#this episode is making me crack up every few minutes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

keehomania · 2 months ago

Note

Mark with big tits reader was craaazyy good 😵‍💫 what about mark with insecure reader bc she has tiny bitty titty (me)✌️

this is not a love story — mark lee (마크 리)

✧ WC: 15.8K

✧ SYN: you’ve never known love, no matter how much you believed you did. maybe it was never fated for you to cross paths, maybe it was never really there.

✧*. 18+

if there was anything you refused to allow yourself to believe in, it was a happy ending. taking things for granted seemed to come easy for humans, you thought. or rather, you knew, because you were a part of the majority. times were simpler when you were blissfully unaware. back then, you were just blissful, unaware of just how complicated life would get after those trial years.

you got your happy ending, you lived it until you turned fourteen, ready for a cruel beginning. it was easy to take the simple things for granted, and if you could turn back time, the first thing you would do is make sure to cherish it all. cherish staying up an hour past your bedtime, cuddled up with your mother, watching whatever show she had turned on. you didn’t care at the time, you didn't care for her midday soap operas or her nightly detective shows, but it was different now. now, you would give anything to watch just one more episode, curled up in her lap. you would give anything to get up early and get ready for school with your mother’s makeup, even though you hated going. you would give anything to watch cinderella one more time, to believe that happy endings really did exist.

your makeshift happy ending came to its final act when you turned fifteen. you had moved from busan to seoul just a few years back, and you were unable to adapt. a new school, new friends and a new way of life was awaitng you, but you had no idea how to make peace with it. it wasn’t too hard the first few years, all you had to do was keep to yourself. the thought of it was what kept you away from the other students, away from their cliques and personal politics, kept your grades steady and you to yourself. you were never in the eye of the storm, nobody had a reason to pick on you. like many other things, you had taken the peace for granted.

most of it started when you were fifteen, your own hormones teaming up against you. nothing had changed—not the silence, not the way those around you acted. nothing changed except your approach; you felt insignificant, like nothing you said or did mattered. you noticed the attention fall on the other girls from your class, the way nearly every boy was fond of them, showered them with praise. everything you had deemed irrelevant before had come back and hit you like a ton of bricks. why did nobody bother to give you that kind of attention? were you that ugly? was puberty doing everybody but you justice?

those kind of thoughts had started to flood your mind, seeping into every crack and crevice of your attention and ultimately stealing it from the things that really mattered. you started to focus more on your physical appearance, waking up an hour too early just to touch yourself up. you wanted to turn yourself into someone you knew you weren’t, to live somebody else's life just to feel better about yourself. everybody questioned the sudden change, no matter how little of important you deemed yourself. why was your hair straightened? had your lashes grown overnight? what was with the skimpy clothes? in a way, it was effective. more people had started talking to you, even if it was small talk. it made you feel good, but you knew you could do better.

you had traded what would later be a piece of your soul in exchange for temporary security. you entered your first real relationship that same year—it wasn’t real, it lasted five months. to a fifteen year-old girl with less than no experience, it was real. it was real when you held hands, kissed, when you lied to your parents to see him—even if it was for just twenty minutes, when he made you feel like you were the most important girl in the world. it was just as real to you when you had started smoking, drinking, doing all the things you swore not to do with him. it didn’t count if it was with him, right?

it became real when reality hit you like a physical blow to your stomach. ultimately, you had lost your virginity to him in a way that was so sudden, you knew in your head that it wasn’t love, but you weren’t thinking with your head. not when you wore your heart on your sleeve so proudly. it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, you didn’t even like it all that much. you just wanted to feel the love you so badly chased after, even if it only lasted five minutes. you told your friend all about it the next day, but you were so worked up and eager to share the news that you had forgotten just how much the kids your aged liked to blabber, and it was exactly what he did. you didn’t realize just how fast the news had spread, you didn’t register the dirty looks and condescending stares for a good while, until you had to.

the news of your distasteful encounter had reached the staff. the principal, the secretary, and the guidance counselor. when you were called into her office, you didn't know what it was you were expecting. the office itself put you off—white, sleek walls, a tidy desk, three chairs alligned perfectly to the side, and the sharp, pungent stench of medical supplies. everything about it made your stomach twist with fear, even though you didn’t know what it was that you were so afraid of. the silence only put you off further, but then, she finally cut through it. the sole start was just to ask you basic questions—how were you doing? have you been experiencing any issues lately? what was your life like at home, any concerns? it was meant to make you comfortable, to spread your soul open and go after its most tainted parts, but it only made you more queasy.

you wished the small talk had lasted longer, because you were absolutely unprepared for what followed. when she asked you if it was true that you had lost your virginity, you felt your world turn upside down. you were sure she had seen the way your face paled and heard the way your heart thumped in your ears, you were positive. your throat had started to close up and your lips grew chapped, no matter how many times you ran your tongue over them. in the end, you had to admit it, there was absolutely no way out of it. you had finished your confession with what worried you the most, begging her to honor the counselor code and to keep your parents uninformed. she promised to keep it a secret, but never intended on taking it to her grave.

in all fairness, you were fifteen. it wasn’t morally right to lie to you, but lying to your parents about such a situation would've been even worse. your mother threw a fit, broke down in the worst way possible and cried herself to sleep three nights in a row. your father had shut down—he was never mad, he was just disappointed. your mother had gone off like a time bomb waiting to explode, and she finally did. she exploded in a way that made you feel like you were the epitome of everything wrong with the world, and in a way that made her feel like she was the reason for it. you had blamed her for taking advantage of your future for so long, for forcing you to move with her just because she wanted to—because she longed for her city even if you liked yours better. you didn't think you resented her for it, even though she knew you did. she made peace with it, with the fact that you had both found a way to put a strain on your relationship.

your boyfriend was the first to break things off with you, even though you were the one instructed to do so. you had no intention of doing it, telling him all about what happened and his response being something generic and typical for a boy his age—you’d find a way out of it, he'd stay by your side, he’d wait as long as possible for you. you didn’t know it then but when you looked back at it, you felt like a fool. none of his promises were fulfilled, and you were left with a void in your heart for the first time in your life. it was a void you had filled with cheap cigarettes, shots of groccery store tequila, red hair dye and an absolute punch to your youth.

you were sixteen by then, and you had lost any and all touch with reality. the void in your soul was blocked by going to parties you swore you would never come across, befriending the hosts even though you knew they were shitty people, expanding your circle of friends you knew hated you deep down—but you didn’t care. it was a phase that took a toll on you and your reputation. during that phase, you had gotten yourself entangled in two more relationships. they were short-lived, shorter than your first one, but you didn’t wanna be alone. if you weren't with your friends or drinking, you wanted to feel loved. even if you knew it was temporary. you had given yourself up two more times to feel the love you thought you deserved, even though it wasn’t love. it didn’t faze you until people started talking about it, again.

this would happen four more times. four more times would you give yourself up to four different people you thought loved you. maybe some of them did, you didn’t know anymore. you had stopped believing in it a long time ago, you had stopped chasing the happy ending you thought awaited you. maybe you struggles weren’t all for nothing, you hoped, maybe the sun was hidden behind the clouds, but it wasn't. the sun had fallen and it was dark, and your only source of light was what was familiar. it wasn’t a good kind of familiar, no matter how useful the light seemed. it was a blinding kind of light and it, too, would succumb to the darkness at some point.

the cycle repeated itself four times, but you were too numb to realize just how bad it had gotten. the only time you had fallen in love during the whole ordeal was with the fourth guy. you were seventeen at the time, and he was a year younger than you. anybody listening would’ve assumed it was your shot at a happy ending, that it was everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost was. almost. you were out with your friend and her boyfriend, and he had insisted on going to one of the many bars in town, but your friend was reluctant. you had been texting a guy at the time and, though it was rather casual, he happened to be in the same bar. it was the only reason you agreed, promising her you’d be there for just a bit. the guy you had been texting wasn’t too eager to see you, thinking it was too soon, but it all changed when you walked in. as corny as it was, it was the truth. he hadn’t expected you to be so pretty, so charming and so gentle with him. you barely noticed him at first—when you walked into the bar, the first thing you felt was the stench of medical equipment in the bathroom assaulting your nostrils.

despite the rough start, it was a relationship that blossomed into something that was as beautiful as a foxglove. it came in different shades, patterns and shapes, but it was beautiful. it was beautiful when you took a glance at it, even a good stare. it was beautiful when you embraced it, even for a long while, but it was just as deadly if you held onto it for too long. that was exactly what you did. you held onto it until you had nothing to hold onto anymore, until the stem had snapped and the petals danced in the air. the petals were all that was left, but even they showed no mercy. he had broken it off after six months, claiming to have done it because you were dishonest with him about how many people you had slept with prior to him, but you knew that it wasn't true. you knew he had just gotten bored of you.

your breaking point came just after, and you grieved him far longer than you should have. eight months proceeding the split had been spent drinking, pondering and making a fool out of yourself—all because of a man. it made you spiral, shift and it was the sole reason you fell apart. nothing mattered anymore, not even the people that made it their mission to turn your the intimate details about your life into a public spectacle. you let yourself fall apart with nothing to catch you but your own too arms, and even they weren’t enough to carry the weight of your burdens. had you ever known love? what was the point of feeling the warmth of a home if it was built with cards? you hadn’t known love, and you were sure you never would.

you started to take yourself seriously when you turned eighteen. the people hated you, all the people your age. they all knew you based on the mistakes you had made, the most intricate details of your life that you prayed would never come to light, and the poor decisions on your behalf. your name had become such a taboo topic that you had detached yourself from the rest of the city. you spent a summer away in japan with your uncle, searching for a way to put your mind at ease. upon coming back, you were quick and pleased to discover that everybody had forgotten about you. you were no longer relevant, your scandals were no longer interesting to talk about. it was something that one of your exes, kim dongyoung, assured you that it was as if people has forgotten about you entirely. despite having a rough split with him, one that was entirely your fault, you remained friends with him, and he was good to you.

your final year of high school came to a peaceful and successful close. all of your time was devoted to your classes and extracurriculars, and nobody said a word about it. you had assumed tens of thousands of derogatory words would roll off their tongues, at least behind your back, but there was nothing. once again, you didn't matter, and you couldn't have been happier about it. you graduated as best as you could, and absolutely everything had changed, but you didn’t feel at ease. you didn't feel like you would get your happy ending, no matter how well you were doing.

the pressure that once felt distant was now inescapable, crushing you under its weight. you thought the relief would come after graduation, that somehow this looming sense of duty would evaporate as you took the next logical step—studying law, following in the footsteps your family had silently mapped out for you. but instead, the silence from everyone around you only added to your disquiet. the silence wasn’t praise, it wasn’t encouragement, it was indifference. you had worked so hard for nothing more than a polite smile, a generic “congratulations.” no one cared.

that was when the contract came in—a modeling gig, of all things. It was meant to be temporary, a short detour from the expected path. you figured it would be easy. why wouldn’t it be? pose for a few pictures, walk down a runway. In and out, no mess. you’d take some time, maybe earn a little money before heading to law school like you had always planned. you signed your name on the dotted line, not fully realizing what it meant. suddenly, you were in it—korea’s newest face, the nation’s ‘princess.’ the transformation wasn’t gradual; it was like waking up in someone else’s body. one minute you were a student, scandalous, spat on. the next, you were everywhere. billboards, magazines, flashing cameras. thhe whole country seemed to know your name, and for the first time, you felt like you existed.

but existence always came at a price. at first, it was small sacrifices. a skipped meal here, an extra workout there. you told yourself it was temporary, just until the next shoot, just until the next campaign. soon, celery and ice cubes became your daily staples, the only things you allowed yourself to consume. the emptiness inside you wasn’t just hunger anymore—it was something deeper, more insidious. your reflection in the mirror grew sharper, more defined, as if every pound you shed stripped away another layer of who you used to be.

the people around you noticed the changes, but not in the way you expected. the criticisms came, not from the people who mattered to you, but from strangers. overweight men with sagging bellies, women who would never fit into the clothes you wore—they all felt entitled to say something. a comment about your posture, the way your hips didn’t quite match their idea of perfection, how your eyes looked too tired. their words clung to you like grease, seeping into every pore until you began to believe them. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the insults only fueled you, driving you to work harder, push further, just to prove them wrong.

there were moments when you wanted to quit, when the exhaustion from endless workouts and starvation weighed you down so heavily that you felt your bones might snap under the strain. there were nights when you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you had made the right choice, if modeling had been easier than law—or if this was just another cage, more gilded but no less suffocating. yet, despite it all, something began to shift. it started with the way people looked at you. at first, you didn’t notice. you were too busy hiding your exhaustion behind perfect makeup, too focused on pretending that everything was fine. but then, you began to see it—the looks that weren’t pitying, weren’t dismissive. people weren’t looking at you like they used to, with that thin layer of contempt, the way they had in school. it wasn’t hatred anymore. this time, when they looked at you, it was admiration.

the way their eyes lingered on you wasn’t like before. It was different—soft, almost reverent. you could feel it in the way they stood a little straighter when you walked into a room, the way conversations quieted, as if your mere presence demanded attention. you started to recognize that look. it was the one you had given others, the untouchable, the perfect. they didn’t see you as human anymore, but as something beyond that. they saw perfection, or the closest thing to it that they could grasp.

it felt good. addictively good. the power that came with their admiration, their respect, it washed over you like a warm current, and you couldn’t deny how much you craved it. it filled the hollow places inside you that no amount of food or rest could fix. you had always wanted to be seen, to matter, and now you did. it didn’t matter if you were starving. it didn’t matter if you felt like you were falling apart behind the scenes. as long as they looked at you like that, it was worth it, wasn’t it? you had become korea’s ‘princess,’ but deep down, you knew. the crown was heavy, and it wasn’t yours to keep forever. you just didn’t know how long you could carry it.

the studio was a cavernous space, its high ceilings disappearing into soft shadows cast by the industrial lighting rigged above. a haze of white light bathed the room, diffusing over every surface, amplifying the sharpness of the scene in front of you. rows of expensive cameras clicked in perfect rhythm, each shutter a drumbeat to your performance. the set was minimal—sleek, modern, monochrome—a backdrop of muted grays and blacks that made your crimson gown blaze like fire.

you were the centerpiece, draped in a figure-hugging satin dress that pooled dramatically around your feet. the fabric clung to every curve, shimmering under the lights with every subtle movement. a slit ran high up your thigh, a calculated element of the designer’s vision. the neckline dipped just enough to tease, but not to scandalize. everything was deliberate, down to the last stitch. you had become a canvas, an embodiment of elegance, allure, and untouchable sophistication.

“alright, beautiful, chin up. yes, just like that,” the photographer’s voice echoed, smooth and precise. his name was han minseok, and he had a reputation for bringing out the best in his models. his praise came easy, but you knew better than to let it sink in too deep. you held your pose, lifting your chin slightly, eyes half-lidded as you stared down the lens with calculated indifference. “perfect, darling,” minseok murmured. the camera clicked again, rapid-fire. “you’re nailing it. hold it right there—perfect!”

your manager, jeong jaehyun, stood off to the side, arms crossed, observing the shoot with an approving smile. his eyes followed every movement you made, calculating, critiquing, but also proud. he knew how to push you, knew exactly how far you could go before breaking. and today, you were flawless. you could feel his approval radiating from him without him needing to say a word. you shifted your weight slightly, allowing the dress to catch the light in a new way. the faintest smirk tugged at your lips—a hint of danger, a whisper of seduction. you manqged to embody the theme of the shoot effortlessly. minseok lowered the camera, grinning wide. “that’s a wrap. fantastic work as always.”

jaehyun approached you, his smile soft but pleased. he handed you a bottle of water, and you accepted it with a gracious nod, twisting the cap off to take a slow sip. the cold liquid hit your parched throat, refreshing but momentarily distracting. when you looked back at him, you noticed it—the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes today. there was a sadness, a shadow lingering behind his usually confident demeanor. “jaehyun,” you said softly, eyebrows furrowing. “what’s wrong?”

his smile wavered. “sit down for a second,” he said, gesturing toward one of the nearby makeup chairs. your heart skipped a beat, a subtle prickle of worry crawling up your spine. you did as he asked, sitting gingerly, suddenly aware of the hum of the studio around you—the muffled conversations, the clinking of equipment being packed away, the janitor scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the floor in the corner. the sharp smell of cleaning chemicals stung your nostrils, cutting through the faint scent of hairspray still lingering in the air. you tried to ignore it, forcing your attention back to jaehyun.

“what’s going on?” you asked, your voice low and uneasy. he hesitated, a brief flicker of discomfort crossing his features before he spoke. “i’m being relocated. back to connecticut. it’s for a while—maybe a few months.”

you blinked, the words sinking in like a slow, cold weight. “what?” your voice came out quieter than you intended. he saw the look on your face, and he immediately stepped forward, taking your hands into his, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll be back,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “you’ll be fine, better than fine. you’re doing better than ever.”

the disappointment hit you like a punch to the chest, sharp and unexpected. “i can’t do it without you,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. he shook his head, his expression softening even more. “it’s not me, it’s you. i’m the one who can’t do this without you.”

his words should have been comforting, but they only deepened the sense of dread coiling in your stomach. jaehyun had been with you since the beginning, guiding you through every high and low, through every mistake and every victory. the thought of him not being there, even for a little while, made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. he paused for a moment, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles before he continued. “you’ll have someone new. a friend of mine, just as experienced as me. i trust him completely.” you frowned, skeptical. “who?”

“you’ll meet him tonight,” he said, offering a small smile. “the whole team is going out for drinks, and he’ll be there.” you nodded, though the knot of anxiety in your chest tightened. even with his reassurances, the idea of working with someone new didn’t sit well with you. the trust you had in him wasn’t something that could be replaced so easily. sensing your unease, jaehyun leaned down, wrapping you in a hug. his arms were warm, familiar, grounding. “you’ll always be a star,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and comforting. “with or without me.”

you hated how much those words hurt. hated how much you had allowed yourself to rely on him. it wasn’t supposed to be this way. you weren’t supposed to get attached—not to anyone. but history had a cruel way of repeating itself, didn’t it? all you ever did was get attached. you didn’t trust yourself to say anything, so you nodded silently, letting him hold you for a moment longer before he pulled away, his hand squeezing yours one last time. he gave you a final smile—sad, but reassuring—before he turned and walked toward the door, leaving you alone with the weight of his absence already settling over you, even if he hadn’t left you yet. they all left, why was it so shocking that his turn had come?

your apartment was a modern contradiction—beautiful, sleek, but hollow. the wide windows let in a gentle glow from the streetlights outside, casting long shadows against the pristine white walls. it was elegant, like something out of a design magazine, all clean lines and expensive furniture. the kind of place that should have felt like home but never quite did. every corner was curated, from the marble countertops to the velvet sectional sofa that sat untouched most days. everything looked perfect, yet the emptiness inside you felt sharper here, in this space that was too big for just one person.

your parents hadn’t been to your apartment, hadn’t seen this life you had built for yourself. not that they cared to. you hadn’t spoken to them in months, not since they’d made it clear that your choice to model, rather than pursue law, was unforgivable. their silence hung over you like a cloud, heavy and oppressive, yet familiar. you were used to being left behind. your father’s words still echoed in your head, dismissive and final, “you’re wasting your potential.” your mother hadn’t said anything at all—her disapproval was cold, passive, like she had washed her hands of you.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, hands delicately applying makeup with a precision you had perfected over the years. the foundation smoothed over your skin, covering every flaw, creating the illusion of perfection you’d mastered long ago. the emptiness in your chest collided with the fullness of your apartment—so much space, so little meaning. it felt like you had filled your life with things, with a career that demanded all of you, and yet somehow you remained empty inside, hollowed out by the silence from the people who should have cared the most. your hands moved almost mechanically as you styled your hair, pulling it into loose waves that fell over your shoulders in soft, effortless curls. your outfit for the night was simple but striking—an off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged your frame, the fabric slinking around your body like it was made for you. it was elegant, understated, but you knew it would turn heads. you always turned heads.

as you stepped out of your apartment and into the waiting car, you felt a strange sense of detachment. the city lights blurred outside the tinted windows, a constant stream of life and movement, yet you felt removed from it all. the car ride to the bar was short, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach twisted tighter with each passing minute. you weren’t sure what tonight would bring, but something told you things were about to change. jaehyun was supposed to meet you, introduce you to your new manager. the thought made you feel uneasy.

when the car pulled up to the bar, you were immediately greeted by the flash of cameras. it never ceased to unnerve you, the sudden explosion of light, the shouts from photographers who called your name like they knew you. you squinted against the brightness, stepping out of the car as gracefully as you could manage, though the onslaught of attention left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. you half-expected jaehyun to come out and handle the situation, to shield you like he always did, but he didn’t. the door to the bar opened, and for a brief moment, you thought it was him. but it wasn’t.

instead, a man appeared, a bit shorter than jaehyun but striking in his own way. he wore a leather jacket rather than jaehyun’s usual denim, the dark material catching the light in a way that made him look almost dangerous. his jawline was sharper, more distinct, and his dark hair was swept down in front, framing his forehead. his eyes met yours, and there was something in the way he looked at you—something unreadable, intense. he didn’t say a word as he approached, discarding his jacket and spreading it open to shield you from the cameras. his movements were smooth, confident, as he draped the jacket over your shoulders and guided you inside. the warmth of the leather was a stark contrast to the cold, clinical detachment you’d felt all evening.

“who are you?” you asked, your voice soft but firm, laced with confusion. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his gaze steady, unreadable. “mark lee,” he said, his tone calm, measured. he paused, and for a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he let the silence hang between you. then, as if deciding to answer the question you hadn’t asked, he added, “i’m your new manager. didn’t jaehyun tell you?”

your heart sank slightly, the pieces falling into place—he was the one jaehyun had spoken about. mark studied your face as though he were trying to read you, to understand something you hadn’t yet said. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost amused by your reaction. “it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said softly. you blinked, unsure of how to respond. the words you spoke felt disconnected from the thoughts in your mind. “the pleasure’s all mine,” you mumbled, though the uncertainty in your voice betrayed you.

mark’s gaze lingered a second longer before he turned, leading you further inside, away from the flashes of the cameras. the air inside the bar was warmer, thick with the chatter of people and the clinking of glasses, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled in your chest. even as he guided you to a table, the leather of his jacket still draped over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was shifting beneath your feet. and you weren’t sure you liked it.

the bar was vaguely lit, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clink of glasses. a few members of the team were already gathered around a table near the back, the familiar faces of the makeup artist, the stylist, and the photographer who had been on set earlier. they greeted you with warm smiles and the easy familiarity of people who had spent long hours together under bright studio lights. it was strange how these people had become your family of sorts, even if it wasn’t a family you had chosen.

jaehyun spotted you first, standing up with that easy grin of his, arms already open for a hug. “there she is,” he murmured, pulling you in tightly. his embrace was warm and comforting, but the knowledge that this might be one of the last times he’d be there for you made it bittersweet. “have you met your new manager yet?” he asked as he released you, his eyes glancing over at mark, who stood just a few steps behind you.

you nodded, unsure of what to say, the words getting caught somewhere between your mind and your mouth. you could still feel the weight of mark’s jacket on your shoulders, the leather warm against your skin, grounding you as you stood between the two men. you wanted to say something that sounded more certain, but you were scared of how it might come out—scared it might sound like you didn’t want this. mark stepped forward, a casual confidence in his movements. “she ran into a bit of paparazzi trouble outside,” he said with a slight chuckle, as if it was nothing new.

jaehyun clapped him on the back, laughing. “always on duty, huh? you must have eyes everywhere.” mark grinned, his laugh coming easy. “you have no idea.”

he pulled out a chair for you, the gesture small but thoughtful, as he motioned for you to sit between him and jaehyun. as you lowered yourself into the seat, your eyes met his for a moment, and there was something in the way he smiled at you that eased the tension in your chest just a little bit. you settled in, the low buzz of the bar around you offering some comfort, though you still couldn’t shake the feeling of change looming in the air. the drinks came quickly—classic cocktails, neat whiskey, and bottles of soju. jaehyun was the first to raise his glass, and you followed suit. “i’m going to miss having soju while i’m away,” he said with a sigh, swirling the glass in his hand.

you clinked your glass against his, a smile tugging at your lips. “we’ll drink it in your honor.” he laughed, and as you turned to clink your glass with mark’s, your eyes met his again. he smiled back at you, that same easy warmth from earlier. for a second, you forgot about the looming goodbye, about the shift that was about to happen. you let yourself smile, feeling a strange sense of calm in the moment. the drinks were strong, stronger than you’d realized at first. the warmth of the alcohol spread through your chest, loosening the tightness in your muscles, and you allowed yourself to relax into the night. laughter flowed easily among the group, the conversation light and comfortable, even as the weight of jaehyun’s upcoming departure lingered on the edges.

but eventually, the night began to wind down. one by one, the team started to tap out, heading home with promises of seeing each other soon. jaehyun was the last to stand, his expression softening as he looked at you. “i’ve gotta head out. my flight’s tomorrow,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of the goodbye that neither of you wanted to say.

you stood with him, the alcohol making you feel just tipsy enough that the world seemed to blur a little around the edges. as you hugged him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, and you realized just how much you were going to miss him. “mark will take good care of you,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. all you could do was nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. he pulled away, giving you one last look before turning to leave. you watched him go, the door closing behind him with a finality that made your heart sink.

you sat back down, the world feeling a little off-kilter now that jaehyun was gone. the noise of the bar seemed distant, the voices around you a dull hum. but then you felt a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and when you turned, you found mark looking at you, his expression gentle. “i know you aren’t thrilled about this,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing look. “but he’ll be back.”

you nodded, trying to steady the emotions swirling in your chest. “don’t be offended,” you said, your words a little slurred from the alcohol. “i must sound like an asshole. i’ve just known jay a long time.” mark laughed softly, shaking his head. “the models i work with are usually blunt and awful. you’re like a breath of fresh air.”

your heart fluttered at his words, though you weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or something else. either way, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush you couldn’t quite control. “really?” you asked, your voice soft. he nodded, taking a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “yeah. it’s hard to meet someone genuine like that.” it caught you off guard, the way he said it. he hadn’t called you hot or beautiful—the usual compliments that were thrown at you without much thought. he hadn’t treated you like you were something to admire from a distance, something polished and perfect. he thought you were genuine. nice, even. and for the first time in what felt like forever, something mattered other than how you looked.

mark stood outside the bar with you, his hand wrapped loosely around his phone as he called for a cab. the air was cool, the kind of breeze that bit at your skin just enough to remind you you’d had too much to drink. the world felt like it was swaying beneath you, the soft blur of neon lights and city sounds blending into the haze of alcohol that had settled deep into your bones. you barely noticed the cab pulling up, but mark did. he grimaced the moment he saw the driver, his jaw tightening as he clocked the smirk tugging at the corners of the man’s lips.

“stay here,” he murmured, his voice low as he helped you toward the back seat, his hand resting at the small of your back to steady you. the driver’s smirk grew as you stumbled slightly, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. mark’s patience snapped, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut through steel. Without a word, he climbed into the cab beside you, his presence filling the small space in an instant. the driver’s smirk faltered, his bravado crumbling under the weight of mark’s glare, and he turned his eyes to the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“how much has she had to drink?” the driver asked, his tone casual, though there was an undercurrent of something slimy beneath it, something that made mark’s blood boil. “you’re being paid to drive, not make small talk,” mark snapped, his voice sharp enough to make the driver flinch. silence fell over the cab, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of the tires against the pavement. you, oblivious to the tension, rested your head back, your eyes fluttering closed as the night swirled around you. you were out of it, the world fading in and out, each moment blurred by the alcohol in your system. you didn’t notice the way mark was watching you, his gaze softening, his features smoothing as he made sure you were okay.

if you had been more aware, you might have seen it for yourself—something tender in the way he looked at you, something protective. it wasn’t the predatory gaze you had come to expect from men, the one that made you feel small and vulnerable, like something to be taken. no, this was different. this gaze made you feel watched over, cared for. like, for the first time, you weren’t alone. “you’re taking me home?” you slurred, your voice breaking through the fog as you turned to him, disrupting his thoughts. mark glanced down at you, his brow furrowing for a second before he nodded. “yeah,” he said softly, “gonna make sure you get there safely, then i’ll head back.”

you frowned, your eyes half-lidded as you tried to focus on him. “you’re being too nice,” you murmured, your words a little wobbly, childlike. he chuckled, the sound low and rich, a warmth that spread through your chest despite the alcohol’s numbing grip. “this is just the tip of the iceberg,” he replied, teasing but gentle. the cab pulled over in front of your building, the harsh overhead light inside flickering slightly as mark handed the driver his money, glaring one last time before slamming the door shut behind him. he helped you out, his arm around your waist as he guided you toward the entrance. you leaned into him, your steps unsteady, but his grip was firm, holding you upright, never letting you fall.

when you reached your apartment door, you fumbled for your keys, your fingers clumsy as they searched through your bag. you couldn’t find them, frustration bubbling up in your chest, but before you could say anything, he reached in and pulled the keys out for you. he unlocked the door, holding it open as you stumbled inside, expecting—fearing—that this was when things would change. this was when history would repeat itself, when he would become just like the others, just like every man who had ever taken advantage of you in your weakest moments. but it never happened.

instead, he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both firm and soft, his warmth seeping into your skin. the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of alcohol, filling your senses. there was no pressure in the way he held you, no expectation. just comfort. when he pulled away, he bent slightly at the knees, his eyes level with yours as he spoke, his voice soft but clear. “get some rest, okay?” he said, pausing as his gaze flickered over your face. “we have work tomorrow.”

you nodded, your body too tired, too heavy to respond with anything more. he gave you one final smile, that same smile that had put you at ease earlier in the night, and then he turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. you stood there in your apartment, the door closing softly behind him, your mind struggling to piece together what had just happened. you had expected a lot, but not this. not someone who cared without asking for anything in return. not someone who saw you for more than just how you looked.

the pounding in your head felt like it would split your skull in two. you groaned, dragging yourself upright, the weight of exhaustion heavy in your limbs. the throbbing didn’t let up as you stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to chase away the hangover. the mirror reflected a face you barely recognized—dark circles under your eyes, skin pale and drawn. it was a far cry from the pristine, polished image you had to maintain in front of the cameras. right now, you were just tired. so tired.

you grabbed the bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet, shaking two pills into your hand and downing them with a gulp of water. the cold liquid soothed your dry throat, but it did little to chase away the hollow ache settling in your chest. you drank another glass, hoping it would make you feel less fragile, less breakable. your hands trembled as you set the glass down, the weight of the night before pressing on you, heavy and inescapable.

you wandered back to your bed, sinking into the comfort of the soft sheets, pulling them around you as if they could shield you from the world. but the world had already broken in. with a sigh, you reached for your phone, not ready but too curious to resist. you needed a distraction, something to pull you out of this haze. but as the screen lit up, you felt your stomach lurch. the first headline caught your eye, and the blood drained from your face as you read it.

your dark past—an anonymous ex airing out the ugly details of a relationship you thought you had buried years ago. the words stared back at you, cold and unforgiving, and each one cut deeper than the last. attention-seeking slut, slept her way through the scene and life itself. the accusations swirled around you, each one a dagger to the chest, every headline worse than the one before. it felt like the world was closing in, shrinking around you until there was nowhere left to hide.

you scrolled through the article, your hands shaking, your breath coming faster as the memories you had tried so hard to forget were dragged back into the light. this was worse than anything you could’ve imagined. you had been bracing yourself for the usual scandals—the kind of things models made headlines for. a wardrobe malfunction, a bad night out, maybe a ridiculous diet rumor. but this? this felt personal. too personal. and the worst part was, it was all out there, for everyone to see. you kept scrolling, hoping there was some way to stop the flood of accusations, but it didn’t stop. it never did. your heart pounded in your chest as the articles piled on, one after another, each one worse than the last. you reached the bottom of the page, bracing yourself for another wave of vitriol—but what you found was something different.

a response from your company. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the name attached to the statement—mark lee. your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you clicked. his words were like a lifeline, pulling you out of the darkness for just a second. “her past has nothing to do with her present, her career or her heart,” he had stated firmly. “anyone making defamatory statements will face legal action.”

it was a short, direct statement, but it hit you like a bolt of lightning. mark had acted fast—so fast that it stunned you. you hadn’t even had the chance to process what was happening, but he had already stepped in to protect you, to shield you from the fallout. your company hadn’t hung you out to dry. he hadn’t hung you out to dry. and it wasn’t even morning yet. you let the phone slip from your hand, your heart still racing, but for a different reason now. mark hadn’t just stood by and watched as your name got dragged through the mud. he had taken action, defended you without hesitation. the weight of last night’s events came rushing back—the way he’d walked you home, the way he had been so kind, so careful, without expecting anything in return. and now, this.

how had he managed to do it so quickly, without so much as a second thought? how had he known to step in before things got even worse? you didn’t know, but what you did know was that mark wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just your new manager. he was someone who had your back. the room felt too quiet, too still, as you lay there, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t believe this was the impression you were leaving behind—a model being defended for her humanity rather than her appearance. a woman with someone in her corner, fighting for her, when she had never expected it.

you pulled the front door shut behind you, squinting at the early morning sun filtering through the leaves, casting soft dappled light across the pavement. you adjusted your sunglasses, preparing yourself for the day, your mind still tangled with the weight of the headlines and mark’s words from last night. but as you stepped down the front stairs, something caught your eye—a car parked just a few feet away. the sleek black paint gleamed under the sunlight, and as your eyes adjusted, you saw him. mark, leaning casually against the hood, a small, gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. “you look like you could use a ride,” he said, his voice carrying over the stillness of the morning.

your heart fluttered, the ease in his tone making the heaviness in your chest feel a little lighter. was it possible for someone to be this kind, this genuine, without asking for anything in return? you hesitated for a moment, still unsure, still caught in the confusion of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. “are you sure?” you asked, trying to mask the uncertainty in your voice. mark rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but that smile never wavered. “just get in,” he said, moving to the passenger side and pulling the door open for you. he gestured toward the seat, a playful look in his eyes, like he couldn’t understand why you were hesitating.

you gave in, sliding into the car, letting the plush leather seat envelop you. the inside was immaculate—black leather, clean lines, the scent of something warm and subtle, maybe sandalwood, lingering in the air. it was the kind of car that screamed understated elegance, not the flashy, attention-grabbing kind you were used to seeing in this city. everything about it felt intentional, like mark himself, composed and thoughtful without ever needing to prove anything.

as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you kept your gaze forward, unable to meet his eyes. shame clung to you like a second skin, the weight of yesterday’s headlines still too fresh. but you could feel his eyes on you, watching you in that quiet, gentle way that made you feel both seen and safe. the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, until mark’s voice broke through. “you saw, didn’t you?” his tone was soft, almost apologetic, like he wished you didn’t have to bear the weight of it.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight as you nodded. “thank you,” you murmured, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. “i’m sorry you had to see those comments.” he paused, pulling out of the driveway, his eyes flicking toward you for a moment before returning to the road. “i can’t believe you’re the one apologizing,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

you frowned, confused by his response. “you were the one who had to deal with it,” you said, your voice a little firmer now. “you had to read those comments, engage with them.” mark glanced at you again, just for a second, but there was something in his gaze—something that made your heart ache, though you couldn’t quite place why. “you’re the one they were talking about,” he said quietly, the weight of his words sinking into the air between you.

you bit your lip, the familiar shame rising in your chest. “they didn’t lie about much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. mark’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “what do you mean?” your fingers fidgeted in your lap, the memories of your past flickering in your mind like painful old photographs. “i slept around when i was younger,” you said, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth. “i was ashamed. thought i was being loved, but it was the opposite.”

the silence that followed felt deafening. you braced yourself, preparing for the inevitable—a lecture, a judgment, the same disgust you had faced so many times before. you could almost hear the harsh words before they even came, could feel the sting of the shame that would follow. but instead, what came was something else entirely. “so what?” mark asked, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it were the most inconsequential thing in the world. you blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “what?” you asked, your voice small, barely able to comprehend what you had just heard.

he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “you live, you learn. you make mistakes and move on from them. what about it? why would i hate you for it instead of hunting down those assholes one by one?” you were shocked. completely and utterly floored. you had spent so long believing that your past made you disgusting, that no one could ever look at you the same if they knew. and yet here was mark, looking at you like none of it mattered—like none of it could ever change how he saw you.

“you don’t think i’m disgusting?” you asked, your voice breaking just a little, your heart in your throat. he let out a dry laugh, the kind that held no real humor, only disbelief. “i could never think that about you,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a balm. the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, but this time they weren’t out of shame. for the first time in a long time, they were tears of relief. a small smile broke through the sadness, and you turned your head to the window, letting the tears fall in silence, feeling something you hadn’t felt in years.

mark’s presence felt like a shield as the crowd of paparazzi closed in around you, their cameras flashing incessantly. you could feel their hands tugging at your sleeves, jostling to get closer, to snap that perfect shot. their voices were a blur, shouting questions, making demands, their lights blinding you through your sunglasses. you froze, feeling trapped in the chaos, your breath catching in your throat.

but he was there, right beside you, his body tense and protective. his arm wrapped around you, and with a low, dangerous tone, he snapped, “back off.” his patience seemed to have worn thin, and his words cut through the air like a knife. the paparazzi hesitated, a few taking a step back, but some were still relentless. mark didn’t falter. he shifted, his hand moving to shield your face from the barrage of cameras, guiding you firmly toward the studio door. no one was getting a glimpse of you—not today, not like this.

by the time you made it inside, your head was spinning, your heart pounding in your chest. you felt exposed, even though he had done everything he could to protect you. as the door clicked shut behind you, the noise from outside was silenced, leaving only the soft hum of the studio’s air conditioning and the quiet, comforting sound of mark’s breathing beside you. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice small, barely audible. his smile was soft, but it reached his eyes as he reached up, gently sliding your sunglasses to the top of your head. his fingers brushed your hair back, and then, with the same tenderness, he removed the mask from your face, revealing the features you’d hidden from the world. “look at you,” he said quietly, his voice warm, “so pretty.”

it was a compliment, but not the kind that made you feel objectified or cheapened. it wasn’t the kind of praise you’d grown accustomed to—words that were always laced with lust, with ulterior motives. this felt different. it felt sweet, genuine. you smiled, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little as you savored the softness of his touch. before you could respond, the director called you into the room. you walked together, side by side, mark never leaving your side. his hand hovered protectively at your back, tracing small, soothing circles that grounded you. the nerves that had gripped you so tightly just moments ago began to ease, the tension in your shoulders melting away with each gentle motion.

as you entered the room, the director didn’t waste any time. “so, about the scandal,” he began, his voice clinical, detached, like it was just another problem to solve. “we need to do damage control.” his gaze flickered between you and mark, and you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “what do you have in mind?” mark asked, his voice calm, though you could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface.

the director’s next words were like a punch to the gut. “a blind date,” he said, his tone as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “with someone just as famous and prestigious. it’ll take the heat off the story.” your heart sank, your throat closing up. you wanted to object, to say something, anything, but your voice betrayed you. you couldn’t get the words out. why was it always like this? why did you always lose your voice when men made decisions about your life? why did you always fall first, always bend to their will?

but this time, mark spoke up for you. “no,” he said firmly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “she’s not gonna do that.” the director shot him a sharp glance, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “what makes you so sure?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

he scoffed, the warmth in his expression fading as his hand dropped from your back. “i’m her manager,” he said, his tone cold. “i’m not gonna let you pimp her out to the press over a scandal.” you blinked, stunned by his words. you tugged at his sleeve, trying to get him to stop, terrified that he was digging his own grave by standing up for you. you couldn’t bear the thought of him losing everything because of you, of him falling short just like everyone else had. but he didn’t budge. the director removed his glasses, staring him down. “watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low. “you’re only here because of jaehyun.”

mark smiled, but it wasn’t the warm, playful smile he usually gave you. it was something harder, more condescending, though when he looked at you, that hardness softened. “i’m not,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “i’m here because of her.” his words made your heart skip a beat, a smile tugging at your lips despite the tension in the room.

the director scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. when mark simply nodded in response, the director leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment before speaking again. “fine. then you’ll date her. make it convincing for the cameras.” shock washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless. your eyes widened, your mind reeling. date him? publicly? it was absurd, and yet you couldn’t find your voice to object. you were frozen in place, trying to process what had just been said.

the director dismissed you both with a wave of his hand, as though you were mere pawns in his game. as you left the room, you could feel the anger radiating off mark. not at you, never at you, but at the way the director had reduced you to a tool, something to be used for publicity. it made his blood boil, and you could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “i’m sorry,” he said as you walked down the hallway together, his voice low, filled with frustration.

you stopped, turning to face him. “you gotta stop apologizing,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “i’d rather be your fake girlfriend than anyone else’s.” his lips curved into a small, almost sad smile, but it wasn’t convincing. you could see the guilt still weighing on him, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. but he nodded, accepting your words, even if he couldn’t fully believe them himself. and despite everything, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t help but smile, too.

the photoshoot dawned bright and clear, the studio awash with sunlight that filtered through large, high windows. the space was a hive of activity, filled with the muted hum of chatter and the clinking of equipment. the walls were adorned with a pristine white backdrop that could be transformed into any setting the imagination could conjure. spotlights were carefully positioned to cast a flattering glow, creating a perfect balance between shadow and light.

you arrived once more feeling a mix of trepidation and anticipation. the scandal was still fresh, its edges raw and jagged, but you tried to set it aside, focusing on the task ahead. the concept for the shoot was a glamorous vintage look—a nostalgic nod to the old hollywood starlets, with a modern twist. the wardrobe was exquisite: a shimmering gown in deep emerald green that hugged your figure before flaring out into a dramatic skirt. the bodice was adorned with delicate beadwork that caught the light with every movement, creating a subtle sparkle that seemed to dance across your skin. your hair was styled in voluminous waves, cascading down your back with a glossy sheen. the makeup was equally flawless—classic winged eyeliner and a nude lip, complemented by a subtle, radiant glow on your cheeks. as you stepped in front of the camera, you felt the energy of the room shift. the crew's murmurs fell silent as they focused on their work, adjusting lights and angles to best capture the vision. mark was there, of course, standing just off to the side. his gaze was fixed on you, and in that moment, it felt as though he was the only person in the room who truly saw you.

the photographer directed you with practiced ease, calling for different poses and expressions. you moved fluidly, slipping into character with a grace that felt almost effortless. the camera clicked rhythmically, its shutter capturing each fleeting moment of your performance. you felt a growing confidence, bolstered by the soft, encouraging murmurs from the crew.

throughout it all, mark’s eyes never strayed from you. his gaze was unwavering, filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. it wasn’t just that he was watching; he was absorbing, cherishing each glance, each expression. his eyes held a warmth that transcended mere admiration. there was a softness, a depth that suggested he saw something in you that went beyond the surface, beyond the glittering gown and the carefully applied makeup. as the photographer called for a brief break, he approached, his footsteps light, his expression a mix of admiration and something deeper.

he reached out, gently adjusting a stray strand of hair from your face with a touch that was both respectful and intimate. “you’re doing incredible,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the backdrop of the studio’s ambient noise. “you’ve got this natural grace about you.” his words were more than just praise; they were a recognition of your essence, of the way you moved and carried yourself. you could see it in his eyes—his admiration was palpable, sincere. it was a gaze that lingered with affection, with a hint of something that bordered on reverence.

the photographer resumed the shoot, and with each click of the camera, mark’s gaze followed, unwavering. there was no objectification in his stare, no hint of lust or superficial desire. instead, it was as though he was seeing you for who you truly were—a person who, despite the chaos and scandal, was captivating, beautiful, and worthy of admiration. there was someone who saw past the headlines and the flashing cameras, who saw you as more than just a face on a magazine cover.

when the session finally concluded, and you stepped away from the set, you felt a profound sense of relief and accomplishment. mark was there to offer you a genuine smile, one that spoke of pride and support. “you were amazing today,” he said, his voice laced with admiration. “i’m really proud of you.” you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had little to do with the shoot and everything to do with the way he looked at you.

“so, see you tomorrow?” he asked, his tone warm, laced with a hint of casual curiosity. you hesitated, a fleeting moment of uncertainty crossing your mind. “actually,” you began, “would you like to get lunch with me now? i mean, if you’re not too busy, of course.” you trailed off, feeling a pang of self-consciousness. “i don’t want to impose or sound desperate,” you added quickly, feeling the need to clarify.

mark’s smile widened, a reassuring glimmer in his eyes. “i’d love to,” he replied. “it’s no imposition at all. let’s go.” you felt a wave of relief wash over you as he guided you towards his car. outside, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the city streets. mark’s car—a sleek, black luxury sedan with tinted windows—stood out in the midst of the bustling parking lot. it had an understated elegance, the kind that spoke of both comfort and refinement. the interior was plush, with leather seats that exuded a sense of sophistication.

he opened the door for you and, once you were settled inside, slid into the driver’s seat with practiced ease. his movements were smooth and confident, and as he started the engine, you noticed his demeanor had shifted. he was more focused, more protective, shielding you from the cameras that lingered at the studio’s entrance. his eyes remained sharp, scanning the area to ensure you weren’t bothered.

the drive to the restaurant was marked by a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional hum of street traffic. mark took a scenic route, passing through tree-lined streets and past elegant boutiques, showcasing a side of the city that felt both serene and refined. you glanced at him occasionally, catching glimpses of his profile illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights.

eventually, you arrived at a spot tucked away in a quieter part of the city. its exterior was a blend of modern chic and classic charm, with large windows framed by delicate drapery and a welcoming sign that hinted at the warm atmosphere inside. mark escorted you in, and the hostess, recognizing him, offered a discreet nod and led you to a cozy corner table away from the prying eyes of the street. the restaurant exuded a quiet elegance—soft ambient lighting, tasteful decor featuring muted colors, and a faint, inviting aroma of gourmet dishes being prepared. as you settled into your seat, mark pulled out a chair for you with a courteous gesture, his attention never straying far from you.

over the course of the meal, the conversation flowed easily. his presence was soothing, and his attentive listening made you feel at ease. the menu offered a range of refined dishes, and you both opted for light, comforting fare—fresh salads, tender grilled fish, and a selection of artisanal bread. the food was delicious, but it was the company that truly made the experience special. as you ate, you found yourself opening up to mark in a way you hadn’t anticipated. “you know,” you began, your voice tentative but earnest, “i’ve been used all my life. it’s like people see me as something to exploit, and it’s only made them think less of me.”

mark’s eyes softened as he listened, his gaze attentive and caring. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. instead, he simply took in your words, his expression reflecting a mix of empathy and understanding. “i’m sorry you’ve had to go through that,” he said quietly. “no one deserves to be treated that way.”

you felt a lump form in your throat as his words sank in. the vulnerability you had shared was met with genuine compassion, something you hadn’t expected. mark reached across the table, his hand extending to yours with a tender, reassuring touch. “use me,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “use me until you love yourself.”

you were stunned, the weight of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. the promise in his voice was profound, a gesture of support that went beyond mere words. you stared at him, trying to process the depth of his offer. but before you could respond, his hands enveloped yours in a gentle embrace. in that moment, you were acutely aware of the contrast between the performance you had to put on and the genuine connection you were experiencing. the touch of his hands, the way he stroked your fingers with a tenderness that was both comforting and intimate, spoke of something deeper. it was as though the boundaries of your staged relationship were dissolving, giving way to a reality that was more genuine than you had anticipated.

the conversation continued, but the focus shifted to lighter topics. you both shared stories and laughter, the tension of the earlier events seeming to melt away. mark’s presence was a balm, soothing your frayed nerves and providing a sense of security you hadn’t known you needed. as the meal came to an end, he paid the bill, his hand still holding yours as you walked out. the sun had set, and the city lights were beginning to twinkle, casting a warm glow over the streets. you were acutely aware of the contrast between the authenticity of your time with him and the world outside, which seemed to linger with its judgment and scrutiny.

when you reached his car, he opened the door for you once more, his touch gentle and respectful. as you settled back into the plush interior, you couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. the lines between your staged relationship and the genuine affection you felt were blurring, and while you knew that you were still performing for the cameras, the moments of sincerity you shared with him were undeniable.

as he drove you back to your house, the evening air outside was crisp, a gentle reminder that the day was drawing to a close. the glow of streetlights cast a warm, comforting light through the windows of the car, creating a cocoon of serenity around you both. the drive was quiet, filled with a comfortable silence that spoke volumes more than words could. when you arrived at your front door, he walked with you, his presence a steady comfort against the backdrop of your otherwise solitary home. the hallway was lit, adding a soft ambiance to the moment. he stopped at your door, his expression softening into a genuine smile as he wished you a good night.

but as he turned on his heel to leave, something inside you surged—a reluctance to let him go, a sudden, overwhelming desire for him to stay. “wait,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. “spend the night.”

mark paused, his demeanor shifting as he turned back towards you. the smile on his face faltered, and his gaze became serious, filled with a mixture of tenderness and something you couldn’t quite place. “i can’t do that,” he said softly, almost apologetically. your heart sank. Were you so off-putting to him? was he so disgusted by you that he couldn’t even stay? the thought pierced you, and you had to ask, “why?”

his eyes met yours, and despite the gentleness that still lingered, there was an undertone of something raw and sincere. “because,” he began, taking a step closer, “i don’t think i’ll be able to control myself if i do.”

the distance between you was minimal now, so close that you could almost feel the heat radiating off him. his proximity made your heart race, the thump in your chest loud enough that you thought he might hear it. you swallowed hard, struggling to understand why you felt this way, why he was so close yet seemingly so far. “there are no cameras,” you reminded him, your voice trembling slightly as you attempted to reassure him of the privacy you both had.

mark chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your breath catch. “i don’t care about the cameras,” he said, his voice a soothing murmur. “it’s not about that.” the weight of his words, the gentle touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to fill the space between you made you feel a sudden surge of vulnerability. you hated yourself for feeling so exposed, for being so willing to give in, to risk it all, and to let someone see you so completely.

in that vulnerable moment, driven by an impulse you couldn’t quite control, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his. it was a kiss filled with raw emotion, a desperate plea for connection. to your surprise, mark’s response wasn’t fueled by lust or urgency. Instead, his kiss was tender, patient, as though he was savoring every second. his hands cupped your face with a gentle care, his lips moving against yours with a softness that spoke of deep affection rather than fleeting desire.

when he finally pulled away, it was with a smile that seemed to reflect genuine fondness. “look at you,” he cooed, his fingers lightly ruffling your hair. “so cute.” you frowned slightly, still trying to process the unexpected tenderness. as he leaned against the doorway, his smile widening, you asked, “are you gonna leave?”

mark shook his head, his eyes gleaming with a playful warmth. “no way,” he murmured, his voice filled with determination. “someone has to make sure you get some rest.” the way he spoke, the care in his actions, almost felt surreal. it was as if the affection he showed was almost too good to be true. yet, as he stepped inside, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, you felt the house grow warmer, more inviting with his presence.

he watched you from the couch as you moved around the kitchen, preparing tea. the dim light from the overhead fixture cast a soft glow over you, highlighting the delicate way your hands trembled as you worked. he noticed how thin you looked, the hollowness of your cheeks and the way your clothes hung loosely on your frame. it made him wonder whether this was always the way you were or if it was a consequence of the relentless demands of your career.

“do you need help?” he asked, his voice filled with concern as he stood up and walked toward you. the distance between you seemed to shrink with every step he took. as he approached, he gently took hold of your wrists, guiding your hands to pour the boiling water over the tea bags. the warmth of the steam contrasted sharply with the coldness he felt in his chest as he observed your fragile state.

you turned to face him as you finished, giving him a soft, appreciative smile. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. he could see the tremors in your hands, which you tried to hide by gripping the mug tightly. “you’re shaking,” he said gently. “shouldn’t you eat more?”

a sad smile crossed your lips as you shrugged. “i should be eating less.” mark’s smile faded, and he set the mugs back on the table with a determined clink. the realization hit him hard, the idea that you were expected to adhere to a standard that demanded you to shrink, not only in size but in presence. it was unfathomable to him that someone as perfect as you should be subjected to such dehumanizing expectations.

“why did you take up such a job?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration and concern. as you sipped your tea, you reflected on the question, your eyes distant as if searching for the right words. “everybody likes the surface,” you said, your smile fragile. “nobody cares about what goes beyond it. it’s always been like that, so i may as well get some money out of it.”

mark’s heart ached at the thought of you being reduced to eye candy, your worth dictated by your appearance rather than your true self. the notion that your life’s goal was to be admired rather than valued for who you were made him sick. “quit your job,” he said abruptly, the words escaping before he could fully process them. you looked at him in shock, the tea still hot on your tongue. “are you crazy?” you asked, incredulous.

he shook his head, his expression earnest but troubled. “quit your job,” he repeated. “you should be doing something you love instead of being everything you hate about yourself.” his words carried a raw truth that stung deeply. no one had ever told you to quit before; it had always been about encouragement, about pushing through. his opposition was startling because it was clear he saw you for more than just your looks, something no one else had done. it clicked for you then—mark was the only person who seemed to understand and care about the essence of who you were beyond the superficial.

“you mean it?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of hope and disbelief. he didn’t answer with words but instead set his tea down and leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. the contact was so tender that it made your knees weak, tears threatening to spill over. it was a kiss devoid of urgency, filled with care and an earnest desire to comfort.

when he finally pulled away, his frown deepened at the sight of your tear-filled eyes. “how could anyone be cruel to you?” he murmured, his voice filled with sorrow. “so cruel that you cry at the slightest affection?”

your tears began to fall freely, unable to hold them back any longer. mark, seeing the depth of your pain, gathered you into his arms without hesitation. “don’t cry,” he whispered, though it was the exact thing that made you let go, burying your face in his chest as the tears flowed. he held you tightly, his arms a sanctuary from the world’s cruelties. cry, he thought, let it all out. as if sensing his silent encouragement, you did just that, clinging to him as you let your emotions pour out. for the first time, you felt truly cared for, not for how you looked but for who you were.

as you pulled back from him, your eyes still glistening with the remnants of tears, he reached up with his rough fingers to tenderly brush them away. his touch was surprisingly gentle, the contrast between the coarseness of his hands and the softness of his touch creating an intimacy that felt both intimate and profound. small, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked at you, his gaze filled with an affection that was deeply comforting.

you leaned in to kiss him again, but this time, it was different. the kiss was infused with a hunger that transcended the need for love or the fear of loneliness. it was driven by a genuine feeling of being cherished, an intensity that came from truly feeling valued. the kiss full of passion, and you could hear the heavy breaths escaping from him, proof of the fervor that both of you were experiencing. despite the heat between you, mark pulled away, his face flushed, and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“don’t,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, their closeness adding to the depth of his emotions. the word was almost a plea, a desperate attempt to maintain control despite the overwhelming feelings. you frowned, confused and yearning for more. “why?” you asked, your voice laced with vulnerability.

he shook his head, his fingers gently stroking your hair in a soothing motion. “i don’t wanna be like them,” he whispered. “i don’t wanna break you.”

the sincerity in his voice was audible, his hesitation evident in the way he caressed your hair. the thought of him being so considerate, so concerned about not causing you pain, only made you feel even more secure and cherished. you took a step back, but his fingers remained entangled in your hair, a subtle reminder of his presence and his care. “break me,” you encouraged softly, your eyes locked onto his. “i’m yours to break.”

the words hung in the air, laden with an openness that surprised even yourself. mark’s hesitation deepened. he was overwhelmed by your fragility, the softness in your eyes, and the way you looked at him with such trust. he didn’t want to cause you any harm, didn’t want you to feel used or sullied. “i don’t want you to feel used,” he admitted, his voice betraying his internal conflict. the tenderness in his voice and the way he looked at you with such genuine concern only made you feel more at ease. you didn’t respond verbally; instead, you kissed him again, your hands exploring the contours of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the fabric.

his resolve wavered as he felt the intensity of your touch. his initial urge to hold back dissolved as you made it difficult for him to resist. his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap, never breaking the kiss. in his mind, he battled with the thought of being gentle versus the desire to give in fully to the moment. his struggle was open, yet he knew he could be gentle, that he could offer you the care and affection you deserved. his thoughts raced as he navigated this delicate balance, his love and concern for you making him want to be as gentle as possible while also embracing the passion that surged between you.

his hands moved from your hair to your shoulders, then down to your breasts, cupping the small mounds of flesh tenderly. you gasped into the kiss as his thumbs brushed over your sensitive nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. his touch grew bolder, kneading and caressing, as you arched into his palms, your desire growing more urgent. the fabric of your shirt was the only barrier, and it was clear that it wouldn’t be enough for much longer.

mark felt your urgency, and his own desire grew stronger. he broke the kiss to gaze into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or fear. all he saw was the same trust and need that had been there before. with trembling hands, he began to unbutton your shirt, one button at a time, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation was present, a heady mix of excitement and emotion that made your heart race. as he undid the last button, his eyes shamefully drifted to the sides of your shirt covering your bare breasts, but he didn’t have time to feel shame, not when he wanted you to feel loved.

his hands slid inside your shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose your soft, perfect skin. he took a moment to just look, his breath hitching at the sight of your nipples, pebbled and begging for his touch. his eyes filled with tears, not of pain or regret, but of pure love and the depth of his feelings. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. you didn’t speak; instead, you leaned in to kiss him again, this time more urgently, your tongue dancing with his, as your hands found the hem of his shirt, eager to feel his bare chest against yours.

his own shirt was soon discarded, and you both sat there, breathing heavily, skin to skin. his strong hands continued to massage your breasts, his thumbs playing with your sensitive peaks, driving you wild with every touch. your own hands roamed over his shoulders, his arms, feeling the strength and warmth of his body. the connection between you was sickening, a silent conversation of love and lust that didn’t need words. “fuck,” you exhaled as his thumbs danced around your erect nipples, kneading the thin flesh of your breasts. you felt ashamed for a second, ashamed at the lack of what you had to offer him, at the dainty size of your breasts. you felt the need to cover up, to hide yourself from him, thinking it wouldn't be enough for him to enjoy. you crossed your arms over your small breasts, a shy look of embrassment in your face, but mark wasn’t having any of it.

his hands gently moved yours aside. “no, baby, don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his eyes filled with adoration. “you’re perfect. absolutely perfect. i love every inch of you, these too,” he said, tracing his fingers over your breasts again. his words were like a balm to your insecurities, a gentle caress to your ego. his warm mouth found one of your nipples, suckling it with surprising gentleness. the sensation was like a lightning bolt straight to your core, and you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands as he worked his magic on your breasts. the way he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, made you feel so cherished, so loved. you lacked what other girls could easily offer him, yet he didn’t seem to care.

his other hand found its way down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, over your hips, and down to the button of your pants. with a gentle tug, he encouraged you to lift your hips, allowing him to pull them off. you were now fully exposed to him, vulnerable in a way that was thrilling and terrifying all at once. his eyes took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your bare pussy, glistening with arousal. he groaned, his own desire thick in the air. “so beautiful,” he murmured, his hand moving to touch you lightly.

his fingertips grazed your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. you moaned, unable to hold back the sound, your legs spreading wider to give him better access. he took his time, teasing and exploring, his touch as tender as if you were made of the most delicate glass. he parted your folds, his finger sliding in easily, feeling the slickness of your arousal. you were so wet for him, and the sight of his finger disappearing into you made him even harder. “you’re so ready for me, fuck, like you were made for me,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

his thumb continued to circle your clit as his finger began to move in and out, his pace increasing gradually. your hips rocked in sync with his movements, the pleasure building inside you like a crescendo. he watched your face, reading your every expression, ensuring that he was giving you exactly what you needed. his eyes never left yours, filled with a fierce love and protection that made your heart swell. you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps, but he wasn’t done yet. he needed to feel you, to have you with him filling you up to the brim.

mark leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and slid them off. his cock, hard and demanding, sprang free, and you couldn’t help but stare. he was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and the sight of him made you both nervous and incredibly turned on. he noticed your gaze and smirked slightly, a hint of pride flashing in his eyes. “aren’t scared, are you?” he asked playfully, his voice a seductive whisper.

you shook your head, trying to play it cool despite the nervousness that bubbled up inside you. “not at all,” you lied, your voice a little shaky. he chuckled, his hand moving to stroke himself slowly, the sight of his hand on his cock making your stomach flip. “you sure?” he questioned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. you nodded, your eyes locked onto his hand, watching the way his shaft grew even more as he touched himself. no matter how scared you were, you knew he would take care of you.

mark leaned in, his mouth capturing yours again, his kiss gentle yet filled with a burning need. you felt his hand move away from your pussy and the loss of his touch made you whine into the kiss. but the sound was soon muffled by his groan as he pulled away, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. the tip of his dick was slick with precum, and you felt a thrill of anticipation as he pushed against you, just the tip teasing you. it had barely grazed your slit, yet you were soaking around him, the sight of it only clouding his mind even more.

his eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was the same eagerness that reflected his own. with a deep breath, he pushed in, inch by inch, his big cock stretching you wider than you’ve ever been. it was a delicious pain, a sweet agony that you couldn’t get enough of. your nails dug into his shoulders as he filled you up, his gentle strokes becoming deeper, more insistent. your walls tightened around him, trying to hold onto his length as if afraid to let go. “you’re okay, baby, just hold on,” he encouraged softly as you whined, nails clawing at his skin.

his praise, his tenderness, it all felt so overwhelming that tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. it was too much, too beautiful, and it hurt in the most exquisite way. you nodded, your breath hitching as he reached down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as his cock pushed deeper into your pussy. your moans grew louder as he found a rhythm that had you writhing in his lap, your body moving with the gentle ebb and flow of his hips. “look at you, taking me so well,” he cooed at the sight of his cock tucked into the swell of your cunt, his fingers grazing the small creases of your breasts as you tightened around him.

his strokes grew more deliberate, his movements more powerful, yet never crossing the line into roughness. he was worried that his size might be too much for you, so he held back, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible without causing any discomfort. but you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint that was clear in every line of his face, the cords of his neck standing out as he held back. you didn’t want that; you wanted all of him, the beast that lurked beneath his tender exterior. “i can take it, break me, please,” you panted. his hands reached down, your hands wrapping around his, urging him to go deeper, to move faster.

his eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, and what he saw there was all he needed. he let go of the last of his restraint, his hips moving with more force. your pussy stretched around his thick cock, the feeling of fullness making you dizzy. each thrust was met with a wet slap, the sound echoing in the quiet room, mingling with your cries of pleasure. your walls clenched around him, trying to hold onto him, to keep him deep inside you, to never let him go. his thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles that had you bucking your hips, trying to get closer, trying to get more. he was so sweet, his hair tickling your skin as he wrapped his tongue around your nipple, his tongue probing at the flesh. you wanted to feel insecure, but he was making it impossible.

his hand found yours again, his fingers interlocking with yours, as if to remind you that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. the connection was strong, and it only grew stronger with each passing moment. your orgasm was approaching like a freight train, and you could feel it building in the pit of your stomach. your breath grew shallower, your eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in the feeling of him inside you. his free hand was in your hair, tugging gently, his teeth grazing your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

his thrusts grew deeper, and the pressure on your g-spot was intense. you felt yourself tightening around him, your pussy gripping him like a vice. “cum for me, baby, cum on my cock,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a seductive rumble that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the words alone were enough to send you over the edge, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. your body tensed, your pussy pulsing around him as you screamed out his name, your eyes squeezed shut, tears of joy streaming down your face.

his own orgasm was building, the feel of you tightening around him was too much. with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, groaning as he released his seed, filling you up without a single thought of protection. he watched as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your climax, his heart racing with the intensity of his own feelings. the sight of you, coming apart in his arms, was more than he could handle. his own eyes filled with tears, his love for you so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but cry with you.

he held you tightly as he pulled out, his cock still hard and glistening with your juices. his hand moved to stroke your hair, his eyes never leaving your face. “i love you,” he whispered, the words coming out in a choked sob. the weight of his emotions was palpable, and you felt your own heart swell in response. you leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his cum leaking out of you, a testament to the intimacy you had just shared. “i love you too,” you whispered back, your frail fingers wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks.

there was no shame in it anymore. there were no cameras waiting to capture the moment, no witnesses. there was nobody but the two of you. there were no mocking looks or harsh words to battle your self-esteem, nothing to fuel your insecurities. he was as raw as you were, but he was stronger than you. he didn’t cry because of the sex, he cried because of the love. you weren't too sure about a happy ending just yet, but a beginning was more than you could’ve asked for.

✧*.

a/n: to the doll that requested, hope u know ur absolutely perfect no matter what. never let anybody’s subjective opinion or the standards perpetuated dictate how beautiful you are and how beautiful you should feel. this goes to anybody reading, because i know there’s too many of you scrolling through tiktok and thinking, “why cant i look like that?” or “why do i have hip dips, why doesn’t my ass looks like that, why does she look like that and i don’t?” i promise all of your insecurities are illusions purposely projected by the media to make you give into what they’re feeding you. no, starving yourself won’t make you beautiful. neither will overused lips fillers or heavy botox or that botched bbl. there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, there never was and there never will be. cherish every part of yourself, you never know who may be looking at you and wishing they had what you do.

179 notes · View notes

chocogoldie · 3 months ago

Text

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Sick ࿐ྂ

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

genre: fluff, smau with written continuation

pairing: Husband Bakugo x Fem!Reader

contents: established relationship, bakugo comforts you

Summary: Your husband takes care of you while you deal with the flu.

Domestic Bakugo per request from @channnee !! ^^

You did as Katsuki said, making yourself a warm cup of milk tea and bringing the comforter to your couch, settling on watching your favorite show while you waited for him. The pain in your muscles subsided slightly when you melted into the soft cushions and took a self-indulgent sip, humming pleasingly. Not even an hour through the newly released episode, you hear the front door creak open, making you turn your head towards the sound.

“Hi, honey,” you croak out, clearing your sore throat, shuffling noises earning your attention, “Did you do the groceries as well?”

Katsuki dumps his big combat boots on the shoe rack alongside his gauntlets and utility belt before walking into the living room with two plastic bags in hand. You couldn't catch a whiff of his caramelly scent due to your stuffed nose, which made you pout ever so slightly. He gazes sideways at you as he passes the couch to place the bags on the kitchen table, pulling his mask up to hold his unruly hair in place.

“Yeah,” he responds simply, hurrying over to lean against the backrest of the couch and plant a kiss on your forehead, a ritual you were all too familiar with, “Told you I'd take care of you. How're you feeling, baby?”

You smile and kiss his cheek in turn, his faint stubble tickling your lips. “Thank you. Aside from feeling like a wet vegetable, I'm okay.”

He chuckles at your words, rubbing soft circles on your shoulders with his thumbs. “That doesn't sound good. Let's eat first and then I'll give you the meds.”

“Mhm. Thank you.”

“And stop talking. Text me instead. Soup'll be done in a few minutes.”

He ruffles your already messy hair and heads back to the kitchen, beginning to cook immediately without showering or changing out of his hero costume. He wouldn't want to keep his poor wife waiting, after all, but you still wondered if he was comfortable in those dirty clothes. He'd always been kind of a clean freak, something you admired and picked up from him, and that showed in the cleanliness of your shared house. You felt bad for making him work extra after a hard day of upkeeping his duties as the Nr. 2 hero, but you didn't mind the sight of him, broad shoulders and muscular back clad in dark clothing, cooking for you. You couldn't help but sneak a few glances at him while watching the show, actually.

The cute sneezes and coughs you let out now and then only managed to worry him more, his hands working faster on making the best damn soup you've ever tasted. And it didn't disappoint; once you placed the spoon into your mouth, a satisfied hum rumbled from your throat and it instantly chased away the coldness icing your limbs.

“This is so good, thank you so much,” you praised, devouring the food. You noticed how the ache in your throat seemed to dull, too.

Katsuki smiled, taking a spoonful of his meal, “Don't speak with your mouth full. Don't speak at all, actually. Eat up.”

It was silent as the two of you ate, occasionally stopping to converse about what you did today or you sneezing and having to blow your nose. Your husband was so patient with you like always, cracking jokes to make you feel better about showing such a disgusting part of yourself. In his eyes, flu or not, you were the most beautiful and refined person there was, but he knew you had a different opinion of yourself. One he didn't approve of and aimed to change every day through his actions, words, and touches.

Then, when you finished the soup, you felt revigorated enough to wash the dishes.

“Thank you for the meal, honey,” you say as you pick up his empty plate and kiss his temple.

“I thought I told you to take it easy.”

“I know, but this is the least I can do. I'm not incapacitated yet,” you joke, feeling his arms sneak around your waist and his chin finding purchase on your shoulder as you rinse the dishes.

“Hope you mean ‘never’,” he corrects with the tightening of his arms, his fingers playing with the t-shirt you're wearing. His t-shirt. The one he wore during high school and that didn't fit him anymore. Feeling suddenly overcome with affection for you, his nose meets your cheekbone as he presses feathery kisses to it before chomping down on the plush skin.

You squeak and almost drop the plate while attempting to wiggle out of his grasp to no avail. Your husband was an avid biter, you learned that early on in your relationship, but it never failed to surprise you whenever he decided you looked extra appetizing.

“Katsuki!”

He chuckled and pulled away, satisfied with the reaction he got out of you. The back of his hand came up to clean your cheek of any remaining saliva.

“No shouting, you'll hurt your throat more. I left the Tamiflu on the table, by the way,” the blond recalls, kissing your shoulder before hesitantly retracting his hands and stepping away to go shower.

You sneak a peek at his retreating figure and the medicine left on the table while continuing to clean the dishes, the lingering feeling of his teeth digging into your cheek making you brush it against your shoulder with a laugh. His antics always brought a smile to your lips and you theorized that he somehow caught onto it. Sneaky bastard. Why did he have to be so nice and perfect? It wasn't fair.

A while after you finish doing the dishes, you pop a Tamiflu and head to your bedroom to jump out of your pajama shorts, the flu raising your body temperature pretty high. You were a sweating and coughing mess in the comfort of your bed when Katsuki exited the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips and another one draped over his shoulders as he aggressively dried his hair. Though, your coughs earned his attention and he hurried to the kitchen to bring you a glass of water, which you gratefully accepted and downed in one go.

“Pill didn't settle in yet?”

You could only nod, the scratchiness of your throat only worsening. It got better after you ate the soup, but now... Katsuki seemed to read your mind, quickly bringing the NyQuil and having you swallow one.

“This should do the trick. If it doesn't, let me know and I'll make you some tea. ’Kay, love?”

Maybe it was the dizziness of the slight fever you were experiencing, but you felt so extremely grateful for everything he was doing for you and for the privilege of living with him in general that made tears brim in the corners of your eyes as you nodded. The gentleness of his actions combined with his comforting words had your heart running marathons akin to your high school years, swelling up with the love you held for him.

“Hey, hey, what's wrong?” His warm hands cup your face as his eyes search yours, brows furrowed with worry. “Are you hurting anywhere?”

You simply shake your head, wrapping your arms around him for a bone-crushing hug as you feel droplets of water drip down from his hair and onto your face. He doesn't hesitate to pull you closer and rub your back soothingly, whispering encouragements as he does.

“You're okay, baby. I got you. I'm here,” he kisses the top of your head and it feels like butterflies are blooming in your stomach all over again, “You've been through worse, haven't you? A shitty cold doesn't stand a chance.”

You find the power to choke out a quiet “I love you”, which he returned before noticing your sobs had lessened and having to get up and get changed. A shiver ran through you as you pulled the comforter up to your nose, curling on your side of the bed.

Katsuki joined you, now wearing his checkered pajama pants, making sure you were completely tucked in and pulling you to his chest.

“I don't want you to catch my cold...” you rasped at some point during your silent cuddling session, realization dawning on you harder than the darkness coating the room. From how touchy you guys were throughout the day, he for sure would get your cold, a fact that made you slightly antsy. You didn't want that knowing your husband is a busy, workaholic man who'd drag his ass to work even if he got a fever.

He scoffed and pulled you impossibly closer by the small of your back, his heat seeping into you and managing to calm some of your nerves, “My immune system doesn't hate me. I'll be fine, so stop worrying about me, sweets. But that's such a you thing to do.”

You cock your head to the side questioningly while gazing up at him, “What is?”

“Worrying about others when you're in pain.”

“Do I do that often?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, closing his eyes when you nuzzled your nose to his neck, letting sleep cloud your decisions of staying away so he wouldn't get sick, “All the time.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Nothing you do bothers me,” the warm tips of his fingers slip beneath your shirt to rest on your back after he felt you tremble against him, “Got it, baby? So, use me to your heart's content, especially when you're not feeling well.”

You give in and wrap your body around his, melding it to fit his frame while you close your eyes too. The heat from his fingers finds its way to your heart, a soft hum escaping your lips at the familiar, cozy feeling. Nights with Katsuki have always felt special, but this was something else entirely. You feel so safe in his embrace to the point where you relax instantly, forgetting the pain, forgetting your worries. He just had that effect on you.

“Noted,” you reply softly, before falling asleep in your husband's arms.

a/n: very short, i know, but i'm sick and lowkey sad so i felt the need to write this akkdkd hope it was okay and that i didn't disappoint!!! not edited nor proofread

taglist: @dinorawrss @nouktis @eyesforbkg @channnee

355 notes · View notes

goldsbitch · 9 months ago

Text

Just don't talk---

-to me.

p4 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Y/N unknowingly crosses a line, making it impossible for Lando to continue their little affair.

warnings: cursing, typos

Sometimes, the world of F1 really required one to grow up fast. Y/N had noticed strange looks from few of the team members during meetings and sessions for the whole week. She tried not to give it much thought - that was until her manager called, on a late Wednesday evening and broke the news. There were serious talks of her being replaced by someone, who used to drive for her team before and wanted back. She, as an average rookie, couldn't stand a chance and couldn't possibly play the "female driver" card (which she hated anyway). The phone call with her manager was a hard one, nothing seemed to be confirmed, but her pro active guardian angel worked on having enough close friendships around the team to know the news before it got to be known around the paddock. Her heart was racing for life, hand shaking, mind running wild. This couldn't be happening. They can't just drop her out of nowhere, she tried to convince herself.

She lived in this uncertainty for three days, constantly in contact with her own team, focusing on not failing at her job, completely ignoring any texts or calls from people outside her comfort zone. Yet, she didn't hesitate to schedule a hook up with Lando. A break though came when her manager called, informing her that she currently in negotiations with another f1 team for potential transfer, she called it a "just in case" back up, but sounded a little too excited for it being a back up team. Even when Y/N begged to know what team that was, her manager did not cave in, saying it was just too early stages.

What a perfect waste of time. Every evening in her busy life was a calculation, a plan to keep or alone time prescribed by herself. Tonight they were suppose to meet up with Lando, in the morning they'd texted about it, he even cracked a joke and appeared to be in a generally easy going mode. But 8pm rolled in and no text, call or even a doorbell. After a half an hour of pacing around and pretending to be busy, she found herself in a completely clean kitchen, finished emails and painted nails. Lando was rarely ever late without a note beforehand. She was not going to text him. That would be too needy. Few episodes of some sitcom, which she had to rewind several times as her attention span lasted about two minutes. Minutes rolled in like a cruel indicator of how much she took as a given that they'd see each other. How much it wasn't on the table that he would ditch her. At some point, she had to come to terms with it. But nobody was there to force to admit that she felt a strange hollow feeling in her stomach. She pushed all thoughts into the back of her head and focused on her next racing plan. That's what she was suppose to be anyway. She might face being replaced out of nowhere, she had to be at her best game. Only when she lost the option of the only distraction that seemed to work in the form of Lando's smirk, she realized how much tension she held within her. It wasn't a night filled with much sleep for her. The late night loneliness crept in, loveless mornings had pilled up over time into a tower blocking the sunshine in. She sat on her bed, second guessing every choice she ever made - was the racing even worth it all? She could have been married by now? What a strange concept. Was she ever going to do so? In a man's world, was there an option to find a lover who would not challenge her and only induce her anxiety? She circled back to her first and only love and wasn't even sure if she had the privilege to call it that as the memory of the slacker guy from her hometown literally slept through their break up. Often she'd watch her colleagues hop on the first plane to spend as much time as this lifestyle allowed with a loved one. She had yet to find out what that kind of a flight felt like.

A whole week had passed since that night. They saw each other on numerous occasions and both of them avoided each other's looks, as if they would turn to stone if their eyes had met. It was good for their public image.

Y/N was excited when her manager finally met up with her in person to tell her about a potential team transfer, should the silly season kick in hard. "I'm not saying anything is set in stone. There have just been few meetings, lawyers checked up your contract again for potential breach causes, so we did some work in the meantime," she stated dramatically over a coffee date they'd set up at Y/N's hotel room. Her manager seemed unusually giddy, excitement poking through her professionalism. "There is a possibility, now, hold your horses, just a possibility, that there might be an open seat at McLaren soon." This came as a shock wave. Y/N always admired her manager, who was always three steps ahead of everyone. Her mind started to race in many conflicting directions. McLaren was an exciting team, definitely a promotion. So was this why Lando ghosted her? Because she might potentially become his teammate? That was just a little too childish of him, she thought, judging her own choices in a hook up "buddy". "So does that mean that Oscar is thinking about leaving the team?" "Well, not exactly. Technically, nobody is thinking about leaving the team. Also, it's not Oscar, but Lando." And the penny dropped.

Lando had been in this business for years. He knew well enough what was up. Made sure to have people at the right places, faithful souls who loved him a little too much and were willing to breach their NDA for him. Of course he knew that Y/N's managers were speaking to McLaren. And also why. It took him by surprise, that was for sure. He was a great racer with a big potential. When he learned in secrecy that the reason why McLaren is thinking of changing up their driver line up, it wasn't exactly because of the actual racing, but more of marketing and appearing as a young hip team, it made him furious. Lando had started to become an old news for the marketers. Oscar and Y/N pairing had intrigued them. Of course he wasn't going to keep on with their little love affair. She was becoming a threat, more so outside the track than on the track. He was mad when he found out. Of course he had always kept his distance from Y/N. But this felt personal. She truly was a ruthless bitch, as his gut had told him from day one. It probably wasn't even attraction what he felt towards her, just his subconsciousness telling him to keep his enemies closest physically possible. He tried to hold of thinking about their glorious sex. There were bigger things at stake. He didn't feel threatened. Just little bit betrayed. He had to take action.

Once her manager left, she found herself pacing around her room yet again. Thoughts jumping one over another. Excitement skipping over anxiousness, joy being overrun by a sinking fear. She was always going to put her career first. So why was there a sudden urge to run to wherever Lando was and explain that she had no idea this was being set up in her name.

It was a strangely bittersweet feeling, standing at a photoshoot for her contract renewal. There was an unspoken tension between her and the team leaders, nobody willing to talk openly about the fact that they were about to drop her and she was talking about running to different team. But there she was, faking smiles, staying with the team for another two seasons, hating this industry more than ever before. In the end, she gave her everything just to stay in an environment that made her feel just like another clog in the all too big entertainment machine. McLaren calls were getting postponed and everyone knew what that meant, so her own personal team decided to jump for the first option that offered some security. With that, she smiled and posed again. Merely a shell of the fiery girl that bit Lando's arm just weeks ago. All this stress, loneliness and self-doubt had changed the course of her energy.

"Oh, you're taking the same elevator?" Lando asked, shooting arrows at Y/N as he pressed the close door button. He had imagined many times that he would slam a door in her face and this was the closest her could get to that. She put her hand into the door gap, giving him a strict eye roll. Finally, faith brought them into a place where they were alone again. "Really?" she said walking in the elevator. Lando tried to be the bigger and mature person. Being around her was making it impossible. He was angry and frustrated. "So...how are you?" she tried to break the ice. "You have never asked me that before. Are you sick?" "No, I'm just...we haven't spoken-" "-ever. No reason to start now," he said, acting as if this was all passing him by. Scrolling on his phone without a care in the world. "I didn't know..." "What..?" "I didn't know that my managers were having these talks," she said softly. There was an apology on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to actually say it. "And are you looking for my advice on how to keep the people who you pay in check? Or what is the purpose of this conversation?" "I'm just...I never wanted to try and push you out of..you know." Lando laughed. "That's some severe delulu vibe you're giving off." "Sorry?" she reacted, genuinely confused. "The audacity you have! Thinking you can manipulate the situation better than I do. Princess, I've been in the game years more than you and survived bigger shitstorms - do you really believed I'm here only because I'm a good driver? No, these games are half of the work. So no, I absolutely do not believe that you didn't know about this. And the fact that you're trying to convince me of that is highly disrespectful." Y/N was taken back, processing several conflicting reactions at the same time. The always calm Lando got pushed over the edge. And he was not done. "Next time you're drowning, don't reach out to drag me down too. You should be grateful, you got to keep your job and certainly no thanks to the shitty managers of yours, so you're welcome. I'm genuinely surprised that you landed the job you now have in the first place."

It was a lot of information blurted at her. But she got a hold of the important part. "Lando? What did you do?" He took a deep breath. He said too much. "You will never find out. Now stop talking."

Y/N hit a pause on the elevator. Not that it would help, she figured they had only few minutes extra before someone would be over to run the machine again. "The fuck are you doing," Lando exclaimed and tried to stop her. His hand grabbed her arm and Y/N got an instant flashback to the night he tied her to her own bed frame. "Did you help me?" she asked, anger spitting out of her lips. "Let's not dive into that, shall we? Now, get the elevator running." "I don't need your help, Lando." "This was not any help, I'm trying to keep you out of McLaren, so don't read into it." While that did sound reasonable, Y/N knew there was more. With that, the fire she'd been missing for weeks entered her system again. "Stop helping me, Lando," she said in a serious tone, stepping closer to the guy still holding her arm. She quickly pushed it away. "I don't need your help." She was really pushing it, he thought and bursted. "Is that so! I saw that last week. Your weak strategy and poor results nearly got you dropped. " "No, not dropped. Replacing you." "It would take the hell to freeze over for that to happen, Princess naivité. It was a straight path back to f2 at best. Get your shit together and get a grip over those who act in your name and grow up. Nobody is going to save you next time." She wondered what exactly he did, but knew that there will be a time and place for that conversation. Lando cursed himself for saying it all at once. He was there, lecturing her on strategy, while not being able to follow his own for a second when she was around. Said things he planned on keeping for himself forever. She stood in front of him and he could read the surprise on her face. Anger left her body and suddenly she never looked so innocent. Just a scared girl standing in front of him, trying to navigate their complicated world. The only reason he helped her was because he felt sorry for her. Nothing else. Definitely. "How can I repay you?" she asked, humbled by the newly found information. He took his time to respond. Prolonging this moment just a little. Knowing that soon enough, the innocent face he stared at would soon turn to its usual pseudo-tough-cool-girl mask. It was as if he saw the real Y/N for the first time. "You could stop whining and get this elevator running," he said slowly, as if his body was rejecting these words. Without any other comment, she obeyed his wish. They both turned away from each other and continued in silence. Lando had secretely hoped that she would question him more. She let out a little thank you when exiting the elevator. He watched her leave and forgot for a moment into which floor he was supposed to originally go. She paced away from his as fast as she could. These past few days have pushed her to the limit and the conversation with Lando was the last straw, the word "Princess" screaming in Lando's voice in her head.

part 5

_________________________________________

@scopeiguess @multifandomwhore-003

309 notes · View notes

stareaterau · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 1 episode 2

←Previous episode

Next episode→

Index

---

Let me introduce you to our cowboy, as he takes a trip

CW: injury and description of broken bones

Read below↓

Or AO3

A lonely cowboy trudges through the desert, bleary-eyed and hatless. His name is Jimmy.

He woke up not too long ago, face down in the sand and alone. The grains refuse to budge from their places buried between the colourful feathers on his face. With a sigh, he stops trying to scratch at the feathers to dislodge them, resigning himself to the permanent itch. It wouldn’t have helped for long anyways, the wind would soon blow more sand back into the gaps in his feathers, along with just about every other part of his lanky body. Jimmy coughs, dust coating the back of his throat. He pulls up his red bandana, from where it rests around his neck, to protect the lower half of his face. He’s not a stranger to waking up in the desert, it’s always been tempting for him to nap between the dunes, shielded from the winds and the distractions of Tumble Town. These are not those dunes. The land is flat, aside from a cracked layer of earth. The sun beats down on every surface, with next to no trees or bushes to offer much needed shade. Jimmy frowns, trying to recall the events that led him here. He must’ve fallen asleep on his horse and fallen off. He had been riding for a while… and it wouldn’t be the first time. Although, how he didn’t wake up when he fell is still a mystery to him. Maybe he fell head first. The horse must’ve wandered off while he was out… with all his belongings attached to their saddle.

And then there’s the beeping. It started off infrequently, only sounding every couple minutes. Jimmy thought he’d imagined it at first, that maybe he got heat stroke from sleeping under the sun for so long, but he reasoned that it’s far too consistent to be a hallucination. He’s not sure if that even makes sense, but it’s clearly speeding up and slowing down depending on the direction that he’s walking, so he’s sure that it’s leading him somewhere.

His running theory is that, somehow, the beeping is leading him to his horse, who, hopefully, has not managed to lose his stuff in the middle of this vast desert. Or, if not his horse, then whoever has found his belongings. If that’s the case, he hopes they’re friendly— he’s been robbed a few times and he’s not all that excited to add another experience to the list. Jimmy’s second, and just as unlikely, theory is that he’s being led towards water. That somehow he picked up some kind of water detector and managed to forget about it. He thinks this one might just be wishful thinking… or both of them may be.

There’s only one way to find out, and he’s familiar enough with this type of environment to know that meaningless wandering isn’t going to help him.

The beeping increases steadily the further he treks across the sands, dragging his sore, bird-like feet. The makeshift shoes he cut from an old pair of boots, so that they could fit, do a poor job of protecting him from the scorching earth. The more wiry trees and bushes cross his path, the more certain he becomes that he’s in a completely different desert than the one he calls home. He’s never been much of an expert in flora, but he knows he’s never seen these plants before. Their branches are thorny and muddy red, unlike the ones he’s used to. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s seen a single cactus. He probably would have tried to cut it down to see if it was edible if he had.

Despite the beeping leading Jimmy in a straight direction, he has to carefully wind his way through the desert, walking around the trenches that split the ground for miles. He almost broke his ankle in one of the shallower cracks earlier when he misjudged its depth. He pays more attention to them now, observing as they slowly grow deeper and wider, creating the chasms that lead on and on until into the dust clouds and heat waves.

Jimmy misses his hat. He will never again take its wide brim for granted, and how it blocked the harsh sun. His eyes hurt. He thought he’d have more time before the sun reached its peak, but the star moved much faster than expected. Jimmy is tempted to reason that the difference is because he’s on an entirely different planet, rather than just an unfamiliar part of the desert. A planet that rotates significantly faster than the one he calls home. But he’s not thinking that, because how could that even happen? How would he get back home? No, he lost track of time. He’s just been walking for longer than he thought. Jimmy has been living in the desert for years now, and has grown used to the heat— the feeling of feathers damp with sweat and covered in sand is a familiar sensation— but the temperature is starting to get to him. The lack of shade and water make it impossible to find a moment of relief.

The beeping grows faster, and he searches for a change in the landscape around him. The ground remains an empty plane, with nothing but the deep, wide fissures marking its surface. He’s starting to hope the beeping might be leading him to a settlement, rather than his horse. At least then he'll be able to get out of the sun.

Zoning back into the beeping, Jimmy realizes it’s slowed, a notable gap forming between each sound. Whatever he’s been walking towards must’ve changed directions, or maybe he just walked past it somehow. Looking around, nothing has changed. He hasn’t even seen animals skittering across the sand, no lizards— or alien lizard equivalents— basking under the hot sun. Trying to reorientate himself, Jimmy begins to test the beeps, listening for which directions make it speed up. But it keeps shifting. The beeping then speeds up to its fastest speed yet, the separate beeps bleeding into one sound before stopping completely, only for it to start up again a moment later. Maybe it’s leading him somewhere vertically? He looks up.

He starts walking, keeping his eyes on the sky, hoping it might reveal something new to him, but he foolishly loses track of the topography. Before he knows it, one foot sinks into unsteady ground, then the other finds nothing but air, and he’s falling.

Reflexively, he holds his arms in front of him, hoping helplessly that it will slow his plunge into the cavernous ravine.

An old reflex cries out. One long forgotten and useless. He tries to listen.

First there’s the hiss of sand, pattering over the surface below. Then a sickening crack as Jimmy lands on his outstretched arm. Pain shoots through his side.

He opens his mouth to yell, but he’s interrupted by another scream, next to him.

Scrambling to the wall and clutching his injured arm, Jimmy’s mind works on pure adrenaline as he tries to push through the pain, and wills his vision clear enough for him to see his new company.

The figure curled on the floor mirrors him, clutching their own arm to their chest.

Their body is covered in a light yellow fur, which darkens to a reddish brown at the tips of their limbs. Their fiery hair and tail flicker wildly with distress— a blazeborn. They’re wearing a torn sleeveless shirt, with a thick, dark coat tied around their waist. Why anyone would carry a coat like that out here, Jimmy cannot understand.

Their bright yellow eyes are wide like suns, shining right at Jimmy. They let out a quavery wheeze.

Jimmy shakes his head, fending off the delirium.

He coughs a pained, bitter laugh. His ribs ache. “...Hello?”

“Are you okay?” They manage back, looking and sounding like they’re in just as much pain as he is.

“Are you okay?” Jimmy nods pointedly to their broken arm. He can see its misshapen form from here. He doesn’t want to imagine what his own arm looks like.

The blazeborn shuffles tentatively towards him, making sure to not move their arm.

“I don't know- I don't know how it happened. You just fell and then I felt-”

Jimmy's eyes snap open with the realization. “Did I fall on you?! I’M SO SORRY!!”

“No no, you fell nowhere near me-” they shake their head, whining slightly, just as Jimmy feels a pulse of pain and bites back a wince himself.

With that, the look on their face morphs from concern to confusion. They shift closer to him, close enough that Jimmy can see the slight blue wisps in their warm flames. This might be the first time he’s been this close to a blazeborn. He always thought they’d give off more heat than this.

They don’t meet his gaze though, their attention directed elsewhere.

Gently, they pull their good arm from where it rests on their chest. Before Jimmy can question them, they tap his injured arm. A bolt of pain shoots through his body— he pulls back violently.

“OW!! THAT HURTS!” he yells, but his anger dissipates once he spots the blazeborn grimacing from their own pain. They blink rapidly, fighting through the daze. When it passes, they focus on Jimmy with an apologetic expression.

“This sounds crazy, but I think we're- connected.”

“What?! What are you on about?” Jimmy barks, confusion and pain leading easily into anger.

“Look, if I-”

Jimmy catches them by the wrist as they make another move to prod him.

“If you poke me one more time I swear-” Jimmy threatens in his best attempt at an authoritative tone, tightening his grip on their arm, challenging them.

They pause, considering him for a moment. Their eyes, without a trace of fear, flick down to Jimmy’s arm before returning to meet his gaze. They seem to be more intrigued than anything.

“Okay, okay, how about you poke me, then.” They direct his hand over to their injured arm.

"W-why?" Jimmy squawks, resisting.

“You'll feel the same thing. If my guess is right, at least.”

The way they laugh afterwards doesn't exactly fill Jimmy with much confidence. It reminds him of a mad scientist excited to test their hypothesis regardless of their questionable, painful methods. The logic makes his head spin; the stranger’s certainty is a jarring contrast. He feels like he’s out of the loop about something.

”....Okay. Are you sure?”

They grin wildly at him, their sharp teeth on full display.

“Go ahead, I'm giving you permission.”

“HM.” Jimmy hums with audible suspicion, baffled as to why someone would willingly feel that kind of pain. Stumped, he grants them their wish. As gently as he can, he pokes them.

His own arm blooms with pain. The same white hot pain. He pulls back, gasping, faint from the unexpected sting.

“What- WHAT THE HECK-'' Jimmy cries, hugging his arm closer to his chest. Nothing touched him, but that’s not how it felt. His poor arm pulses with pain, and he stares at the blazeborn.

They huff out a couple unsteady breaths, clearing their head before meeting Jimmy’s stricken look with another weak grin. How someone can smile in this situation is beyond Jimmy, and how this stranger’s grin grows wider with each passing second is completely unfathomable. Finally, they explode with laughter.

“AHAH- Welp, this is definitely a weird situation!”

“How-” Jimmy falters, his worry deepening. “Who are you?”

The blazeborn casually pushes themself up against the wall, sitting down next to him. They wipe the sand off their hand onto their coat.

“No idea, and the name’s Tango.”

He smiles up at Jimmy, more genuinely.

“…Jimmy.” He replies, finding the time to properly take in Tango’s appearance beyond the minimum.

Jimmy’s eyes flicker to something tied at the blazeborn’s waist. It was a pair of big, bulky boots. He watches Tango kick at the dust with his bare feet. No wonder he isn't wearing them. They look more suited to insulating the cold and snow, rather than the scorching heat of a desert.

An awkward silence falls over the two, both of them trying to process their situation, and grimacing internally from their pain. Jimmy rests his tail over his own feet, fanning the end towards him to battle the heat. He's not particularly sure what to say, especially to a stranger who is, by some unexplainable magic, connected to him. Fortunately for him, he doesn't have to go first.

“So, Jimmy… What got you here?” Tango breaks the silence.

“I fell.” He replies dumbly, not registering the question completely.

Tango spits out a laugh. “No, I mean- in this desert.”

Jimmy shrugs, recalling all he can. “I don't know… I don't remember.”

He’s beginning to accept that maybe his horse and all his belongings aren’t on this planet at all.

He yawns, “I was just following the beeps-”

His head slips against the wall behind him, neck lolling as a wave of exhaustion hits him.

“Hey, hey, buddy- stay awake for me.” Tango reaches over, snapping his good hand in front of Jimmy and chuckling nervously.

“Mmm… sorry.” Jimmy rubs his eyes, blinking blearily at the blazeborn. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same.” Tango affirms. “I was following the beeps through the caves and ravines, and then I stumbled upon you- or more like, you stumbled and-” Tango gestures to the top of the ravine, reenacting Jimmy's fall with his hand, complete with cartoonish sound effects.

Jimmy, too worn down to feel insulted, just laughs.

“You think the beeping was leading us to the same thing?” He enquires.

“Probably- or probably to each other, actually. ‘cuz we're linked somehow!” Tango decides, seeming far more alert than Jimmy.

“Who… would do that? …why?” Jimmy asks hazily, stifling another yawn.

Tango lowers his gaze, brow furrowing. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he sinks deeper in thought, mumbling like he’s debating something in his mind.

Jimmy frowns as the moment stretches on, and opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, but Tango interrupts him.

“I think I might have an idea why I'm here.”

“Oh?” Jimmy tilts his head.

“You work with dodgy people, you get into dodgy situations.” He states bluntly, like it’s a matter of fact.

“You- you’re not a robber, are you? Or a murderer?!” Jimmy tenses, not-so-subtly shuffling away.

“Oh, no no- nothing scary,” Tango snorts, offering Jimmy a disarming wink.

Jimmy’s not convinced. He studies Tango wearily.

“I mean-” Tango elaborates, “I'm actually just an architect of sorts. That's not scary.”

“Could be!” Jimmy argues, “You could be making dungeons and torture chambers!”

Tango snaps his mouth shut with a squeak, a chuckle stuttering through his teeth.

"…yeeaah. Nothing like that." He assures vaguely, trying to emphasize his words carefully.

Jimmy squints at him, humming in agreement despite his suspicion. He goes to move so that he can face Tango straight on, but in the process, bumps his elbow into the stone wall.

Both Tango and Jimmy immediately curl into themselves. “Ah- ow ow ow ow.” They murmur in sync.

"Oh, yeah,” Tango wheezes breathlessly, “We should probably do something about these.”

Jimmy makes a small, sad noise to himself. He’s gone a long time without having to deal with a broken bone, and he had been hoping to keep it that way. He looks helplessly at his arm, and Tango follows his gaze.

“Can I see?” Tango asks, in the calmest voice he can muster, though the tension around his eyes betrays his own unease.

Jimmy just nods and moves closer, more carefully this time.

Tango leans over as Jimmy lifts his arm delicately.

“Hmm.” He ponders over the mangled limb. “Haha.” He concludes flatly, “It looks like we might have to set them.”

Jimmy pulls his arm back. “I don't want to do that. You know what, I always wanted a wonky arm, actually.”

“If it's any comfort, you won't be alone in the pain.” Tango tries with a weak smile.

Jimmy pouts. Conceding slightly, he asks “Are we going to do our arms at the same time?”

“Void, no.” Tango laughs dismissively. “That sounds like a horrible idea. The universe might just implode.”

“What?” Jimmy snaps, shooting Tango a concerned stare. Tango rolls his eyes.

“We'd most likely both feel twice as much pain, buddy. That's what I mean.”

Jimmy’s face tightens with anxiety, and he makes another move to scoot away.

“Hey, hey, wait.” Tango placates, looking around helplessly. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulls out two torn pieces of fabric. They look like they used to be the sleeves from his t-shirt.

Tango hands one to Jimmy. “Bite down on this?” He offers.

“Don't happen to have any form of painkillers, then?” Jimmy pipes uselessly.

Tango notices the way Jimmy eyes the dirty fabric. He shrugs apologetically.

“That's all I got, sorry.”

Jimmy sighs, willing himself to accept his fate, and clumsily folds the fabric with one hand. He tentatively places it in his mouth.

“So… who first?” He mumbles defeatedly through the fabric.

“Hmmm… you!”

Before Jimmy can process what’s happening, Tango snaps his arm back into place.

#stareater au #life series au #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #ranchers duo #cw injury #cw broken bones #team rancher #trafficblr

553 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! I hope you're well! I've got a bit of a request (maybe? idk can be whatever u want it to be:D) So- R recently has had their wisdom tooth removed, and I think you've seen how people get so loopy afterwards. I think it'd be hilarious writing Hobie trying to keep a straight face and talk to R rambling on about some random things in the most serious manner he can muster lol

Thank you for requesting! Muah 😘 ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, Fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie's nervous for no reason, he knows you're alright behind the tooth shaped door but the sound of the drill’s muffled whirring has his spidey senses going haywire. He thinks it's the weird smell of the dentist's office and the stark white of the walls that adds to his anxiety. His leg nervously bounces to the beat of the crappy music that the dentist's assistant keeps playing on loop (torturing him basically.)

He kneads at his temple to get the scraping sound out of his ears, due to his enhanced senses that includes super hearing, he can hear every pull and tug of your tooth, unfortunately. But he thinks you have it worse since you're the one who feels every tug and pull. Or maybe he just hates it when you get hurt, especially if he can't help you or even see you. He curses the tooth shaped door for hiding you from his view. Seriously, who makes a door shaped like that?

With a sigh, the toothy door finally opens, and out you roll out of it in a squeaky wheelchair. Hobie stands up lightning quick to get to your side. The dentist smiles at him with her perfect teeth, hands guiding you out of the sterile room.

“She’s good, don't worry.” The dentist senses Hobie's worry, or she just sees it etched on his face. “Your girl's a bit loopy because of the meds but it'll wear off in a few minutes.”

Hobie kneels down to face you. He almost laughs loudly at your swollen cheek that makes you look like a squirrel that's hiding its nuts inside its mouth. He rubs your knee softly to wake your foggy self based on how glossy your eyes are. Drool drips from the cotton in your mouth and he swears he almost loses it right there and then.

“Hi, love, ready to come home?” Hobie smiles softly like he usually does when he finds you endearing. Despite all the bloody saliva dripping out of your mouth.

“Hat?” You ask, voice murmured by the cotton. Hobie guesses you said ‘what?’ instead of asking for his invisible hat.

Raising your hand to his face, you give him a good pat on his cheek, you then let out a giggle that sounded more like a cackle. It all makes him raise an eyebrow.

“You gave her the good stuff huh, doc?” He asks, never leaving his eyes off your disoriented self.

The dentist chuckles, “just give her paracetamol for the pain and don't let her eat or drink anything for an hour or two if she can help it.”

“Thanks, doc.” Hobie gives her a polite smile while standing back up to his feet. “Ready to walk with me?”

You narrow your eyes at him, eyebrows knitted, hands balling at your soft pants. You dressed for the occasion, or rather, dressed down for it. You had the foresight to know that you'll be bleeding all over your clothes right after. Like how you are right now with one of Hobie's old band shirts. He clearly doesn't mind since he owns a hundred like them. But he won't miss the opportunity to tease you about it once you're sober and well awake.

You look at him like he told you the copper you gave him is in a poor state. “I hab boyfriend.”

“I know you do, it's me.” He sees the dentist crack a smile. “Get up, love, you'll kick my arse if we miss your episode.”

“Episode?” You once again ask with wonderment.

“Yeah, that dragon show you like so much. Up you go.”

“Dragons?!” Your voice echoes out in the room, like he just told you dragons are real. You stand up quicker than he thought you could. “Really?” Your question cements what he thinks. “They're dragons right? Not wyverns, they're different creatures y’know.” He tamps down a laugh.

Holding you by your biceps, Hobie flicks his eyes behind you and over to the dentist who just shrugs with a grin. “Her tooth was stubborn. Sorry, I could've given her the lighter stuff but she would've felt it.”

“That's alright, doc, this is how she usually is.” He jokes, which you chortle at. Well at least you recognize humour amidst the fog of whatever concoction the dentist gave you. “Thanks again.” He waves goodbye whilst he guides you out of the clinic.

“Why are you so pretty?” You look at him with sparkling eyes like you're about to cry from his sheer beauty. Tapping his chin, cheek squished against his shoulder, you don't look at where you're walking as you continue to admire him in the sun. “So p-pretty…like a-an angel.”

Hobie does all the walking for you, his arms are looped around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the pavement. The tips of your shoes grazes the concrete as you squish his cheeks in your hand, making him pout from your cuteness overload.

“An angel? Just last night you called me a dick for eating your mango.” How could he know you were trying to save it inside the fridge?

You giggle, “mmm, mango.”

“I'll buy you a hundred more if you continue to dote on me.” You two finally make it to the van, he thanks his abilities for not getting winded out by the trek.

You lean back dramatically, making Hobie catch you in his arms. You both look like a cover from a romance novel.

“I can't! I have a boyfriend.” You say with your whole heart, and as serious as you can with your mouth full of cotton.

“Fuckin' hell.” He laughs, lifting you back up before someone in the street sees. “I'll buy you some ice cream if you get in the car. Mango or chocolate flavour?”

“I will,” you poke his chest, “not be,” poke “bribed by you–you stranger!” You poke him several times.

Hobie catches your finger mid poke. Leaning closer to your face, he smells the iron from your mouth. You sniff, moving your head away from him with a pout.

“Love,” he says sweetly, catching the back of your head before it falls further back. Laying his forehead against yours, he gives you a minute to recognize him from his warmth alone. He'd give you forever if he can. Holding your hand, he raises it to his chest, letting you feel the familiar thump of his heart. He remembers that you do it whenever he gets home from patrol. “It's me, yeah?”

Hobie doesn't realize the tears brimming in your eyes. He stands up straight at the sound of your quiet sobbing.

“We're gonna miss the dragons.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks, the cotton in your mouth threatens to fall out as you weep in the parking lot with him trying his best to wipe the tears while he coos softly at you.

Hobie definitely has his work cut out for him, now to get you home without crying about dragons or acting like he's kidnapping you. Yet, he'd gladly do it all over again if it's you.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie fluff #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #hobie brown fluff #tw blood #fanfic

270 notes · View notes

jeonsbabygirlsworld · 8 months ago

Text

DESIRE PT.2

SUMMARY: Life was easy until you meet the eye candy of your life and the adventure with him is a hell of ride, but there is certain someone who seems to get hurt in this.

PAIRINGS: Bartender Yoongi X reader (ft Gynecologist Jungkook)

WORD COUNT: 1.8K

WARNINGS: Smut, reader is a flustered cause of course its Jungkook, eekkk Eunwoo is here as well! but he's here only for this chapter, that's it ig, Jungkook is Mia, but he soon will be here!!

SMUT WARNINGS: Doggy, blowjob, fingering, cum eating.

Note: this is inspired by a web series and I’m GONNA EDIT IT, I’m not gonna make it a whole ass 3 season containing 10-12 episodes per season and I felt like I could do something with this series. Thankyou

Work work work......

these past days it's been hell for you from the meetings and cracking up deals you were tired of it , but you still showed up every other day at the office. The interns and other employees did no good when they were asked to fill up your place when you were late for the office.

What kept you alive between this constant hectic schedule was a shot of vodka to wash down all the stress at your and the girl's favourite bar, you guys would spend the almost whole night until it was Yoongi telling you it was time to close the bar for the day.

Just like any other Friday night, you were here with your girls chatting about all the stuff which happened this week and they try to console you saying it's all right and you will pass through it, both of the girls then reach over to give you a warm hug.

Spending a few hours with them Chae gets a call from her husband telling her that he desperately needs help with the 3-year-old. “I'm sorry guys I have to leave, Yu-Jin seems to have a fever and she needs me” Chae says grabbing her purse and getting ready to leave.

Telling Chae a very goodbye and telling her to take care, Yuna is the next one to leave after she gets a call from her girlfriend, she hesitates to look at you, and you tell her it is fine and she can leave, she initiated a small hug and presses kiss on your forehead before she apologizes again.

Feeling alone in this busy bar, you see a busy Yoongi serving drinks on the countertop with Taehyung right beside him, maybe he saw you staring at him so you wave your hand and ask him if it's okay if you can come and sit there, he says he's more than happy to have you there.

"Hey, miss how are you? doing okay?" Yoongi asks before serving the last customer for the time being and telling Taehyung to look after them, "I'm okay I guess work is killing me, the meetings and the deals and whatnot is what I'm bored of you tell me?" Sighing you wait for him to answer, and he chuckles and says he's completely fine.

Yoongi places two glasses in front of you one for him and the other one for you of course, pouring in some of your favourite Japanese malts you chug it down with a “Cheers” Groaning at the taste he brings up some fries on the side and you thank him for being considerate.

"I'm bored yoongi, I wanna go on a trip or something." The tipsy you come out of you, and you slur occasionally while speaking “Calm down y/n, it's enough shall I call a cab for you?” Ever so sweet Yoongi asks you just because you are out of it after having the shots you had with the girls and the three glasses of malt with yoongi.

Yoongi soon books a cab and tells the man to drop you at the place, you reach your home soon after the fifteen minutes of the ride just to see your ex- fuck buddy right outside your house.

“Eunwoo? What the fuck? when did you come back?” Your mood instantly lights up after seeing him after so long and all the tipsiness goes away. “Hey y/n, I landed a few hours ago and thought of visiting you first and right when I was about to call you, here you were” He says with a bright smile.

You intended to initiate “Just a hug” but you don't know how he is under the sheets right now eating you out like a hungry man, “fuck right there woo” you moan and reach a good orgasm after a long time, your vibrator did no good until you felt a tongue or fingers or even someone's dick at this point.

Upon reaching your orgasm the man between you now hovers above you with his lips drenched in your release, and grabs on his hard length and positions right where your hole clenches, the release makes the slide just perfect for him to slide inside you and a moan tremble from his lips.

“Yeah perfect, keep going,”you say and grab on the small wisps of hair on the back of his head, and he grunts at the tight fit making him almost “relax angel, I promise I'll be good just please....”soft moans leave his mouth and both cum at the same time.

After a few minutes, Eunwoo lays on the side of your bed and talks to you until an awkward silence fills in and you call his name softly “Eunwoo...” sighing he gets up and leaves the bed and soon goes to grab his clothes and place a last kiss on your cheeks before telling you goodbye.

You sigh feeling bad for telling him to go but yeah you were always like this, and he knows it well just like that waking up from the bed you grab on the new sheets to change and place soft pillows all over your big bed and go back to sleep peacefully.

THE NEXT MORNING

“Hey hi! I'd like to order a butter croissant and black coffee” You get the cash ready and tell the counter women to take your order, not realizing you hear someone calling your full name and when you turn around to see it no one then "Mr. jeon your gynaecologist."

With a flustered smile, you tell him a quick "hi" before paying her the bill and getting off the line, you didn't expect him to get off the line with you, in a flustered state you ask him if he lives here and all the stuff and grab your order just to tell her she can pack this as a takeaway.

Rolling her eyes she packs up the drink and food and gives you the bag while Jungkook just gives you a crooked smile and walks out “Hey by the way I got my period last week” you tell him, and it gets more than awkward it was earlier.

“Oh, that's great, good to see you” Jungkook says, and you wave a quick bye when you get a call from your coworker and leave the place Jungkook stands there, and a smirk paints his lips.

This is the fourth time you are pissed at your coworker today; they fucked up the most important file “Can you at least get me a copy of the papers?” you ask again getting disappointed again “Sorry ma'am I didn't get the photocopies of it” Your intern says and you just sigh.

“Okay maybe try searching the file again, and if not I'll contact the clients and tell them to send the original copies,” you tell and dismiss the meeting, at this point, you need nothing more than a cold martini.

“Can you believe Chae, they misplaced the fucking file, I'm glad they weren't the original or else I would've been fucked” you say very much pissed at the events which happened today, while Chae and Yuna just sip on their drinks after trying to calm you down.

“Chill baby, everything's going to be fine you need to calm down y/n” your friends tell you and you just sigh, you long for nothing more but a break from this bullshit, paying up for the drinks today you say goodbye to your friends and go ahead to meet yoongi, who is the position of cleaning up for the day.

“Hey, how are you y/n?” Yoongi asks in a very yoongi manner his front teeth appearing when he talks to you, and you tell him all the events happening with you while he places two glasses of whiskey in front of you.

You don't even notice it is past one a.m. until Eunwoo texts you.

EUNWOO🫣🫣: hey, you up?

YOU: busy right now.

YOU: rain check?

"Another glass?" you ask him after chugging down the remaining glass while Yoongi hesitates and tells you he needs to stock up for a party which is happening tomorrow, you give him an embarrassed smile and tell him it is fine, and you will leave Yoongi feels equally embarrassed to cut you off for the night.

YOU: Free now, will be in 15 mins.

"Fuck right there" you moan at your ex- fuck buddy who is fucking you like a slut, your face down facing the sheets while he hammers from the back, his moans and grunts fill the room, and the room smells of sex and sweat.

"Fuck baby, you are so tight, missed me while I was away, right?" Eunwoo mutters while thrusting inside you and you choke on your moans and manage to mumble a small "yes" clenching on the sheets you cry for more, you needed this after a long day at work.

"Gonna cum.....ye-ah right there" you shutter at one point when he finds your g -spot, the slapping of his hips fastens just when you cum and cream his cock, and the man behind you slows and pulls out a bit just to see the creamy slick forming at the base, "fuck so messy y/n," Eunwoo says while he fills you up with his hot cum.

"On your back baby," he says, and you obey at lightning speed and your eyes shut at the moment when he nibbles on your pebbled nipples, you twitch at the feeling until you moan out loud when his thumb rubs on your clit and his index finger enters you.

Your pussy gushes out the mixture of both of your releases and messes up the sheets under you, Eunwoo continues to slurp and nibble your nipples while you whine at the overstimulation and fall apart on his fingers again for the second time in the night.

"lay down wanna suck you off real good" you whisper and kiss his lips in the heat of the moment, now that you are in between his thighs you start laying some soft kisses all over the tip and he whines at the sensitivity.

The taste of your releases still lingers on his tip, and you whimper at the taste, sucking on the tip Eunwoo above you is about to lose on for the second time, his soft grunts surrounded the room as you palmed and layed soft kisses on his balls.

The tightness of the grip he has on your hair ensures you that he is about to cum and increase your pace in palming him and you soon let him cum in your mouth and you swallow like a good girl you were.

You don't know why you let Eunwoo stay even after it was ruled to never let any fuck buddy stay at your house after fucking but here you are in his embrace and cuddling him.

A/N: Thank you for the reading ik it is confusing not Appeling ending or the whole chapter I'm sry but I'll do better. tag list is open.

TAGLLIST: @jungk97kwife @kingofbodyrolls @kimmingyuswifee @heyyymin @cassies-cookies @missnea @kooklovee @lovkiss @jungkooktoespost @jalexad @gimeow @lillove7 @marvelbun @namelesskeid @tyche0119 @gbbhbc123 @whoa-jo @holybxba @bangtans-momma @gdjyho @kpopsmutty69

230 notes · View notes

scorpioriesling · 3 months ago

Text

Too Hot To Handle - Episode 4

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Characters featured: Reader, Feyre, Morrigan, Gwyn, Elain, Emerie, Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Eris, Tarquin, Rhysand, Helion, Azriel, & Tamlin

Warning(s): Nothing real crazy.

SR’s Note: Wine? Check. Cozy blanket? Check. Dog on my lap? Check. Alright... *cracks knuckles* let's get to it, then! Tags: @velarisdusk @lilah-asteria @starlightazriel @panther-girl-124

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Anybody have a makeup wipe?"

Elain's hand reaches out, towelette in hand from the makeup mirror beside you. You take it from her, meeting her apologetic stare.

"Thanks," you mutter, and wipe at the gentle fallout of your eyeshadow beneath your eyes. From your other side, Feyre sighs, gazing at your reflection in your mirror from her seat. She sounds as dejected as you feel right about now.

"Damn, mami!" Morrigan's rich voice fills the bathroom, and you glance toward the doorway as she strides in, clad in the skimpiest of red bikinis as she raises her martini glass above her head. "No wonder Lucien has been sweating it out all day, huh!" She flashes you an only-joking, award winning smile as she strides over to you, many of the other girls engrossed in their own conversations to take in the one unfolding before them.

"No, Mor, he's been sweating it out because Rhys has been keeping him pre-occupied at the outdoor gym all day," Feyre says, her brows furrowing slightly as Mor leans over your shoulder to inspect her own makeup in your mirror. You shoot Feyre a thankful glance.

"Has he seen this number yet?" Mor's fingers hook under the strap of your simple black dress, her brows wiggling as she stares at you in the mirror. You roll your eyes.

"No, no he hasn't." You say with a say. "I actually haven't seen him... all day..." you shrug sorrowfully. After learning last night that you were chosen by the newcomer for the date tonight, Lucien had been acting strange.

"Oh my," Elain sighs from your side. "He might be... upset." She says thoughtfully. Feyre and Mor turn their heads to her, seemingly just realizing she was a part of this conversation too.

"I mean, I'd be pretty pissed if someone with a name like Azriel was trying to bag my lady," Mor says. You unscrew your mascara, opening your eyes wide to apply it to your lashes. "He sounds sexy as hell already."

"Well, I don't even know him yet," you clip. "And, yeah, maybe his name makes him sound suave, but... I really, really like Lucien, guys. I don't know if one date with a new guy is going to change that." You shrug, moving to work on your other eye. "And besides, I'm not Lucien's "lady", I mean, not officially, anyway."

"So, you're not a couple?" Elain asks. Feyre leans forward, peering at her around you.

"I think what she means is, we've only been here a little while, usually people become official after they leave the retreat," she explains, looking up at you. "Right?"

"I dunno," Morrigan drawls. "He seems pretty attached to me."

You blush slightly at her words, realizing just how close you and Lucien had gotten. Spending so much time together, getting to know one another, and you hadn't even cost the group money yet!

But, now you were being whisked away to a beachside picnic with another male.

"Is he really your type though?" Elain prods, and Mor looks at her quizzically. You continue with your makeup.

"I mean, not typically, no," You reason. "But, that doesn't really matter now, I mean... I met him, I like him. It's not something that really bothers me."

At some point, you hadn't realized Elain stood up until Morrigan plopped down in the chair she had been sitting in. You only took a few more minutes to fuss over your hair, remembering Lucien's request not to look "too good" from last night. He said it with a light heart, but you could tell from his avoidance today that he was uncomfortable. Elain was right, he probably was upset.

"Good evening, ladies."

Every head turns to the light up cone, responding simultaneously with one another.

"Good evening, Y/N. Are you ready for your date with Azriel tonight?" Lana asks. You feel multiple eyes on you -- all the girl groups in their respective huddles as they finished getting ready for dinner.

You gulp. "Um, yes."

"Good. Please make your way to the beach, everything is set up already, and the new member is ready to meet you."

Feyre and Mor walk you out, reassuring you everything will be fine. You look between them, hoping to convey that everything is in fact not fine.

"If you see Lucien... just tell him it'll be alright, please?" Feyre places a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze.

"You can tell him when you return," she says, winking at you. Mor brushes your hair back one last time before you wave to your friends, walking across the concrete path toward the beach. You spotted Eris and Helion in the pool, but glancing toward the gym -- it was dark.

Where was he?

You didn't have time now to find out.

Continuing toward the beach, your adrenaline started flowing when the dusty white sand invaded the flats of the cute Tory Burch sandals you were wearing. Your speed slowed, and you looked out at the dusk filled sky, the calming sound of waves lapping at the shore.

That's when you spotted it.

Well, him, rather.

And, oh boy... did Lana do you dirty.

･ﾟ: *

"Hello," you say, your voice coming out quieter than you'd hoped. You almost thought he didn't hear you at first, but he turns to fully face you, a wide smile spanning across his face as he sees you approaching.

"Hello there, gorgeous," he stands, extending a hand to you. You politely take it, and he presses a featherlight kiss to the back of it with his... very, soft lips.

"Please," he motions, guiding you to the blanket laid out on the soft ground. He only lets go when you've sat, taking in the array of fruits, cheeses, and wine laid before you.

"My name is Azriel," he says, and you meet his gaze. You smile, hating the tiny bit of excitement in your stomach at the tenor of his voice.

"Very nice to meet you, Azriel," you say, and he chuckles. "I'm Y/N."

"My name sounds lovely on your lips," he says, and you blush. How did Lana know you had a history with men just like this? The smooth-talking, dark-haired, handsome kind...

"You're quite adorable, you have to know that," he continues, reaching for the wine before you as well as the bottle opener.

"Isn't that why you picked me for the date?" You lull, trying to keep up with his level of suave. Mor was right... this would be harder than you thought.

"Oh, without a doubt," he says, shaking his head as he screws the metal into the cork. Clad in a loose, navy silk button down, you can see the way his biceps flex as he works against the bottle's tight hole.

....Gods, don't even go there.

"Well, what drew you to this retreat?" You ask, trying to keep your tone even. You smoothed out the stretchy fabric of your mini dress as the cork came out with a soft pop.

"I saw the application out for a mid-season arrival," he begins, making to grab both wine glasses and balance them between his fingers in one hand. You gulp nervously, watching the clear liquid flow into the glasses as his long digits held the bases securely.

"...and, I haven't had much luck with women in the past, so I figured why not try it out this way?" He continues. He hands your glass to you, a tiny tingle passing through you as your fingers brush his for a moment. You raise an eyebrow, taking a swig from the glass before looking at him once more.

"You? Have had trouble, with women?" You ask. He shrugs, tipping his glass back and swallowing hard. You unashamedly watch the apple of his throat bob with the action, and bite your lip nervously.

"You're surprised?" He asks, holding the glass lazily as his arm drapes over his knee. He scans the plates, finding a cheese cube and popping it into his mouth.

"I mean... yeah, I guess so. You're... well, I mean you're really attractive, so I just kind of figured..." You trail off, not really sure what to say. He chews slowly, peering at you with his beautiful hazel eyes sidelong.

You grab a cracker, nibbling on it to avoid getting too caught up.

"I'll take the compliment from the pretty girl," he chuckles, and your cheeks flush again. "But, I can't say I'm surprised that someone has already coupled up with you." He says, grabbing an apple slice this time.

"I mean," you swallow your cracker, and take another sip of your wine. "We're in couples, but, nothing is really like, official yet-" You say, reaching for another Ritz and stuffing it into your mouth to avoid saying something you'd regret.

"Oh? So, you're not really... tied-down, is it?" He asks seductively, and you cough, nearly choking on the dry cracker you're praying works itself down your esophagus. He laughs, and you can't help but enjoy the lovely sound.

"I... no, I, uh... what I meant, is, the guy I'm in a relationship with, we're not like... labelled, or anything..." You explain, gulping down more wine. You begin to feel a light buzz -- how much wine did he put in these glasses?

"So... it would be alright if we took advantage of the rule-free conditions on this date, then?" He asks, suddenly a bit closer than before. His natural oak scent fills the air, his hand resting casually atop yours on the blanket. You gaze up into his hazelhalf-lidded eyes, the last remnants of daylight highlighting the various colors in them. He's so close... you can spot every freckle on his cheeks... his hair is practically tickling your forehead...

He reaches to take your wine glass from you, and though the thought was there, both of your hands glance toward it when some sloshes out at the contact and runs down the side of the glass, dribbling onto his fingers.

He chuckles, setting it down behind him. "Little sticky, but, I can overlook it." He smiles genuinely.

Suddenly, a memory flashes through your mind. The boat taking off on the first day; the lovely embrace of those strong hands around you when you stumbled; the gorgeous smile, handsome male that was there from the start, already making you laugh from the second you'd laid your eyes on him.

He was yours. He was your sticky fingers. Not Azriel.

You return to the present, your hand lightly splaying across Azriel's smooth chest, slightly exposed from the few undone buttons of his shirt. He halts his forward inching, his hand tucking your hair behind your ear stopping mid-motion.

"Azriel, I... can't."

His eyes search yours, the only sounds coming from the waves crashing against the moonlit-shore. The small beach lanterns have kicked on, illuminating the space, creating the perfect date for two under the stars.

But, this wasn't who you wanted to share it with.

"Alright," he says after a few silent moments, a look of defeat crossing his face at your rejection. He moves back, his hand retreating from yours, as he runs a hand through his hair. "I mean... I tried, right?" He grins lopsided at you, and you smile warmly at him once more, taking his hand in yours.

"I'm flattered that you chose me," you say, eyes roaming over his handsome face once more. "I truly, didn't think I'd be picked. This was a very nice date, and a nice night that I spent meeting you," you continue. He chews on his lip, his eyes still raking over you and closing softly when you lean in.

You press a small kiss to his smooth cheek. "But, I think you're meant for someone else, maybe you'll meet them when we get back. And, I think I'm meant for someone else too."

･ﾟ: *

Walking back from your date with Azriel was quite pleasant, actually. He asked you about what brought you to the retreat, and you indulged him in a little preview of what to expect when he got to the villa. He seemed excited, especially at the mention of a few of the single girls still looking for someone.

What was not so pleasant, was seeing the group divided when you got back.

Around the firepit, you passed the group of guys first. You felt safe meeting the eyes of Rhysand, Tarquin, Helion even -- but looking around, your eyes never met the heterochromial pair that you'd adored so much.

"Hey guys," you say, and Rhysand stands to greet you with an embrace.

"Hey!" He says cheerfully, others standing to greet the newcomer. Azriel looks from person to person, sticking his hand out and introducing himself with a smile.

"Where's-" You begin, and Rhys lets you go to look at you directly.

"I honestly, have not seen him since the gym earlier. He skipped dinner," he says, hands up in surrender. Your face falls, and Rhys only smiles lightly at you.

"So, I take it the date didn't change anything?" He asks, and you shake your head. You watch his eyes as they linger just over your shoulder, and he jerks his chin to the cabana across the pool deck behind you.

"He'll turn up, but, I think the girls are waiting on a "full report" or somethin'... that's what Feyre was saying earlier anyways." You nod silently, chewing on your lip before meeting Azriel's eye.

"You good if I leave you to fend for yourself?" You joke half-heartedly, and Cassian claps the newest villa member on the shoulder.

"Oh, he'll fit in just fine. Go on, I'm sure the other ladies are waiting to talk with you!" Cassian smiles, and you return it, stopping only when Rhys catches your shoulder before you walk off.

"Hey," he says calmly. "...take a deep breath, okay?" You do, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as you realize how uptight you'd been all day.

"Everything will be fine, I'm sure he'll come back around later, alright?" He winks, and you grin at him hopefully before making way toward the girls.

･ﾟ: *

"Was he kind?"

"Did he try to kiss you?"

"Is he really that handsome up close?"

The rapid fire questions from all of the girls was starting to feel more like a cross-examination, and less like a recap of your date with Azriel.

"Guyssss, guys, chillax," Mor drawls, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Giving me a damn headache, I can only imagine being Y/N right now." She squeezes her eyes shut, and you take a deep breath.

"Listen, guys, the date was lovely, and yes, he truly is handsome," you say, meeting all of their intrigued gazes. "...but he just isn't the one for me, I was just thinking of Lucien, and that wasn't fair to do to Azriel. Maybe he will meet one of you and just, know." You shrug, getting a few awws from the girls.

"Did he say who he was sharing a bed with tonight?" Gwyn asks quietly, and you meet her turquoise irises with a look of realization. You hadn't even thought about that aspect yet.

"No," you respond, and make to stand. Looking around, not all of the girls were actually here.

"I really need to find Lucien, do you guys know... where...?" You trail off, a few of the girls shaking their heads. You sigh, waving your goodbye to the group and making way toward the bedroom inside. Feyre follows you in, and sits on the bed you and Lucien share. She toys nervously with the end of her braid, chewing on the inside of her lip. You're slipping into more comfortable clothing when you halt, noticing her shift in behavior.

"What's... going on?" You ask timidly. Feyre fidgets on the matress, looking everywhere but you. She stands, walking over to look in the bathroom, closets, everywhere before sitting close on the bed with you again.

"Y/N... I need to tell you about something I heard today." She says, her crystal eyes wide in seriousness. You cross your legs beside her, prepared to listen.

"I... I heard Elain today. At dinner." She stammers. You nod for her to continue, and she starts picking at her braid again.

"She was... talking to Amren, I don't think she knew I could hear her, but she was... she was saying she was going to move in on Lucien. Tonight." Your eyes grow wide in fear, and Feyre rests a hand over yours.

"Now, we both know Lucien, I don't think he'd simply-"

"Feyre, I need to find him. Now."

You spring up from the bed, slipping on your Birkenstocks before making for the door. Feyre follows you, and you run past the group of girls still at the cabana. Feyre stops chasing after you when she reaches them.

You recieve many confused shouts, a few of the guys staring from the other side of the pool. You run, as fast as you can, around every corner of the villa, looking past every bush. Where would she have taken him?

You round the final corner, a little too quickly and the edge of your rubber show catches on the tiled wall, sending you flying toward the ground. You cry out, your knees hitting the pavement as you skid forward, the palms of your hands screaming in pain at the impact. You turn your head to the side, blinking back tears as your gaze comes back into focus.

That's when you see it.

Lucien, the male you'd ached for all day. He was there, right before you -- holding Elain against the wall, his hands pinning hers beside her head. You look between the two of them, and Elain meets your eye, smiling cruelly at you before giggling and biting her lip, Lucien's face so close to hers.

He finally catches sight of you in a heap on the ground, the tears running down your cheek as you gawk at the scene before you silently. Immediately dropping her hands, he rushes over to you.

"Oh my Gods, Y/N-"

"Don't," you bite out. He rears back, a pained look on his usually so joyous face. "You... just, don't touch me." You glare at him, and his eyes lower painfully.

"Y/N... it's not what it looks like, I swear-"

"It was, exactly, what it looked like," Elain strides over, smirking as she looks down at you. You stare hatefully up at her, and she only shrugs, stepping over you and making her way back to the villa.

"My bed will be empty later!" she calls over her shoulder. Your eyes focus on the ground before you, small drops staining the concrete wet with your tears.

After a few long silent moments, Lucien clears his throat. "Y/N, you have to trust me, it really wasn't-"

"Wasn't what, Lucien? You holding another girl in a private alley against a wall, inches from breaking a rule with her when you're already with me?" You ask, another stream falling down your cheek. He kneels beside you, and you back up a few inches.

"Y/N, I promise I was just trying to get her off of me, she wouldn't stop; all night, she's been on and on about how you told her I'm not even your type, and we..." he huffs, his brow furrowing. "She said you told her we weren't actually a couple."

You scoff. "Oh don't turn this back on me, right now. Why would you believe any of that, Lucien? Have you ever, ever seen me talk to that girl anyway?" You ask, and he sits back on his hands, thinking quietly for a moment.

"No. No, I guess not-"

"So what. She overheard me before the date earlier saying that yes, you're not my typical type." Hurt flashes in his eyes, and he looks down. "I don't care, Lucien -- I like you, a lot." Your voice cracks on the last word, and he sits up straight, placing his hand on your knee.

"Y/N..."

"Well, I did, anyway," you sniff, wiping your nose with the sweatshirt sleeve closed around your fist. "Until I saw you pinning another girl against the wall." You shake your head.

"I promise it wasn't like that..."

"Whatever. Most relationships don't actually make it out of places like these, anyways." You scoff, and Lucien stands, grabbing your wrists and tugging you up with him. You stand, his eyes boring into yours as his hands wrap strongly around the small of your back.

"Y/N, please don't talk like that... I want to make it out of here with you, truly!" He pleads, and for a moment you just might believe him. "I promise, what you saw tonight was me attempting to remove a handsy female from me," he continues, holding you close to his chest. His familiar scent brings you comfort in a way that has your eyes welling up with tears again, and his hand cradles the back of your head, petting it lovingly.

"I promise you, the only female I want, is you." He says, and you pull back to meet his eyes again, a fresh wave of tears free-falling down your cheeks at the sight of him, being so open and honest before you.

"I know how it looked, Y/N... and I'm sorry I avoided you all day, I just... I really struggled knowing you were going on a date with someone who could just, take you right from me," he chokes out, his eyes lining with silver. You reach your hand up, wiping the corner of his eye and allowing your fingers to lightly trail down his cheek. You knew you were in deep -- you'd been so good, doing everything by the books and trying your best with Lucien this whole time.

But right now, you didn't really give a fuck what the rule books told you to do.

"No one is taking me from you." You say confidently, and his hand slides to cup your cheek. "Not tonight, not..." He pulls you so close, backing you up a few inches until your back meets the wall of the villa, his hard chest pushing into yours.

"Good. I really, really don't think I could let you go." He whispers. You pull him closest, closing the gap between the two of you in a passion-filled kiss. You sighed, tasting the lovely delicacy that was Lucien, all Lucien — body against yours, lips devouring you like you were his last meal. Heavily breathing, his hands roaming down your back, gripping your ass and lifting you up -- so much, you wrap your legs around his torso, groaning as he pushed you against the tile. His teeth toyed with your lower lip, halting just to slip his tongue in, battling for dominance with yours as he continued to relish in your delicious taste. His hands ran over your curves, respectfully staying above your clothes. Gods, how you wished they were off...

He pulls back, gasping for breath with you as your hands cling to the toned muscles of his back. He stares as you intently, every emotion and feeling flowing between the two of you as fresh as the tear trails down your cheeks. Then, he smiles at you, grinning and chuckling in the most handsome way.

"What?" You ask, your own smile failing to be surpressed. His hands hold your waist as his eyes scan your face.

"I... I've been waiting for that, since... that day, on the boat." He says, smiling at the memory. "I knew then, that I'd do anything just to get to know you, and..." he kisses the bridge of your nose. "Well, thank Gods I did."

You blush at his words, unhooking your legs from him and making to stand once more. His hands hold your face as you continue to hold him close to you.

"You mean... you thought about our first kiss?" You ask, and he rolls his eyes. Now its his turn to blush.

"Yeah, yeah, sticky fingers, I did." You chuckle, kissing his cheek. His fingers slide through your hair, all the emotion in your heart not able to be conveyed in this moment through words alone.

"I bet it was exactly like this, wasn't it?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. "Me in my cutest outfit... only a sweatshirt and sport shorts would do, right?" You laugh, and he chuckles before kissing the top of your head.

"You know I wouldn't have it any other way."

･ﾟ: *

78 notes · View notes

acaciusbride · 2 years ago

Text

Breathe Through It (Joel Miller x Reader)

Summary: you have a panic attack. Joel helps.

CWs: Descriptions of mental health conditions (namely PTSD, but can be read as any anxiety based disorder with panic attacks) / graphic description of a panic attack / some adult language/ references to past trauma (nothing explicitly described but inferred).

Notes: This is entirely self indulgent, I have pretty severe PTSD and this is the coping mechanism of the day. Implied to be F!Reader but it can be read as gender neutral.

Word Count: 1.1k

Tag List: @joelsgirl & @mydailyhyperfixations

You don't feel it happen until it does. You've heard that for some people, their panic attacks build up, like the world's shittiest tidal wave, steadily looming over them.

Yours aren't like that. You'll be fine one minute, then something will trigger it. A sound. A place. A thought. Someone with a similar sounding name. A nightmare.

You get less than ten seconds warning, if you're lucky, before it hits you like a tonne of bricks and you freeze. It doesn't matter where you are, what you're doing, your chest constricts and you get tunnel vision. It's like you're a spectator in your own body, dissociated so hard you can't tell left from right.

The worst thing is when you lose your ability to speak. It doesn't happen every time, but when it does it's like someone's squeezing sand down your throat, completely taking away your ability to ask for help. As if you even could. You hate drawing attention to yourself at the best of times, let alone when you're so vulnerable.

Which is why it's annoyingly inconvenient that this is happening now. You haven't exactly been hiding your panic attacks from Joel, but you haven't directly talked about it with him. You know he has his own problems, far more trauma than he lets on. You know it isn't a competition, but you don't want to burden him with your anxiety.

Deep down, you know that it wouldn't be a burden. That he loves you, but it's hard to remember that when trauma brain is the one at the wheel.

You're not sure what it is this time. You're just walking through town with him, heading home after a drink, after a shift on the guard tower together, when someone, of all things, laughs. The laugh isn't quite right, but it sounds close enough that you freeze up, breath catching in your throat. Fuck, you're maybe ten feet from home. Why now?

Joel gets maybe two steps ahead of you before he realises you're no longer keeping pace, turns to say something, maybe crack a joke about you being a lightweight, but the comment dies on his lips the moment he sees your expression.

Most people think you just space out. Think it's a personality quirk or just a thing that you do. Joel knows better. He knows better because Ellie's described what he looks like when he has a panic attack, recognises when he's about to have one these days.

So it's immediately fucking clear as day to him what's happening.

He doesn't bother asking what's set it off; knows that there isn't always a clear answer, and that even asking, reminding you of the trigger, could just make it worse.

Joel hates being touched when he's having an episode of his own. Knows it triggers his fight response, that he'll start swinging. He doesn't think that will apply to you, but he doesn't know for certain, and that's all that keeps him from wrapping his arms tight around you.

Instead, he takes you by the hand, leads you the last few steps to the house, closes the door behind you, flips the light on.

"'S okay. Look, we're good. Door's closed. Nobody's coming after us."

You can barely hear him, heart pounding in your ears, breaths coming out ragged like you've just run a marathon.

"Hey. Hey. If you can, look at me, okay?"

He doesn't sound angry, or tired, and it's not a demand. This voice is the one he uses when Ellie's sick, or you're sick, or when he's reassuring one of the kids in town that he's not remotely mad that they stole an extra slice of pie when he was meant to be on food watch duty.

Joel is always soft spoken, but this is different. It makes you feel safe, not enough to pull you out of it, because that's not how it works, but safe enough to look at him, to focus as best you can on the dark depths of his eyes.

"There you are." He goes to let go of your hand but you cling on to him, slump against his chest, needing the warmth and solidness of him to ground you.

That's all the permission he needs, wrapping his arms tight around you.

"I've got you. You're safe, I promise."

You know that. Deep down, you know that the people who hurt you are far away. That they'll never touch you, control you, hurt you, ever again. You know that you're safe here, in this house, with Joel.

He rubs soothing circles on your back, kisses the top of your head, relieved when you start breathing properly again, coming down from the adrenaline.

"You don't need to hide these from me, darlin', I know how they feel."

"That's why I didn't want you to deal with it." You manage to get out; your throat is dry as hell, the guilt already forming.

"Deal with it? What, like it's a big issue? I'd rather be able to help. That's what I'm here for. We do this together, remember?"

"But it's..."

"Nothing. Don't you dare call yourself a burden or anything similar. You've been through so much. Ain't a competition. But you've gotta let me in, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" You hate how small your voice is, how distant you still feel. Even if the worst is over, you'll still feel horrible for a few more hours, trapped by your own thoughts.

"I promise. Breathe through it, baby. I'm not going anywhere. We can stay here all night if it helps you feel safe."

You exhale. You do feel safer, standing there with his arms locked around you.

"Will it always be like this?" You hate yourself for asking, but you know he's been dealing with these a lot longer than you have.

"Yes and no," Joel says finally. "You learn to sit with them. They don't suck any less, they're still fuckin' horrible, but you get your support, and you'll learn to sit with them."

You nod against his chest, finally feeling a little better. At least better enough that it doesn't feel like your limbs are full of cement.

"What can I do to help?"

You consider for a minute. "Can we have coffee? Maybe take a shower?"

You always feel a cold sweat come over you after the worst of it passes. Joel nods, gives you one last reassuring squeeze.

"Course we can. Whatever you need, darlin', I'm always gonna be here for you."

He lets go of you to move to the kitchen, but keeps hold of your hand, knows without asking that you still need the reassurance of touch.

"Hey, Joel?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you."

"Love you too, baby. C'mon, let me take care of you."

It's not a miracle cure. No such thing exists, after all, but having someone who loves you so much, who you know will support you through it? It makes all the difference in the world.

#my writing #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff

483 notes · View notes

wandering-winchesters · 2 years ago

Text

Haunted

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,200 (Sorry, not sorry) Summary: The reader gets ghost sickness. Trigger Warnings: mentions of anxiety, death, typical supernatural violence and suspense. Requested: No, just an idea I had. A/N: Requests are open! I recently watched the episode where Dean has Ghost Sickness and it made me crack up. Please let me know what you think about this one!

Masterlist

The hunt was going well, as well as it could. We had just arrived in Minnesota, a small Northern town. It had caught Sam’s attention, because of the amount of people that had been dropping dead from a mysterious illness, that presented as a heart attack. They weren’t sure what it was, but we came to check it out anyways. Sam had gone to the library, Dean had hit up a local diner to ask questions and I made my way to the hospital. Upon arriving, I flashed my FBI badge and was allowed back into the small morgue. The body didn’t appear out of the normal realm of possibility for a dead body. Slightly defeated, I left.

I pulled out my phone and sent Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was heading back to the motel. Dean offered to come pick me up, but I declined. It was a five minute walk on the quiet small town streets, the fresh air would do me good. I took a deep breath, surveying the scene around me. A few other people walked the street, but it was mostly empty. The sun setting on the horizon a reminder of the time of day, most people already home and inside for the night. A feeling of unease crept up my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. I glanced around, checking my immediate surroundings for any sign of danger, but nothing. Yet, even with this visual reassurance, the feeling didn’t subside. I tried to shake it off, picking up the pace slightly, intent on getting back to the motel room.

I make it back within a couple of minutes, kicking off my high-heeled boots and shrugging my suit jacket, the FBI get up my least favorite. I hear Dean chuckle from the small table in the corner of the room, his eyes trained on my every movement. “Have something to say, Winchester?” I quip, I set the jacket down on the back of the chair across from Dean, “Nope, it’s just always amusing to watch you kick off those heels you hate so much.” He says, a smile plastered across his face, his hands full between a beer and the sandwich that he is in the middle of consuming. I roll my eyes at him and rest my foot on the seat of the chair, hiking up my pant leg so I can access the gun that I had holstered there. I remove the holster from my ankle and walk over to set it on the nightstand next to my bed. Dean and I had shared this room and Sam had one, right across the hallway from us. Although, during the day we all hung out in here when we weren’t out investigating.

“I’d like to see you spend ten minutes in heels, Dean, let alone a full day.” I huff at him, stealing one of his chips that had fallen out of the bag that he had set down haphazardly on the table. He raised his hands in surrender, offering me another chip to make up for his joke about the high heels. “Did you find anything out at the diner?” I ask him as I unbutton the white shirt that I had on underneath the jacket, revealing the white tank top that I had on as a base layer. The bashfulness of changing in front of either of the Winchesters, long gone. Traveling with them for years tends to have that effect, Dean has seen me naked on multiple occasions. They have both stitched me up after bad hunts, but Dean was the only one to help me shower and change. Dean mumbles something, his mouth half full, a sentence that I simply cannot understand because of the amount of food he was chewing. I shoot him a look, he holds up one finger and finishes chewing before he speaks again.

“Nope, nothing. All everyone could say was that they were surprised to hear of the deaths of those three people. All of them were healthy, definitely not people that were likely to have a heart attack.” I hum in response, lost in thought as I rack my brain for any semblance of a similar case. I walk to my duffle bag and search for the pair of leggings that I always keep in there, only to not find them. Cursing, I realize I had left them hung over the chair in my bedroom back at the bunker. “Dean, can I borrow a pair of your sweats? I forgot my comfy pants.” I ask him, glancing over at him. He nods, gesturing for me to help myself. I unbutton my black dress pants and kick them to the side. I walk over to Deans bed, a mess of sheets and blankets, his clothes strewn across the bed as well. I grab the pair of sweats that I am looking for and pull them on. I snag one of his sweatshirts as well, embracing the comfort as it envelops me. The scent of whiskey, leather and gun cleaner overwhelms my nostrils, Dean. “Sam should be here any minute, he just texted me.” Dean calls out, as I walk into the bathroom, I thank him for letting me know and jump through the shower quickly.

After my shower, I make my way back out to the main room and sit down across from Dean at the table that he is still occupying. The feeling of unease, still unwavering. No matter how hard I try to push it down. “What about you, did you find anything at the morgue?” He asks, pushing a takeout container across the table towards me, one that I didn’t realize he had gotten for me. I give him a smile and open the container revealing my favorite comfort food. His small gesture of kindness, enough to almost make me cry. I don’t but the thought was there.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, no sulfur or strange markings on the body. It all seemed normal.” I shrug, taking a bite of the food he had brought for me. I allow my mind to wander, going back over all of the things that we had discussed, the lore I had read and the things that I had seen today. The unease within me turning to pure anxiety. So much so, that when the door to the motel opens abruptly, I jump to my feet and reach for the gun that had been holstered at my ankle earlier in the day. Only that I had already taken it off and put it by my bed. My eyes land on Sam and I relax, sheepishly offering a small apology to both of the Winchesters who were looking at me questioningly. “I told you he was coming, Y/N. You okay?” Dean asks, his eyes narrowed and carefully studying my face. The jumpiness they had just witnessed very uncharacteristic for me. I was normally incredibly level headed, fear something that I had harnessed into a strength instead of a weakness.

I take a deep breathe, bringing my heart rate back down to the rate it normally was. “Yeah, all good. Sorry again, must just be jumpy today.” I say, sitting back down and returning to the food in front of me. Hunger, was no longer a pressing need. My stomach was churning, anxiety bubbling and that damn feeling of unease creeping back in louder than ever.

Sam didn’t hang out long, exhaustion a mutual feeling between all of us. I had moved to my bed, giving Sam my seat at the table with Dean. A wave of sleep was cresting over me at this very moment, threatening to crash down at any moment. I said goodnight to Sam as he turned to leave, giving him a sleepy wave as I burrowed further under my blankets. Dean closed the door behind his brother, locking it and tucking a chair under the handle for an added measure of protection. Something that I appreciated about him, it wasn’t a precaution he would take unless I was there in the room with him. “G’night Dean, Sweet dreams.” I whisper, rolling to my side and letting the wave of sleep finally crash over all of me, enveloping me in the darkness.

I am startled awake, a gasp leaving my throat as I sit straight up in bed. The dark room around me looming, shapes drifting that were most likely my eyes playing tricks on me. A small Yelp leaves my lips as the light in the room clicks on, revealing all of the shapes that had been worrying me, to be standard furniture. I look to my left and see Dean, his hand still resting on the lamp that he had turned on. His eyes focused on me, concern etched through his sleep dampened features. “You okay?” He asks, a yawn forcing its way past his lips. I rest my hand on my chest, my heart thumping against my ribs. I look over at him, my eyes wide with panic and my heart in my throat. “I-I don’t know.” I stutter, glancing around the room once again, nothing appearing to be out of place. Yet, whatever had awoken me was enough to cause me to startle nearly out of my skin. I swing my legs over the side of the motel bed, padding quietly into the small bathroom. I grip the edge of the sink with both hands, leaning over it and staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The bags under my eyes are growing darker by the minute, pure exhaustion settled firmly across my body. It is only then that I notice the spider crawling across the counter headed straight towards my hand, before I can even blink a splitting scream leaves my throat. I jump away from the sink, pressing my back to the bathroom wall and covering my face, The fear that had travelled through my body in the split second, enough to bring tears to my eyes. I hear a clatter from the room, Dean not wasting anytime to shoulder open the bathroom door. His gun drawn, eyes wide searching the room for any threat. When he can’t identify one, he lowers his gun. His attention fully focused on me and the way I was cowering against the wall. He raises an eyebrow at me, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “What is wrong, Y/N?” He asks, and I raise one hand, shakily pointing towards the counter.

“S-spider, De, right there.” His eyes follow my finger and land where I was pointing, his gaze growing even more concerned as his focus lands on the spider, no larger than the eraser on a pencil. He silently scoops it into a paper cup, walking it over to the window in the bathroom and allowing it to scurry outside. There is a knock at the door to the motel room, which again draws a startled yelp from me. “It’s Sam, I heard a scream. What’s going on?” Sam’s muffled voice calls from the other side of the door, Dean hurriedly crosses the distance from the bathroom to the door and lets Sam into the cramped room. “She saw a spider.” Dean says, his tone hushed, concern obvious from the way he formed his words. I walk out of the bathroom, both of their eyes locked on my every move. “Since when are you afraid of spiders?” Sam asks, curiosity laced in his tone.

“Spiders are terrifying Sam! What are you talking about?” Taking offense at his tone, the demeaning way that he questioned why I would react like that to the arachnid. Dean lets out a low, ‘uh-huh’ and gives Sam another look. “Y/N, how do you feel about snakes?” Dean asks, crossing his arms and glancing towards me thoughtfully. “Terrifying.” I whisper, a shudder making its way through my body. “Motorcycles?” Sam asks, naming off things that I used to enjoy doing or being around. “Death traps on wheels!” They spend the next ten minutes questioning me on things like this, until I snap. “What’s the point of all of this? It’s just making me scared!” I whine, crossing my arms across my chest and resisting the urge to cover my ears in the most childlike manner. Sam and Dean exchange glances once again. “Y/N, did you happen to touch the body when you were in the morgue? Or get any bodily fluids on you?” Dean asks, his eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, concern still evident. “Uh,” I hesitate thinking back over todays events, trying to recall just what had happened at the morgue.”Yeah, I touched his face to get a closer look at something, why?”

“Dammit,” Dean mutters, panic now growing ever more present on his features. He pulls out the EMF reader from his bag, turning it on and watching it go crazy the closer to me he placed it. “Ghost sickness.” Sam chimes in, the expression on his face mirroring the one on Deans. I look frantically between the two of them, waiting for them to explain what they mean. “What the hell is ghost sickness?” I ask, my own fear level rising quickly within me. Dean explains the whole thing for me, in detail. Recounting the time that he had ghost sickness in the past, the grip that fear had on him entirely. The steps they had to take to get rid of the spirit and the timeline on the whole thing. Sam had already sequestered my laptop, his fingers flying over the keys before pausing as his eyes scanned the webpage for any piece of information that could help. I did my best to remain calm, but failed miserably. My heart pounding, eyes watering and body shaking.

Petrified of the thought of death that is fast approaching. Dean can see this, its obvious as I have no sense about me to try and appear okay. “Hey,” He whispers, tucking a finger under my chin and raising my head so he can look into my eyes. “Its going to be okay, we’ve got you, I promise.” I bite my lip, my chin quivering as a tear begins to fall from my eyes. Dean notices immediately, his thumb wiping away every tear as it fell. He pulls me to my feet, embracing me in a tight hug. It doesn’t make the fear go away, but it does ease the anxiety the slightest bit.

—

The next several hours are a blur, a constant search for who the spirit was, where their body might be and how we can get rid of all remnants before my clock runs out. There is a constant stream of occurrences that Sam and Dean take turns handling, little things that normally wouldn’t have been a big deal, but in this moment are absolutely terrifying to me. A moth, the sound of a door slamming. When I looked out the window and saw a thunderstorm approaching, I was convinced that I was going to be struck by lightening from inside the motel. All of which the boys handled with grace. Except for the moth, Dean tried his hardest but couldn’t help his small laugh that escaped when he saw me cowering in the corner terrified that the moth was going to hurt me.

He apologized, when he saw the absolute hurt and betrayal sweep across my face, pulling me in for another hug. Sam is mostly quiet, his eyes glued to the screen on the laptop, I can tell by his concentration that he is slowly growing closer to a possible answer. “Ive got it!” Sam exclaims, causing me to nearly fall out of the nest that I had constructed of blankets and pillows on Deans motel bed. I steady myself and look at him, waiting for his explanation as to what he had found. “Curtis Marshall, he was murdered back in 1973, found shot to death in his kitchen. There was never much of an investigation and it was swept under the rug and labeled a suicide. But from what I can see, everything was definitely pointing towards a homicide.” He says, his face growing lighter as he reads, relief flooding over him. A solution, to a heavy question. “It says here, that he was buried in a cemetery in town. So, simple salt and burn and we should be good to go.” Sam stands, shutting his laptop and grabbing his jacket that he had slung across the back of the chair he had been occupying. “Ill stay here with Y/N, if you want to take care of the salt and burn.” Dean offers, Sam looks at him and they appear to have a silent conversation that ends in agreement.

“I don’t need babysitting, we can all go.” I mutter, a bit of spite coming out in my words. “So you can get scared by a bee and find a way to accidentally get yourself killed?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at me skeptically. “I don’t think so.” I resign myself to contempt and slouch back in Deans bed. I watch silently as Sam grabs a few things that he will need, catching the keys to the impala when Dean tosses them to him. He bids us a quick farewell and heads out into the early morning darkness, the sun just starting to approach the horizon. Once the door shuts behind him, Dean focuses his attention on me. I stare back at him, unsure what to talk about or what to do while we wait. My main focus on remaining calm, the thought of dying from a heart attack a thought that drives me to the edge of pure panic and terror.

My chest growing tighter the longer that I focused on it, I couldn’t hear anything around me. The only sound flowing through my ears was the sound of my own blood whooshing, my heart beating roughly against my ribs, bile rising in my throat as I continue to fall deeper into the images being created by my mind. “Y/N?” Dean asks, the look on his face telling me that he had asked me a question and I hadn’t responded to it as it had fallen on deaf ears. “Huh? Sorry I am distracted.” I apologize, focusing in on him as he crosses the room to get closer to me. He sits down on the side of the bed, his hand coming to rest on my knee. “In all our years of friendship, did you ever think that this would be the way you died? Ghost sickness?” His words shock me to my core, completely unexpected coming from the man I thought cared about me deeply. I shrink away from him, pulling myself as far to the other side of the bed as I can without falling to the floor.

“What do you mean, Dean? Sam is on his way to salt and burn the body now, I’m not going to d-“My breath catches in my throat as I focus on his eyes. It wasn’t Dean looking back at me, It was a Demon. I watch in fear as they flash from his usual green to black, a nasty grin spreading across his face. I hurriedly throw the covers off of my lap, struggling to untangle my legs from the lengths of fabric. Just as my feet touch the grungy carpeted motel floor, he lunges for me, managing to lock his hand around my ankle. He yanks me hard, causing me to stumble and fall flat onto the hard floor. All the air is knocked out of my lungs, but I still struggle. Doing my best to crawl away from him, even though his grasp on my body is tight. I let out a scream, his body now shrouding my own as he straddles me. His hands finding their way to my wrists as he pins my legs to the floor with his hips. My heart is pounding so hard, it feels like it is going to burst.

The oxygen necessary to survive coming as gasps, unable to subside the burn within my lungs as I struggle for breath. He lets out a laugh, cold and bitter, enough to chill me to my core. It was Dean’s laugh, but twisted in ways that I never wanted to hear again in my life. “Look at you, so pitiful. So fearful. It’s a glorious sight, I can’t wait to watch you die.” He croons, his face coming down to hover close to my own. I spit at him, bringing my knee up to hit him straight in the groin, giving me the slightest chance to slip away from him. I take it and throw his weight off of me, just enough to scramble to the door of the motel. It’s locked, the chair wedged under the handle and in my panic I can’t get the chair loose. This momentary lapse in ability, gives him just enough time to close the distance between us again.

His body slamming my own into the length of the door, a desperate scream leaves my lips as I struggle to get him off of me. His hands move towards my face, I expect them to close around my throat and I lash out. My eyes are scrunched closed as I scratch, hit and use every muscle in my body to fight back. Instead of wrapping around my throat, his hands come to rest on my shoulders and they shake me, desperately. “Y/N!” He yells, his voice different, desperate but not evil. I hesitantly open my eyes and Dean’s green eyes are searching my face, desperate and horrified. “It’s me, it’s Dean, you’re okay.” I throw his hands off of me, scrambling to get as far away from him as possible. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, allowing me the space that I was crying out for.

“Don’t touch me!” I yell, hugging my arms to my chest, surrounding myself in the smallest amount of comfort I can find. “You’re not Dean, y-youre a demon!” I cry out, searching the room desperately for the demon killing knife that I know Dean keeps close by at all times. Dean takes a cautious step towards me, his hands still up in an attempt to calm me. I keep him at a distance and cross the room in a way that makes it look like we are walking in a big circle. He reaches for a small bottle that he keeps on his nightstand at all times, he holds it up so I can recognize it for what it is, holy water. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip of it, the relaxed expression communicating what he was trying to tell me. Not a demon. Just Dean. I relax slightly, dropping my arms back to my side, relief flooding through me. “but, you were just trying to kill me!” I say, my voice shuddering and fear sweeping over me once again. “It was a hallucination, Y/N. We were sitting on my bed talking and then you were just off, running for the door. I pinned you so you couldn’t leave on your own and it took me awhile to get through to you.” I listen to his words, but they seem impossible. How could that have been a hallucination? I could feel him, smell him, hear the way he laughed at my impending doom, I could see the way his eyes changed from green to pitch black. It just didn’t seem possible. I’m going crazy. My body is a mass of nerves, my muscles shaky and aching for relief. I rest my back against the wall and slide down to the floor, my hands holding my head as my world caves in around me. I am going to die. This was it, hallucinations are the second to last progression of the ghost sickness. My heart is in my throat, regret flooding over me. “Dean, listen to me.” I say, raising my head to look at him. He had crossed the room to sit across from me, his legs crossed in front of him. He looks at me, his gaze holding my own as he gives me a small nod to let me know that he was listening. “I know I am about to die, this is how you told me it ends for people who get ghost sickness. The hallucinations-“ I shudder, my voice faltering for a moment. Dean goes to interrupt me but I stop him, “No, I need to say this. Please.” I plead, tears beginning to fall from my red rimmed eyes once again, my cheeks raw from how much I had been crying. He nods, allowing me to continue my thought. I bite my lip and lower my eyes to the floor, unable to say this directly to his face. “If this is my last day, I have to tell you. I love you. I have always loved you. Every day that you have been in my life on earth, and every day that you were in hell. I have loved you. I have longed for you and I can’t lose you again without telling you.” It’s at this moment, when the last word leaves my lips that a sense of relief floods over me. Fear lifting like darkness in the morning when the sun rises again. I inhale deeply, oxygen filling every space within my lungs for the first time in what feels like forever. I can’t explain it, the sudden lack of terror. But I am going to enjoy every second of it while it lasts.

What I don’t see, is the way that Deans face flashes several emotions in a matter of seconds. Fear, at the thought of my death. Shock, at the revelation of the feelings that I have had for him for so long. Relief, at the fact that he shares the same feelings. Last of all, adoration. Absolute awe, that I love him in the same way that he loves me. He closes the distance between us, sitting with his back to the same wall and wrapping an arm around my waist.  “First off,” He whispers, his lips brushing against the side of my face, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re not going to die. I promise you that. Sam is going to burn the body before anything happens to you. Second, I would fight though any hell to get you back, I don’t care what I had to do.” He pauses again, his hand finding solace on my hip, his thumb rubbing circles into my skin that is peaking out over the top of his sweatpants that I had stolen to wear. “Third, I love you with all of my being, Y/N. You were the thought that got me through those years in hell, nothing else.” I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, utter relief and bliss rushing over me. I sob, every fear and emotion coming out in a rush. He presses a kiss to my forehead, his breath tickling my skin as he encourages me to match his breathing. We are both startled by the loud ring coming from his phone. He is quick to pull it from his pocket, both of us glancing at Sam’s name displayed across the screen. He hurriedly accepts the call and puts it on speaker phone, allowing both of us to hear what he has to say.  “Sam? Tell me you’ve burned the psycho ghost.” He says, his tone pleading and slightly desperate. “Yep, salted and burned about three minutes ago.” Sam responds and the sense of relief I had felt around that same time, makes complete sense. It wasn’t my confession, it was the relief of the spirit no longer plaguing me. Dean and I both sigh in relief, Dean thanks Sam and tells him to hurry back as he is ready to ditch this “hellish town, in the middle of nowhere.” As Dean ends the call, I let my head fall back onto his arm, staring up at the ceiling. “So,” He starts, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. “Still mean what you said?” He questions, his tone cautious and slightly anxiety ridden. “Yeah. I do. Do you?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, so I turn my head to look at him. He takes this as an opportunity to cup the side of my face and pull me towards him. I let out a sharp exhale through my nose, anticipation building within me. My eyes flutter shut as he closes the distance between us, his lips brushing ever so slightly against my own. He pulls back momentarily, whispering words that I had longed to hear for years. “I love you, all of you.” I close the distance between us once again and press my lips fully against his, desperate and searching. Conveying every fear, hope and want through our shared intimacy.

A short twenty minutes later a knock at the door separates us, Sam had arrived and was waiting outside the entrance to the motel room. The lock and chair keeping him out until Dean moved them out of the way. Sam is quick to enter the room, not noticing the flush to my cheeks and the shit eating grin plastered on Dean’s face. “Everything okay here?” Sam asks, relief washing over him when he sees the two of us in one peace. “Yeah, it got hairy for a moment, but after you burned the bones all was well.” I sigh, giving Sam a tight hug in thanks. A slightly awkward silence fills the room, Sam glancing between the two of us a question forming on his lips, but before he can ask it Dean breaks the silence with a clear of his throat and a question of his own.

“So, spiders Y/N?” He says, a laugh forming in his throat. I roll my eyes and chuck a pillow at him that he catches with ease.

“Shut up, it’s not my fault that I was being haunted by a stupid spirit.” I mumble and I can feel the blush spreading quickly across my face. He smiles at me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek once again. An action that is very quickly noticed by Sam, his eyes moving back and forth between Dean and myself. “I knew it, you finally admitted that you had feelings for each other, took you long enough.”

As embarrassing as it was to have our revelations displayed like that in front of Sam, he was right. Dean and I had been tiptoeing around each other for years. Both of us desiring more with the other, but neither of us taking that first step. That was until, I thought I was at deaths door. In that moment, that haunted moment, where I thought I was going to die and lose Dean forever, I took a chance and I will forever be thankful for that moment of bravery in the midst of fear.

Taglist, message me or comment to be added: @jc-winchester @roseblue373

533 notes · View notes