of this touch into his memory.

Finally, he pulled back slowly. His eyes were red, yet they still held a deep resolve. He cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “Princess,” he said, his voice low and trembling, “I want you to take care of yourself. Promise me, okay? Wrap your scarf if it’s cold, don’t catch a chill at night. Don’t forget to eat properly. And… please, no matter what, try to be happy.”

You could only nod. You wanted to speak, to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. The tears streaming down your face silenced you. Eddie’s eyes carried the pain of a farewell that would last a lifetime. He looked away for a moment, his gaze falling to the floor.

He reached for the chain around his neck, a guitar pick hanging from it. It was his favorite pick—the one he used on stage, the one that reminded you of him more than anything else. His hands trembled slightly as he removed the chain. He held the pick in his palm for a moment, looking at it before meeting your gaze again. “I’ve carried this with me everywhere. But now, it needs to stay with you,” he said.

He placed the chain around your neck, his fingers lingering on the pendant for a moment before pulling away gently. “Always keep this with you. If you ever feel lonely, let this necklace bring you back to me,” he said, his eyes glistening with tears. Your hands instinctively reached for the necklace, and as the coolness of the pick touched your palm, the knot in your throat tightened even more.

“But Eddie,” you said, your voice muffled by sobs, “Will we ever see each other again?” The words spilled out desperately, tears streaming uncontrollably down your face.

Eddie paused for a moment, looking straight into your eyes. The depth in his gaze carried a thousand words he wanted to say, but only a few made it past his lips. “I promise you,” he said, his voice broken but resolute. “No matter where I am, I’ll always think of you. I’ll always write to you. I’ll send you a postcard from every place I visit. Even if you forget me, those postcards will remind you of me.”

Those words gave you a small sense of solace, but your heart only grew heavier. Eddie took your hands in his and held them tightly. “But no matter what, you’ll always be here for me,” he said, placing a hand over his chest. “You’ll always be with me.”

Eddie slowly released your hands and let his eyes roam over you one last time. It was as if he was trying to etch every detail of you into his memory, knowing he might never see you again. “I love you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Then he turned away. For a moment, he hesitated, as though he wanted to turn back and say something, but he kept moving forward. His steps were heavy but determined. You stood frozen in place, tears filling your eyes as you watched him go.

When Eddie reached the door, your breath caught, hoping he might turn back. But he didn’t. He opened the door and stepped outside. The air was freezing, the cold wind brushing against your face as you whispered after him, “Eddie…” But your voice was swallowed by the wind.

The door closed slowly. You ran to the window for one last glimpse of him. Outside, as snowflakes fell, you saw Eddie’s back. He was leaving. His steps quickened, as though he was afraid that stopping would make him turn around. His hands were shoved into his coat pockets, his head bowed. And you stood there behind the glass, tears streaming down your face, feeling your heart shatter.

Eddie didn’t look back. But you knew; you could feel that he was crying too.

credit for divider: @/strangergraphics taglist: @multyfangirl @nicholaschavezslut69 @t-folklore13

#eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader

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sunraies · 2 years ago

Note

hiiii can u do rafe x reader? she is really shy and a very nice person and maybe she is jj twin and one day she is just browsing on a second habd bookstore cause obvi she cant afford to buy books all the time and rafe sees her there cause he took weezy there and he buys the books that she looked more interested at and later he approaches her and jj all protective

idk where i want it to go🤣 u can be tyr judge

thank uuuu

This is so cute! I hope this does the request justice. x

Second-Hand Books

Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Warnings - Fluff, protective JJ, Reader is JJ's sister, but no description given. Hints of Luke being a shit dad.

As requested above

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You loved the second-hand bookstore in Kildare. It sometimes felt like a second home. Its name and sign was by no means magical "Secondhand Books" written in cursive golden letters, but the atmosphere was.

The old converted shop was a treasure trove of wonders, tucked away in a little side alley. It smelt like an old library with its shelves filled with countless stories and adventures waiting to be picked up and read. There were plants dotted all around, and even ivy tangled amongst the fairy lights on the ceiling.

Mixed matched lamps, tables, and plush armchairs were scattered around. If you caught Ms. Peggy, on a good day, she would let you sit and read until closing. The old lady enjoyed your company, often making you tea and giving you cookies.

You returned the favour by helping clean, unbox shipments, and take orders. You never accepted a penny from her, even if it was desperately needed it.

"Wheeze, why are we here?" You knew that voice as it carried through the aisles. "The store up the road has brand new books, not these dusty, old shit ones."

"They aren't dusty. Some are old. But none are shit." the youngest Cameron's voice protested. "I like it here. Plus, there is no chance of finding first editions of classics in that one"

"Just look online." Rafe sighed as you peaked around the corner.

He stood close to the door, which bell had jingled as they entered, with his hands stuffed in his shorts pockets. The backwards baseball cup gave him a boyish charm as his sunglasses were tucked into the collar of his pink tee.

He looked a little out of place, but only by his uninterested expression. Rafe Cameron would most likely fit in anywhere if he wasn't jugding his surroundings.

Wheezie, on the other hand, had a smile so bright as she practically skipped into the store. "There is no fun in that. You can't smell the books"

"You're a weird kid, Wheeze." Rafe shook his head, but you caught the small smile as he watched his baby sister happily search the shelves.

"Shut up and help look for Little Women." Wheezie called over her shoulder. "Make sure it's first edition"

You were shocked as Rafe chuckled and held up his hands before helping Wheezie look. He checked the higher shelves that she was unable to reach.

One problem with Ms. Peggy was her store had no order to it. You had offered to organise and arrange in alphabetical order, but she claimed it took away the magic of finding the perfect book.

"Here." You smiled as you approached Wheezie. Rafe had given up looking about 20 minutes ago and was slumped in an armchair, scrolling on his phone. "It's not a first edition, but the cover is beautiful."

"Oh. It's beautiful!" Wheeze smiled, taking the book and admiring the cover. "It's ok, I just said that, so it would give me more time in here." she whispered, making you laugh.

Your laugh caught Rafe’s attention as he quickly glanced up from his phone. His eyes looked you up and down.

Damn, how did you look so beautiful. He was sure he'd seen the crop top you were wearing on Kie before, but it looked so much better on you. He loved the way your shorts hugged your ass and waist. He even smiled a little at the shell anklet at the top of your greyish white Converse.

"You find it?" He asked, having shook the thoughts from his mind and tucking his phone into his back pocket.

"Yeah, Miss Maybank helped me," Wheezie smiled, remembering her manners, even if you were the same age as Sarah. "But I wanna look around some more."

Rafe sighed and rolled his eyes at her pleading look. "Alright, fine. One hour, and then we gotta go."

As Wheezie bounced around the store, he flopped back into the chair, even picking up a book from the table and glancing at it.

What you didn't realise was that as you looked away, he would glance over the top of the book every so often and watched as you moved around the store. He noticed that you would read the back of a book, flick to the first page before smiling and tucking under your arm if you like it.

"Just the one, Ms Peg." You smiled at the old lady behind the till before digging into your old, tattered, looking tote bag and pulling out your purse.

"I can put the others to the side for you, dear." She offered as you had walked up to the till with a pile of five.

"It's ok. If they are gone by next week, then it wasn't meant to be." You said as handed her the cash.

You didn't know why you even admitted to buying all five as you should have known your card would bounce. Maybe this time, you had just been hoping that Luke, your father, hadn't run up the credit bill.

You wished a goodbye to Wheezie as she walked up the counter with a pile of books and even gave Rafe a smile and wave as you left the store.

*-*-*-*

The sound of a dirt bike coming up the road broke you out of the world you were emersied in. You had been reading your new book on the creaky old porch swing on the porch outside. Enjoying the evening coolish before sunset.

At first, you thought it was JJ coming home, but then you realised he'd come home an hour ago with John B and Pope. You could hear them laughing in the house.

"JJ?!" You called into the window open as you stood up, placing your book on your blanket. "Are you guys expecting anyone?"

You were a little nervous as unplanned visits from people not in the Twinkie or Kie's car normally meant your father or JJ had caused trouble.

The rider stopped a few feet away, and your eyes widened in shock as Rafe Cameron removed his helmet. His hair tousled from the helmet and his cheeks little pink.

"Rafe?" You frowned and hugged your hoodie around your body as you hid your hands in your sleeves.

He looked a little unsure of himself as he walked over to you, a cotton tote bag in his hand. "These are for you." He held the bag out to you as he glanced around, not looking at you directly.

You took the bag, completely confused before gasping as you looked inside. It was the books you had to leave at the store.

Before you even had a chance to question it or say thank you, the screen door burst open as JJ came flying out "What the fuck are you doing here, Kook?"

You tried to pull him back as he got right in Rafe’s face "Jayj. Stop"

JJ looked between you and Rafe "What the fuck did he say to you?" He asked you before turning to Rafe again "What'd you say?"

"What's it to you, Pogue" Rafe looked like he was trying to hold back his anger but with JJ right in his personal space it was hard.

"Stay away from my sister, pretty boy" JJ pushed Rafe a little "Get the fuck outta here"

John B and Pope appeared in the doorway but before they could back up JJ, you got between the two that were squaring up to each other.

You stood with your back to Rafe as you spoke to JJ but could feel him breathing heavily behind you.

"Jayj. Go back inside" You sighed and got annoyed as he stared at Rafe over your head "JJ, go the fuck back inside. I will call if I need you"

It took you actually pushing JJ a little for him to snap out of it. He looked at you before nodding "He tries anything. We beat him. He's on our terf now"

You rolled your eyes "I'm sure, he won't. But sure, you boys can protect your territory if needed"

You knew Rafe was taking a risk being in The Cut, especially after the stunt he pulled the other week. You knew why the boys were bitter as you hadn't been too happy either after finding out he'd jumped Pope at the Country Club.

You watched JJ walk backwards and stand on the porch with the others. You sighed before turning to face Rafe.

"I can't take these." You held the bag out to him, but he stook his head.

"They're yours," He said, rubbing the neck of his neck. He seemed nervous and not because of the boys glaring at him from the porch. "Bin them, read them, do whatever you want with them."

You looked in the bag again before smiling. "Thank you, Rafe." You smiled at him.

"I better go." He sighed after nodding at your thanks. He looked like he wanted to say more but walked back to his bike

"Bye," JJ yelled. "Don't come back. The Cu- Ow!" You cut him off as you shoved into his shoulder

"You guys are fucking unbelievable" You muttered walking into the house, leaving them looking offerened at each other.

As you sat on your bed, you pulled the books out of the bag before finding a note, tucked into one of them. Your heart fluttered as you read it.

'I would buy you all the books in the world, just to see that smile - R'

#rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #outerbanks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks fic #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic

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waywardrose · 7 months ago

Text

SIDETRACKED

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated: teen | word-count: 900

for @theold-ultraviolence

mechanic!eddie, gn!reader, slice of domestic life, complete fluff

Eddie's late getting home. You turn the oven off, yet leave the casserole in to keep it warm. He's never late. He always clocks out at six and is home within fifteen minutes. According to the clock above the sink, it's nearly 6:45. Something is wrong. You eye the phone, debating if you should call the garage. Maybe something last-minute happened.

Like an emergency tow. Or a quick flat-tire fix. Or a gaggle of geese had waddled into one of the bays — again.

He'd called you that first time, laughing and insisting you had to see it. When you'd pulled up, geese were honking and flapping and pooping all over the garage floor. A giggling Eddie crouched behind a station wagon while Wayne rubbed at the seat of his coveralls and Jeff waved a dirty rag at a couple of unimpressed geese. You saved the day by turning on the hose and threatening the gaggle with cold water.

Eddie proclaimed you their knight in shining armor and the slayer of winged beasts. You'd kissed him and told him to bring home dinner. He'd been home at 6:30 with a pizza and a six-pack of Miller.

You walk to the front window and check the street. The old lady down the road sweeps her front porch. Across the way, two kids' bikes lie tangled on the stoop.

Fuck this.

You march to the kitchen phone and dial the garage. The line rings and rings and rings. Wayne and Jeff must've already left for the day. With a sigh, you hang up. If they'd left, Eddie had as well.

For a distraction, you pull the casserole out of the oven. One edge is darker than the others because of the extra cooking time. You pick off the dark bits, flinging them into the sink for later clean-up, and cover the dish in foil to steam it.

That took a whopping five minutes. It's now almost 7:00.

Maybe there'd been an accident. Hopefully, not one Eddie had been in. He had enough trauma for one lifetime. Maybe it's road construction, though you hadn't heard about any…

The front door bangs open. You spin, brandishing the serving spoon. Eddie stands in the doorway, boots grubby and top of his overalls knotted around his lean waist. He raises a stained hand, the other hidden behind his back.

"Where the hell have you been?" you demand as you shake the spoon at him.

"Sorry." He winces and lowers his hand. "I know I should've called."

"Damn straight, you should've called."

"I left work a little late. And, uh, well… I got sidetracked."

"Sidetracked."

That isn't anything new with Eddie. He's a menace when it comes to cleaning alone. He'd volunteer to dust and neaten the living room while you went grocery shopping. When everything was in piles, he'd discover something cool, or something he'd forgotten, and focus on that for the rest of the afternoon. You'd come home to a bigger mess more than once.

He holds out his hand for the spoon.

"Trade ya."

You frown.

"What?" you ask, though you offer the spoon.

His calluses rasp over your skin as he takes it. He sweeps his other hand from behind his back to present a bouquet of orange ditch lilies. He'd used one of his hair-ties to keep the long stems together.

A tightness you hadn't been aware of before uncoils in your chest. Your eyes prickle with unexpected tears.

You whisper, "They're beautiful," and rub a silky petal tip between two fingers.

His voice is rough as he says, "I didn't mean to scare you."

You shake your head and give him a smile.

Silly boy. Sweet, silly boy — the one you fell in love with years ago.

He spreads his arms with a self-deprecating grin and shrug. As if to say he knows he's beyond hope, or useless, or incompetent.

You scoff. "Oh, shut up."

You wrap your arms around him. His old Metallica t-shirt smells like sweat and fresh air. He hugs you tight. The lilies' petals caress your neck, making you shiver.

You pull back enough to look into his warm eyes.

"Thank you for the flowers."

He sways you a little.

"Next time, I'll get you roses."

"Oh? Going to ruin some poor lady's garden?"

"For you? Of course."

You thump your palm on his waist with a delighted laugh. He grins roguishly and moves in to kiss you. Your lips meet, and it's still a spark. You've been burning for him since that first date, that first kiss. Your whole body heats at his touch.

The serving spoon clunks on the floor. His hand presses at your lower back. His lips are as soft as petals and hot like embers. He kisses you harder, deeper. His clever tongue slides against yours.

Urgency like a fever has you pulling him farther into the house. He kicks the front door closed, a grin against your lips. You take the bouquet from him and place it by the sink.

Dinner can wait.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #waywardrose writes

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whispangleblogger · 2 years ago

Text

If you haven't yet, hop over and check out my Friend Ava's Fan Comic, Tangle and Whisper new Roads ! :>

"Tangle & Whisper: New Roads" Issue #1 Animated Cover!

With Issue 2 coming soon, here's a treat for all our patient fans! We showed this off at our panel at #SonicRevolution��and I love how great this turned out! I'm just as excited as everyone else and hope you all will enjoy issue 2!!!

Original Cover by: https://twitter.com/_Karl0_

Animation & Music by: https://twitter.com/Michael_States

#Amazing animation !#I love the creepy vibes #it looks so smooth #Tangle and Whisper New Roads #Whisper the Wolf #Tangle the Lemur

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muzansfangs · 1 year ago

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Enjoy the silence.

Starring: Shinji Hirako x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, slight somnophilia, oral sex (f!reader receiving), slight overstimulation, morning sex, enstablished relationship, Shinji’s piercing on his tongue is a warning itself.

Plot: you had convinced your boyfriend Shinji to accompany you to a concert. He loved music, but he loathed the band you supported. For the sake of you, he had let it slide, although he complained all the way back to your flat. The morning after, you woke up to an immense pleasure engulfing your nether regions, only to find out your boyfriend’s shit-eating grin giving you a sweet good morning.

Track: Enjoy the silence – Depeche Mode “All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here in my arms. Words are very unnecessary, they can only do harm”.

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Some golden rays seeped through the curtains, lazily illuminating the bedroom with a soothing orange light and the comforting warmth of the sun raising up in the sky. It was early, right, and you were still peacefully sleeping into your bed with the white blankets tangled in your legs and your boyfriend’s head resting on your chest. The sound of the chirping birds outside your window woke him up, his heavy eyelids slowly opening to greet the new day ahead of him.

His head ached a little, the aftermath of the rock concert you had dragged him to still affecting him quite badly. Maybe he should have stayed sprawled on your sofa yesterday night. Still, he could not turn you down. Not after the puppy eyes you had given him to his first refusal to accompany you there.

He lifted himself up the elbows, eyes darting on your body and your delicate features. You were still sleeping, chest raising and falling rhythmically, lips parted as you navigated through the mysterious roads of dreamland.

You were so beautiful, so perfect for him, even if you literally drove him mad at times. If he closed his eyes, he could still see you dancing beside him, screaming at the top of your lungs all the lyrics of the band he loathed oh so much. Still, you were so happy and dashing, shining among thd dancing crowd, and he loved seeing you smile like that. Yet, he had to somehow get back at you. He could not resist and restraining himself was not an option.

Being into a relationship for quite a while had granted you the chance to explore each other limits. You had told him more than once in the past that you were not bothered by the idea of him initiating intimate activities, while you were asleep. You trusted him blindly and, being touched by the person that had saved your life countless times in past, felt right, no matter the circumstances.

Shinji sighed, crawling down your body and carefully grasping your left leg to make some more space for him to move during the act. As he switched his gaze from your sleepy face to your panties, he made sure to slip his slender fingers underneath the straps and slowly pulled the item down your legs. A goddess, you looked like a real goddess.

From that position, the former Captain of the Fifth Division could enjoy the way your chest raised and fell in your slow and steady breathing, admiring the gentle curves of your body in awe. His pierced tongue swept out of his mouth, as he was lost into thinking about the way the the metal sphere over his tongue would have soon stimulated your bundle of nerves.

“Here we go, love…” he whispered lowly, a shit-eating grin plastered over his face as he lowered his mouth down to your heat.

At first, you did not even seem that affected by the gentle licks of Shinji’s tongue. You were clearly still too tired for having danced all night long, singing and pestering your boyfriend with facts about the singer only a true fan could know, to wake up right away.

You should have probably clamped your mouth shut on your way back to your flat, but you were too euphoric not to comment on the event you had attended. Maybe, though, you just wanted to enjoy the pained face crossing your boyfriend’s sharp features, whenever you praised the band.

Now, as Shinji delicately gripped your thighs, half-lidded eyes scrutinizing your face in hunger, you could sense something stimulating your pearl deliciously. As you stirred in your sleep, you whined softly and your hips bucked, causing Shinji’s nose to unintentionally bump onto your clit.

“W-What… Shinji?” you whispered softly, eyes still closed as your mouth hung open in pleasure.

“Good morning, darling” the blonde man replied, his hot breath fanning your soaked cunt as he greeted you with his slightly high-pitched voice.

Oh, now you knew what was going to happen.

You sighed and smiled lazily, your hand reaching down to allow you to run your fingers through Shinji’s irregular bob. It was an affectionate sign for him to continue, because he knew you could never get enough of him and his own special way to give you oral.

“Ah, no. That’s not how things work. Your voice is so melodic, ya know? I enjoyed listening to you use your voice all night long yesterday! Use your words for me one more time. What is it that you want?” the man asked, a snarky smirk on his glistening lips, as he flicked his tongue teasingly over your most sensitive area.

Jolts of electricity made your body shake, as you gasped and bit onto your bottom lip in pleasure. He knew where to touch you, how to drive you insane and push your buttons.

“You’re mean…” you muttered, pouting down at him, as you finally opened your eyes and met his bright ones.

And, dear God, what a sight to wake up to.

“Blame it on the Hollow inside me…” he purred, biting the inside of your thigh softly and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down to your heat. His lips felt heavenly on you and the small moans falling from your lips were the unconfutable proof that you were loving his touch and that you craved more of it.

“Shinji, please. Baby, please, I can’t take it… Make me cum” you breathed out, making him wink at you and chuckle at the pathetic state you were in so early in the morning and he had not even involved his fingers yet.

“I got it, I got ya, baby… Now, let me treat that pussy right” he purred, not caring about punishing you anymore, as his lips started to suck at your aching clit passionately.

There was only one thing that mattered to him and it was not driving you crazy, or getting back at you. Shinji Hirako only cared about you, your needs and your love.

No matter how many times he had to follow you down roads he did not like, he would have endoured anything to see you happy. No matter what, no matter where.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I’m sorry for being late with updates, but I have been so busy. However, I have completed another one-shot for my event. Yay, I feel at peace with myself. Why? Because it’s a smutty one and it’s officially kinktober! This is a little shorter than I had originally planned, but I guess it will suffice this time.

Likes, comments and re-posts are appeciated!

Until next,

x o x o

TAGS: @stygianoir @quinnies-blog @electronicwitchcollection

#shinji hirako x reader #shinji hirako #hirako shinji x reader #shinji x reader #shinji x y/n #bleach x female reader #bleach x reader #bleach x you #shinji hirako x you #hirako shinji

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number-onekidqueen · 10 months ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝

Part Two Part One

Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader

warnings: character death, depression, lots of crying.

Summary: you’re still feeling awkward about what happened that night with Luke. And then you get the news that changes everything.

Days passed, days since your ki- hang out with Luke.

Hang out? Who were you kidding? It was clear it wasn’t him.

But you’d laid yourself bare to him, been about to confess all your feelings and he had just shut you down and run away.

Of course you didn’t wanna talk about it in the morning.

The tragedy was he did.

And just when you were feeling better, and your conversations weren’t so awkward, fate tossed you to the ground again, as it often did. You still didn’t really believe it.

Cecilia, your cabin counsellor, your beloved older sister had died on the road to college. It seemed impossible.

Of course, they’d had a brief ceremony, a burning of a golden yellow shroud weaved with her own fingers. And then they’d appointed you as cabin counsellor, announced a bunch of new kids had arrived and everyone forgot.

It made you sick to think people would forget Cecilia. That the three Apollo kids your cabin had greeted would grow up without her and never know of her presence.

Obviously, your cabin was upset, but they didn’t make it so as Aphrodite always did. The sun keeps shining, and Apollo kids kept going, laughing, training, even if muffled sobs could be heard the first few nights. They never talked of her, and after the first week, she was a sad little scar that had scabbed.

It still hurt a little, but the memory was what hurt the most.

Except for you. She was still a mortal, lethal wound for you. And it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure and pretend everything was okay.

Shortly, it all cracked and spilled out from you. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault really. Chiron was just trying to be supportive to little Will, but when he praised enthusiastically that he was the best archer he’d scene for 300 years, tears seemed to burst from you.

Because that had been Cecilia’s title. She had been the best archer, training all the little ones supportively and making people gasp with the precision of her shots.

It seemed Chiron had already forgotten. Everyone had.

It was like losing her all over again.

No one saw the little sun cracking on the archery field. They just noticed you disappearing behind some clouds.

You didn’t pay attention to the stares and whiplash glances of some, as you ran back to your cabin with tears streaming, and your heart in your throat.

Didn’t notice as a tall brunette boy on the sword plains spotted you, dropped his sword immediately and with a shouted apology behind him began to sprint after you.

Your bed was warm and comforting, the covers swaddled around your shoulders in a safe cocoon as you sobbed your heart and soul onto your pillow.

Cecelia was dead. Dead. This is what you would deal with every day for the rest of your life, she was dead and she would be replaced and forgotten and no one would even know her and-

The door creaked open and immediately you stilled, pretending to be asleep.

“Y/N?” It was Luke.

Not the timing, you thought to yourself miserably.

“Y-yeah,” you tried for a sleepy yawn, but it came out cracked and pained. Ugh.

“You ok?” He asked quietly, and you heard his footsteps approach.

“Yeah, yeah. Just woke up.” But your voice was hollow and very much awake.

He sat softly at the edge of your bed, and for a while you were both still. Only your breath was audible. Then, tentatively and slowly, you began to feel his warm fingers slide through your hair. It was so comforting and lovely that you had to swallow down the wave of tears that surfaced.

“It’s okay, you know,” he murmured, your hair in glorious tangles around his knuckles, “to cry. You don’t have to pretend. Especially for me.”

“Yeah, I know,” you whispered back, “it’s just-“ you hesitated.

I love you.

I don’t want to burden you with all my stupid problems.

“You probably don’t want to talk about this to anyone, right? Me included.” He guessed, and he began to retract his fingers and you felt like screaming at how utterly wrong he was. “I’m sorry, I should give you space.”

“No, you don’t have to. You can stay here.” You tried not to beg, but you were inches from clinging onto him to stop his departure. He understood.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Then here I’m staying. In your bed.” He reassured comfortingly, “I mean, on.”

His flustered stuttering made you smile weakly and turn to face him.

His whole face softened, lost all his fluster and stress when your eyes met, but you were too busy setting your head into his lap so you faced up at him to notice.

He traced your tear tracks, brushing any remaining ones away with his thumbs.

“I know the pain feels awful,” he said suddenly, “but if you ever feel bad, like you can’t breathe or you’re about to burst, don’t keep it in y/n, come find me. I’m always here for you, always.”

“Thank you.” You said near inaudibly.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he confessed, his forehead crinkling, “or being sad. It just hurts me. But I love making you feel better, I’d do anything in the world to make you happy, I promise.”

“Thank you.” You said louder this time, your cheeks beginning to heat up.

It was a peaceful few seconds you gazed at each other, smiling. Then you closed your eyes, comforted.

You felt warm hands lift your body, and your eyes fluttered open. But it was just Luke lying down beside you and repositioning yourself on his chest.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “just figured we might be here for a while.”

His arms encircled you, and even in your drunken state of misery, your heart rate sped up. You turned your head slightly, so you could hide your bashful grin in the orange folds of his shirt. His chest was warm, comforting, and you could feel every deep breath he took.

“Sorry,” you murmured, facing up once more, “your shirt’s probably going to be all soggy after this.”

“I don’t mind a soggy shirt if it makes you happy.” He breathed, and your heart was bursting from the love that statement invoked when you saw his eyes flicker. Your eyes. Your mouth.

Could he really-

Surely not-

Eyes. Mouth.

The air was electric, as if Zeus himself was in the cabin. The space was getting tighter and smaller and everything was so close and dizzy and what in the gods before you knew it you were nose to nose and you could feel his warm breath and he was leaning down to kiss you against the pillow.

It might’ve been the best kiss you ever had. With salt on your tongue, and sweetness from his lips, the tastes of all your emotions were combined, giving way to the most passionate and fantastic kiss you’d ever had. Your head was pressed to the pillow, and he was moving above you, warm, soft and pouring his heart out to you, the gateway his lips. It seemed every single ‘I love you’ either of you had ever been too afraid to say was expressed strongly now, each drop of attraction and love and feeling was encapsulated between the movement of your lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay,” he breathed, against your lips, when you finally pulled apart, both of you panting, “I didn’t want to do anything while you were drunk. But of course I wanted to. I wanted you. I have for so long.”

“It’s okay. I have too,” and you laughed, all those emotions and secrets finally free. You were so giddy with joy! But Luke remained tense, nervous for a reason you couldn’t determine. You calmed down, scared it was all about to come crashing down.

“It’s- it’s not just that, y/n,” he paused, sitting up further away, eyes still looking profoundly into yours, “I love you. I love you, all of you, and you should know that to me you’ve never been a burden, only a miracle to have been with.”

Your breath was caught in your throat, blown away by his confession. You were expecting he might’ve been crushing on you? But loving you? You’d never dared to consider that as an option. And you were beyond thrilled.

“Now would be a great time to say anything,” he laughed nervously, fingers brushing over your shoulders restlessly. You immediately felt awful for keeping him waiting.

“I love you too.” You blurted, letting silence ensue. “You make me so happy every time you make a joke or take care of the new unclaimed kids. I’m just in shock.”

And then the pair of you were laughing together, foreheads pressed together before you were tangled in an embrace, that led to another heated kiss on your bed.

You knew soon other campers would arrive to see two head counselors kissing, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. In fact, while Luke’s like we’re on yours, you couldn’t seem to form any coherent thoughts at all.

In the back of your mind, you were still sobbing over Cecilia. Deeply, you knew you always would. Your heart would always be chipped in that way, the missing fragment forever in her fist as she wandered Elysium.

But you also knew how happy she would be to see you thriving, dating and loving Luke, a boy she had always suggested and approved of. She imagined her now, giggling in delight and grinning at what had transpired. And slowly, the pain began to lift.

Maybe a scar would be okay, as long as you loved and remembered it.

Most of all, you knew that for as long as you required a shoulder to make soggy, Luke would always be there to be your comfort person.

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