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cheralith · 1 year ago

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to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, "mother"/"daughter"/"wife" used, parental death, mentions of child abandonment, not too much mention of him being spider-man

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, hints of pining, just some good ol' fluff for everyone's current favorite dilf, angst w/ comfort, heavy need of editing prob, not beta read

notes ; purely self-indulgent to fuel my love of found family trope apologies

parts: one two three four (tba)

Single Father!Miguel O'Hara whose life revolves essentially around one person—his daughter—but to be one of the heads of America’s largest corporation and bearing the responsibility of keeping Nueva York safe and sound whilst simultaneously being a single father was not exactly something that Miguel O’Hara could juggle so easily. Hell, he’s even surprised that he’s made it so far without losing his absolute sanity considering he couldn’t even recall the last time he was able to rest properly without his attention being wavered to something or someone else.

Single Father!Miguel whose hands always filled to the brim with tasks and obligations. Miguel wished he was able to clone himself twice in order to have three Miguel O’Haras attending to each of his duties soundly, but alas, Alchemax and the matter of his mind can only do so much.

Single Father!Miguel whose ever so lucky to have you as his assistant to at least help with two out of three of them. You entered the picture around three years ago, when he had caught the eye of his superiors and had used his intelligence to their own advantage, disguising it as a promotion of sorts. You were given as some sort of gift to them as a way to help ease his workload and he truly couldn’t be more thankful for your existence—if he doesn’t necessarily show it most of the time from his stoic countenance he masks on 24/7. While not exactly a carbon copy of him, you, by far, come rather close, and Miguel will take whatever comes to him in this day and age.

Single Father!Miguel who notices that you're obedient and demure, though rather soft spoken and a little too apprehensive for his liking at times (he had noticed, before you became his assistant, that your coworkers would shovel their workload onto you and you’d accept with little complaint but evident hesitation; he wonders if it was the given similarities between you and him that made him choose you as his assistant). You dressed well, hung onto every word he said, and spoke out when properly needed. You were a good aid to have around—great, even.

Single Father!Miguel who trusts you as both his assistant and a human being enough to leave his precious daughter in your care knowing full well she would be in good hands. Sometimes Alchemax would work him overtime, sometimes his duties as Spider-Man would interfere. No matter what it was, it delayed him from seeing and attending to his daughter’s needs, and thus, he had asked you once in a while to pick up and babysit his daughter after your usual 9-5.

Single Father!Miguel who, at the beginning, once in a while asked you to pick his daughter up from school. Once in a while turned into occasionally. Occasionally turned into sometimes. Sometimes turned into constantly, and next thing Miguel knew, you were the one that his daughter and teachers would look out for during school pick up time. He didn’t expect that you would become his assistant even outside of work, but you did, and Miguel can’t exactly turn back time now. He’s labeled you as his child’s unofficial secondary caretaker—you’re even listed as an emergency contact.

Single Father!Miguel who thinks you’re too polite for your own good. Miguel had asked you once if this was a burden, being his assistant both in and out of Alchemax, and if it became too much that you were more than free to quit at any sudden time without consequence. You had merely replied that you understood the struggles of being a single parent and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for help when it was needed.

Single Father!Miguel who notices that Gabriella views you more than just her occasional babysitter. When he'd come home late at night, he was usually greeted by you two doing something together, whether it be doing math homework together, baking cookies, you reading aloud to her, or just simply talking, he'd always catch you and her almost... bonding.

Single Father!Miguel who often dwells on the memory of young Gabriella asking innocently why she doesn't have two parents like the rest of her classmates, why she only had one parent compared to everyone else after witnessing she was the odd one out during Family Day. Miguel didn't, and still doesn't, have the courage to tell her that her real mother had abandoned her to him, leaving Miguel in the dust. Miguel used her naivety to his advantage. He disguised it as her being unique compared to others, that some moms just came later in life; she just happened to be a late bloomer.

Single Father!Miguel who always thanks you for staying late tucking Gabriella into bed when he couldn't. You constantly tell him that it's truly no problem, but he insists on thanking you every time and ever so subtly increasing your paycheck. How could he not? Especially considering the fact you always, always whip him up extra dinner that was tucked away for him to eat during the late hours of night.

Single Father!Miguel who feels uneasy as he opens up a fridge to find the said pasta left by you one night in a glass tupperware container, staring at how neatly it’s been plated despite its standard container. He juts it into the microwave as he attempts to ignore how quiet and desolate the kitchen and the apartment is, how the humming of the microwave and the humdrum of the ceiling fan are the only noise that floats through. And when he quietly eats the pasta serving meant for one, he can’t help but gaze longingly at the empty seat across the dining table, where someone else should be seated with him sharing the same meal.

Single Father!Miguel who finally has the time to pick up his daughter after school for once in the school year, but forgot to tell you that you were able to take the rest of the day off. So you, him, Gabriella, and essentially everyone are surprised when both you and Miguel show up to pick Gabriella up after school. One of the teachers goes to gush about how she's excited to meet Gabriella's dad and what a beautiful family you all are, to which you and Miguel, evidently flustered, explain loosely your relationship to each other and how it's merely professional (to one curly-headed third grader, though, it's not—but she'd never tell you and her father that. At least not now.).

Single Father!Miguel who tags along to Gabriella's after school soccer practice for once and despite your protests about you not wanting to interfere "family time", Miguel and his daughter convince you to come watch her like you usually did on Wednesdays. He says he doesn't mind at all and if anything, could use your presence there to ease his nerves since he'd be a newcomer to the soccer parent group.

Single Father!Miguel who watches attentively to how you support Gabriella on the field from the sidelines. He wonders tenaciously if you've fallen into routine of this—from helping her get ready into her uniform to offering small suggestions that help her on the soccer field. He doesn't miss the way her eyes go towards you whenever she did something right and he especially catches onto the fact that she would gush in pure happiness from your approval when you would throw a thumbs up or a delighted nod.

Single Father!Miguel who merely blinks at the compliments given by the two friendly soccer mom next to him.

"Gabi does certainly look a lot like you, but she still has (Y/N)'s beauty and kindness, doesn't she?"

"Oh yes, I agree. Your wife is nothing less of lovely, you know, you're a very lucky man, Mr. O'Hara!"

He's so caught up in trying to process both their words and Gabriella's action on the field, that it doesn't register to him until a few moments later. Miguel attempts to butt in, saying that you're just his subordinate, but when a loud cheer from the other team erupts through, his words fail him.

Single Father!Miguel whose mind is still so stuck on what the soccer moms had said about you that he didn't even realize Gabriella had made the winning goal for today's practice match. Lying through his teeth when asked about if he saw it from her, he realizes that perhaps he should start viewing you in a different light rather than just his daughter's babysitter because the way that Gabriella looks at you with such elation when you congratulate her on her win pulls at his heartstrings ever so slightly.

Single Father!Miguel who contemplates over and over again if he should be doing this—inviting you to Gabriella's first game of the season—the two purchased tickets he held in his fist. You've entered his home a dozen of times, but this would be the first time in three years that he was outside of your own residence. He thinks he's too dressed up for the occasion, cladded in a white button up and black dress pants. A voice asks him if he's his daughter's boyfriend, and Miguel whips around to face an elderly man with a questioned look on his face.

Single Father!Miguel who realizes that it's your father standing in front of him, spare key in hand. He's quick to say no (to your father's disappointment), and introduces himself as your superior. Your father invites Miguel inside your apartment, telling him that you were out fetching groceries and jokingly mentions he uses this opportunity to sneakily fill your cabinets and fridge of food. Your father complains you're too independent for your own good, but he can't exactly blame you—you grew up that way.

Single Father!Miguel who learns that once in your life you were just like his daughter and that in one point in your father's life, he was just like Miguel. All details shared from him, he learns that your mother passed away early in your life due to cancer and ultimately left you and your father to fend for yourselves. Your father tells Miguel that you often had helped out even when you didn't need to—and it doesn't take long for Miguel to piece the pieces together. Why you barely complain about the extra workload, why your father said you're too autonomous, and why all those years ago you not only sympathized with Miguel, but understood his situation as you came from the same exact upbringing.

Single Father!Miguel who listens intently when your father quietly tells him that all he wants for you is to find a good man that would be able to take care of you properly because he believes he wasn't able to. Miguel is quick to reassure him, however, that he did a fantastic job raising a selfless, humble woman that grew to be compassionate and considerate of others' needs, that you were the hardest worker he had ever seen and that he shouldn't discredit himself. Your father goes to examine Miguel for a moment before letting out a loud, haughty laugh in your apartment and jokingly (not really) tells Miguel he hopes that you'll marry him one day, or at least someone like him.

Single Father!Miguel whose resolve dissipates when you walk into your apartment to find your boss and your father talking amongst each other. He sits silently and awkwardly as you complain to your father about dropping by without any warning before you ask him what was he doing here in the first place. Your father takes his leave, winking at Miguel with a glint in his eye, leaving you two in your apartment alone.

Single Father!Miguel who finally gathers up the courage to ask you if you'd like to attend Gabriella's soccer game with him. You interject with visible hesitation, telling him that it was implied that it was a family-only event and you'd hate to intrude onto something so intimate, but he's quick to reassure you that his daughter would love to have you there considering all the help you had given her during her practices—if anything, she would need you there for your support.

Single Father!Miguel who tells you that Gabriella had shown visible distress last night when Miguel told her that you might not be able to come due to your non-familial relationship with them. He almost begged you to come with them, as Gabriella had even threatened to quit soccer altogether if you weren't there to witness her first game. When you give in after moments of contemplation, Miguel truly couldn't believe his luck.

Single Father!Miguel who roots alongside you for Gabriella and her team, watching oh so closely just in case someone from the other team did a dirty trick on his precious daughter. He'd sometimes occasionally glance at you, only to see you completely zoned in and focused on Gabriella's playing like the rest of the parents, offering your support through compliments and encouragements that his daughter always caught and would visibly improve from. When she finally scores the winning goal per usual, she's quick to ignore the cheers coming from her teammates and parents to run off the field and not look for Miguel first, but for you.

"Did you see me?!" Gabriella exclaims excitedly as she flings her arms around your waist. "Did you see what I did?!"

"I did, yes," you laugh, attempting not to stumble over from the impact with visible glee and crouch down to her height. Pride written all over your face, you grin. "And I'm so incredibly proud of you."

"It's 'cause I did what you taught me," she declares. "I pointed first and then I shooted!" She uses hand gestures to reanimate her play on the field.

"Shot, Gabi," you correctly gently, your fingers going to automatically comb out the tangles out of her hair like you usually did after practices. "It does come handy, doesn't it?"

"Yeah!" Her eyes go to see Miguel, who doesn't stalk too far behind with open arms and the same proud look painted on his face. "Dad! Didja see me?! Didja see that I scored?!"

Miguel lets out a once-in-a-blue-moon chuckle and lifts his daughter into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck in an affirming hug. "I saw very clearly, mi cariño, and I can't wait to brag about how my daughter scored the winning shot for her team," he compliments warmly.

Gabriella goes to point gleefully in your direction. "It was all because of Miss. (Y/N)," she declares, not knowing that her statement would make a rush of heat bloom onto your face.

"O-oh no... I only... w-well," you stammer out meekly, trying to find the right words. "I'm actually not too knowledgeable on soccer... I only repeated what I found online and—"

"Thank you," Miguel starts off fondly. "(Y/N), truly. Thank you."

You stare at him. "Mr. O'Hara..."

He sets Gabriella down for her to join her rejoicing teammate and pats the small of your back with a grateful look plastered on his face. You were so used to seeing the rather stoic and often tired side of Miguel O'Hara that you forgot he, too, was capable of smiling at times, so when you spotted the small of a grin on his lips that was for you specifically, you felt something in your chest jerk a little bit.

"If it weren't for you being here," he starts off quietly so only you can hear. "Gabi wouldn't have participated at all. She wanted you to come so she'd have enough courage to play because she was so used to you supporting her," Miguel glances at his daughter giggling about on the field. "So it was understandable that if her biggest supporter wasn't here to cheer her on, she wouldn't exactly do her best."

You blink slowly at him, digesting his words in order to truly savor them for all that they were. "I was just—"

"—doing your job?" Miguel finishes for you. He shakes his head. "Last time I remember, 'attending your boss's daughter's soccer games' wasn't on your job description," he says, earning a soft chuckle out of you despite his rather flat tone.

"I suppose so," you murmur with an evident warmth in your eyes, one that Miguel is sure Gabriella has seen numerous times and will continue to welcome as long as you're around.

So when after a dinner celebration at her favorite restaurant, after the star player is tucked into bed after a long day's work, Miguel takes it upon himself to do the what he thought was the impossible for him but possible for Gabriella.

"Stay safe out there," Miguel directs quietly as he helps you put on your coat again. "And again, thank you for today."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. O'Hara," you reply, "And I actually had fun today, so I can thank you for that."

He escorts you down the apartment complex to the lobby and begins to watch you leave, the words on his tongue tipping ever so slowly before they spill the moment you're about to exit through the doors.

"(Y/N)."

At the sound of your voice, you turn to him with a questioning look on your face. "... yes?"

Miguel opens and closes his mouth like a fish for a couple of seconds before blurting out, "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

He scans your face for a reaction before surprise paints itself on your moonlit features. "I-I suppose I am," you nod slowly. "May I ask why?"

"Gabi is having a sleepover at one of her teammate's house," Miguel coughs out and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their fidgeting.

"Do you need me to drop her off...?" you ask, clearly puzzled.

"No, um," he clears his throat again. "I was... I was actually wondering if you'd... if you'd like to check out that new restaurant that opened up on Clark..."

Regret pools in his mouth the second it falls from his lips and he begins to internally conjure some sort of half-assed lie, perhaps saying something along the lines of the company wanted him to review it for a potential cater in the future or that a friend of his worked there, but when he sights your eyes softening with the same warmth from earlier, he lets you take the reigns on fate.

"I'd quite like that," you murmur, a modest smile on your lips.

a/n ; i told you i was going to give into temptation. wrote this on a plane with no wifi on the way here (thank god for offline editing!)

anyways, i'm trying to squeeze this bit out before my plane ride tmrw since i've been travelling for the past week and a half! i'll be returning home soon where i can finally write to my heart's content, phew! i just reallyyyyy wanted to write something for miguel adjdjfkfalwf but fear not! we shall be back to our regularly scheduled program soon!

as always, thank you for reading and likes+comments+reblogs are always appreciated and never unnoticed（╹◡╹）♡!

#spider-man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spider verse x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #fem!reader

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il3x · 6 months ago

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so speaking of times i was CORRECT

So! Backstory!

I imagine the Rapture lab as a very sterile, white compound. For angst reasons that may eventually be made clear.

#this is pure self-indulgence #but ouughvbvcdxfcgvb #they didn't show the background in the prev episode so that was a guess #also #i did kinda correct the clothing in the wrong direction #oopsies #but white clothing works even BETTER for the angst idea. goddamnit now i have to actually draw the thing

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ghostlygeto · 2 years ago

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i’m sick to my stomach. stepdad!osamu u mean the world to me btw

#peri speaks #i am writing a fluff to sandwich between 2 angsts #this is purely self indulgent btw #wip !!

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sttoru · 1 year ago

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‘i told you once, that only two things will have me; you and death.’

☀︎｜tags. gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, angst, comfort. themes of insecurity: trust issues kinda (by reader). reader gets called ‘baby, princess, angel’. self indulgent. proof read? whats that

“aww, there’s my hardworking girl,” satoru coos whilst his arms move to hold your body captive against his chest in a much needed hug, “and she’s still lookin’ as pretty as ever! my god — c’mere.”

your over-excited lover cups your face in his hands and holds it like that for a second to admire. his thumb slides from your cheekbone to your lips, gently parting them before pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. of course, he doesn’t leave it by that. satoru never does.

“pretty,” a kiss on your right cheek — “beautiful,” a kiss on your left one — “gorgeous,” a kiss on the tip of your nose — “amazing”, a kiss on your forehead — “sweetest,” a kiss on your chin — “lovely”, a kiss on the top of your head;

maybe it was the stress of the previous days that made you tear up. satoru has made it a daily routine: you come home, he welcomes you with open arms, showers you with his unending love and attention until you physically have to pull him away from your body. you sometimes ask yourself what you did to deserve someone so loving.

if satoru had heard you say the latter out loud, he would have kissed your mouth again to shut the thought down instantly. ‘you deserve everything and more’, you silently recall him saying once.

“stop that.” you mutter. the ‘that’ referring to the butterfly kisses and tight hugs he’s giving you. you tried not to seem in the mood for receiving his affection today. the muffled giggles leaving through your gritted teeth tell another story however.

“nu-uh,” satoru lets out a low chuckle, going right back to giving you what you deserve, “it’s like you’re askin’ me to stop breathing, baby. i can’t just not do this.”

satoru lifts you up into his strong arms and brings you over to the kitchen counter, settling you there - somewhere away from all that he had been cooking since the morning. he’s grinning from ear to ear, glancing from the covered plates near the stove and back to you.

you tilt your head curiously as you watch satoru grab one plate and uncover it, revealing the content like it was a big surprise—

“open up f’me, my princess.” your lover hums as he’s already guiding a piece of cake to your lips. your favorite cake which he had oh-so-obviously cooked himself judging by the messy look of it. your gaze lingers on the piece for a second to appreciate the gesture.

when you look back up at satoru, his eyes are already on yours — patiently waiting for you to let him feed you. his blue eyes are sparkling with a sense of pure excitement; one he only has around you. his love for you was almost overwhelming at times like these.

“why?”

the simple, one word question made the white sorcerer stop in his tracks. his head cocks to the side, eyelashes fluttering lightly in confusion, though the handsome smile on his face remains. ‘why’ could mean a lot of things in this context; why do you want to feed me? why do you want me to eat this? why should or even would i?

out of all the possible interpretations, satoru knew the exact one you had meant the moment he saw the tears that welled up at the corners of your eyes; ‘why do you care so much?’

“do i need a reason to?” his voice was smooth and soft. almost way too soft now that he’s realised just how vulnerable you were in front of him. satoru’s smile only widens, however — the sight of his girlfriend being overwhelmed by his affection was one he couldn’t resist.

it’s part of your charm. the charm you don’t know about; the charm that made the gojo satoru fall head over heels for you. your lover shakes his head with a light-hearted laugh, putting the slice of cake back down on the plate so he could hold your hands in his.

“i love you, yeah?” he kisses the back of your hands with utmost care before planting another one on your forehead again. satoru cradles your head against his chest afterwards, making you rest your weary body against his for as long as you needed it; his warmth and comfort, “it’s because i love you. that’s the only reason why, angel.”

you just nod in response — needing a moment of silence to recover, which satoru grants you without it having to be asked verbally. it’s like he knows just what goes on in your little head and is always updated about your changing feelings.

that’s what surprises you most. satoru’s super attentive to every single detail about you. from your unnoticeable habits to the big facts. that is what love truly is. that is how it feels like to have a man love you unconditionally—without any underlying or ulterior motives. without expecting anything back.

“i love you too, ‘toru. forever.” you reply eventually in a hushed whisper. the sorcerer only tightens his grip around your body, hugging you closer to his chest like his personal plushie. he nuzzles his nose into your hair — your scent both relaxing yet addicting.

“yeah,” satoru sighs in content and closes his eyes—allowing them to rest. all his senses are focused on making you feel better. he won’t let go of you until he’s sure you understand that you’re deserving of it all; his loving hugs, kisses, words of affirmation, gifts, comfort, cuddles and support.

“forever and beyond that.”

satoru doesn’t mind reminding you how much he cherishes you. even if he has to remind you every day until the day he succumbs. you’re his number one priority; he’ll even make sure to tell you he loves you with his dying breath when the time comes.

he’ll make sure of it.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk fic #jjk x y/n #gojo fic #jjk x female reader #please im half asleep while upldoading this

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jezebelblues · 16 days ago

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talk to me | h.s

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

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

word count: approx 6.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

right?

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

“coming!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he typed the words, fingers slow, deliberate.

i love you.

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

still blocked. still gone.

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

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

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

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

he just needed to be close to her again.

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

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

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

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

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

we should talk

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

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

he also felt like he was doing something illegal.

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

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

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

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

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

ring doorbell: movement detected.

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

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

we should talk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he’s healing. he’s sober. he’s alive.

and that was enough.

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callmemickey · 1 year ago

Text

Cumming Home for Christmas

synopsis: Simon surprised you by being home 3 weeks early, which means you get to take him to your family’s Christmas get together! Unfortunately, Simon hasn’t had his fill of you… How thin do you think the walls are in the bathroom?

content: Afab, porn w a plot, smut (dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, quickie, slightly public? maybe other stuff idk) fluff fluff fluff kind of angst if you squint real hard he just loves you sm my sweet Angel babey reader muah love u 2

word count: 3.7k

notes: Don’t ask me why I chose Christmas this is purely self-indulgent. Also, he’s a brunette going off of the comics, so I’m running with that thx!

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Warm Christmas lights, sparkling ciders and the expensive alcohol, the soft hum of cozy Christmas jazz on the speakers, family buzzing and soaking in each other’s presence - there was nothing else you could ask for. In this massive sea of black and red formal attire, your family, both close and extended, came together for an amazing holiday party at your grandparents’ estate.

Simon, who surprised you by coming home over three weeks early, has accompanied you as your plus one to the family’s holiday party. It made the event even better. Your family adored Simon to bits and pieces, constantly embarrassing you in front of him, begging to know when he wanted to start a family with you, your aunts drinking too much and asking him to take off his coat and flex. He dealt with the melting pot of clashing personalities better than you had ever imagined.

Simon expertly handled the socializing carefully and precisely. He preferred to be an observer in these bigger settings rather than to speak. He gave simple answers that were concise one liners, saving his social battery. So, to make up for it, he would escape to assist anybody needing aid. When dinner was ready, he assisted in the kitchen, making sure that everybody had their meals first, and was later caught cleaning the kitchen (much to your displeasure). He also helped light your grandfather’s cigar outside. The Parkinson’s has been making it difficult for him to light them on his own, and Simon even listened to an old war story.

It was unbelievable how much you loved this man.

Now, nieces and nephews weaved between adults and furniture, the fireplace burned hot and strong, people laughed and yelled happily over the gentle music, and the scent of baking pies and pastries wafted and filled the air. Your lovely military fiancé, overworked and tired on his break, did so well to deal with this. Of course, Simon, being an incredibly selfless person willing to compromise in any situation or scenario just to make you happy, said that it was alright when you invited him. “Nothing would make me happier,” he had said in a low, roughened voice - which was right before he buried his face between your legs.

But I digress.

Simon stood next to you as your uncle told you both in absolute monotony about his recent trip to Italy, “So beautiful. Your aunt Amelia and I want to get a vacation home there.” He finished, and you nodded awkwardly. “Sounds like you and aunt Millie had a great time, uncle Mike.” Your tone was dry while Simon nodded and hummed in response. He just wasn’t… very present.

Simon had his attention and focus set on pretty high at the beginning of the night, but he was able to relax a little bit since then, to let himself just be in the moment - or so the psychiatrist says he should. He was actively paying attention to the conversation, yes that is true, but the hand holding your waist began to… wander, a little bit. Slowly at first, but much faster now. With a hand that started on your shoulder in the beginning of the night, bit by bit lowered down your back, smoothing above the top of your ass and to your hip. Fingers pressing deep into the black velvet of your dress, Simon tried to keep you caged next to him. That didn’t matter though, because you would have done little to resist him.

You two shared a quick glance. His dark brown eyes were slightly glossed, his gaze a salaciousness that he always brings home. Ooh, it made you want to rub your thighs together just to feel something. You nodded again to your uncle Mike when he brought up something else that was equally boring. Simon, having a better idea and use for his time, suddenly seemed to have remembered something, “Apologies, Mike, but Y/N and I have to make an important phone call.” You looked up at him.

That brief look in his eye was so, so hungry. The greed brewed like a dark storm. You felt a hot chill race down your spine, your core began to burn. You acted as if you remembered the same ‘something’ as well. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we almost forgot!” You gasped in a low voice. His fingers squeezed your hip, making your chest slowly fall into shallow breaths as you could imagine him purring in your ear.

Good girl.

You two waved him off as you turned to leave the kitchen. Simon took the wine glass from your hand and placed it on the countertops as you two walked through the doorway. His hand pressed on your lower back, guiding you into the dark hallway. The armoire in the middle lit with warm candles that smelled of cinnamon and spiced apples, casting shadows that bounced and flickered across the walls. It helped light your way to the restroom, but it also kept you two enveloped in shadows to help hide whatever sins you were going to commit. Simon, without a word, opened the bathroom, and with nobody inside, he sweeped you in, locking the door behind you two.

The bathroom had warm string lights strung across the crown molding, and a window with fake candles sat high on the wall. The room was a little loud with the echoes, so you smacked the switch on the wall to turn the fan on, hoping to mask whatever sounds were going to flood the room.

Not even a second, in such a calculated move, Simon plucked his mask off and had your lips locked with his as he hoisted you onto the sink counter. All you could do in that flurry of movement was gasp, his hands gingerly holding your jaw as his mouth worked against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing as you felt a hardened tent in his trousers press eagerly against your clothed cunt.

You ran your hands through his dark brown hair, a moan running from you into him as his hands gave your ass a harsh squeeze. He ground his hips into you, pulling a whimper from you as he pressed roughly against your thrumming clit. Simon broke from your mouth, kissing your neck as his fingers pushed up into your dress, grabbing your panties.

“Quiet - or they’ll hear us,” he whispered against your flesh. You panted with a nod as he slipped your panties off, tossing them onto the floor along with his jacket. Simon quickly unbuttoned his white sleeves, rolling them up to reveal his heavily veined forearms, his one arm tattooed with black. He expertly undid his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down slightly, his hardened cock springing free.

He kept kissing your neck, lightly sucking to tease but not enough to hickey or bruise. His fingers dipped into your embarrassingly wet sex, rubbing at your clit and folds before pushing two fingers into you. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, so wet already.” His voice was a growl against your neck, slowly pumping them, his fingers rubbing up against that spongy spot inside.

It caused you to mewl. Simon’s one hand jumped to cup your mouth shut, making you gasp. The movement threw you off balance, your upper back falling back to press against the mirror while grabbing onto his wrist for support. He continued to finger you and hold your mouth closed, your whimpers mumbled in his hand.

Just as quick as you just started grinding your hips, he pulled his fingers away. A disappointed moan left broken up between your mouth and his palm. Simon grabbed his cock and started to pump himself, lubricating it with your juices before rubbing against your clit. He moved his hand from your mouth down to your hip.

You whimpered, “Oh my god, Simon.” Your hips wriggled and bucked against the dizzying sensation. He chuckled, slowly pressing his cock into your hot, wet cunt. The familiar stretch made you hum in need. “You’re gonna tease me? On Christmas?” You whined, your legs once again wrapped around his hips, urging him to sink into you.

“Ahh, have you been a good girl, though?” He asked in a low rumble, his other hand grabbing the other hip, his prepared stance making your hole clench around his member. He had a half-lidded stare, swirling with a level of lust you couldn’t really see the end of - bottomless and ravenous. Simon towered over you.

“I’m always a good girl for you, Simon,” You cooed.

He slowly pushed in, making you inhale sharply as you stretched so wide to allow him to fit. You held your breath as he pushed his cock through. “I’m just teasing, love - I know you’ll always be my good girl,” he said with warmth in his voice.

His tip kissed your cervix as he nestled fully, deeply, completely. Your head rolled back on the mirror as a satisfied sigh escaped you, but Simon’s grip on your hips tightened intensely. You gasped as he began a fast pace, his hips slapping loudly against your thighs and echoing in the bathroom. It was almost too much. It gave you little time to prepare for his entering, but you settled nicely around him after a few more thrusts.

Simon wasn’t normally this fast. He loved to hit with hard strokes, but nothing typically of this pace. Fortunately, you weren’t one to complain. It was so goddamn good. You hate it when your fiancé is away, not knowing where he was for most of the time, but when he’s gone for so long and comes back? Fuck. It’s criminal how good the sex is. His impatience made it impeccable.

But you were desperate. You wanted to cry and moan and yell, to beg and pray for him to bring you to a higher plane of pleasure. Oh, God, you would do anything for it, anything for him. You grasped at his forearms, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving stinging crescent moon shaped imprints in their path. He groaned lightly at your sharp grip, a soft chuckle coming from him. “Oh, you like this?” He asked, and you nodded, biting your lower lip to keep anything but your gasps, pants, and squeaks from escaping.

“Touch yourself,” his voice wasn’t harsh, but it was a demand.

With one hand still on Simon’s arm, the other moved to your clit, and you began to rub in quick circles. Simon watched your face twist and change: your mouth hanging open as you panted, but occasionally closed to bite your lip so to stop yourself from moaning; eyes half-lidded, barely open, glazed, and painfully horny; back bowing and arching, your toes curling, body just at a loss at what it can handle. This was Simon’s favorite view in the world. It’s what he came home for. It’s what he fought for.

A moan tumbled from your mouth as you held on for dear life. “S-Simon!” You whined his name, the heat inside of you burning red hot, uncontrolled, and rampant.

“S’alright love,” his voice was soft, “you gonna cum?”

You nodded quickly, the fingers on your clit stuttering as you found your release fast approaching, his almost brutal pace not slowing in the slightest. “I’m gonna c- ah- cum, Simon!” You struggled not to say too loud. “Don't stop!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he ushered, “cum for me.” Simon knew how to drive you over the edge. His hand reached out, firmly but gently cupping over your mouth to keep your head in place - and to push back your lascivious sounds.

A moan found itself trapped, lodged in your throat as you fought with your whole might not to yell and cry out. Your orgasm ripped through and crashed over you like a tsunami. He had unraveled you.

Your back arched, and you couldn’t roll your head back. Your lashes flickered as you struggled to keep your eyes from crossing or rolling back to look at Simon while you came. The fingers you had on your clit stopped moving as you were paralyzed, but the grip you had on his forearm stayed strong, “Ahhh, fuckin’ look at you. That’s a good girl, cummin’ nice and pretty on my cock. You like that, yeah?” He groaned, hips putting in more power to drill into your tightened pussy, tears pricking at your eyes as the orgasm left your legs shaking around him.

Simon retracted his hand, grabbing back at your hip. You let out a quick, small cry as your free hand held back onto his forearm. “Y’alright, love?” He grunted, and you nodded furiously before he could stop, but he started slowing down. You didn’t want him too. “Need- I need you,” you gasped, “don’t stop, Simon.” You whimpered.

Oh, to be buried deep inside your pussy was all he could have ever hoped for upon coming home. Y/N, ever so kind and giving. Simon tightened his hands around your hips again and began the brutal pace as you struggled to keep silent.

That’s when you felt your body heating up again. Your sex thrummed with the building pleasure and excitement once more, causing you to moan while you held onto his wrists. A light sheen of sweat sat on your skin, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your flesh.

Simon moaned softly with a smirk, your fucked out expression and legs lazily clinging onto his hips was such an amazing sight. The snapping of him against you had beat your pussy red, leaving it angrily aroused. “You gonna cum again? Yeah? Ahhh, thas my needy girl.” Desperate, tiny grunts popped out of you with each thrust, your pussy swallowing Simon deeply.

“Si-Simon! Gonna- c-cum!” You gasped out with each pump.

Your orgasm hit like a rapid flash of heat and pleasure. A squeal escaped you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back, legs around Simon’s waist tightened, your whole body trembled from his unrelenting pace. Your face was flushed red, eyes completely glazed and lost as your hair stuck to your face.

“Ah, f-fuck, so fuckin’ tight. So good - my girl is so good, God, cummin’ on my cock, just like that.” He growled, his hips slowly beginning to fall off rhythm while his orgasm began to creep up on him.

You moaned and begged, “Ah, Simon, nngh, I-I can’t- please cum!”

“Don’t you worry, g-gonna cum inside this pretty pussy,” Simon groaned, “gonna fill you up, yeah?”

You nodded furiously as your body screamed in overstimulation. “Please, I- ah! Too much, ah, you’re too much, Simon!” You cried out, your ever tightening cunt being stretched open, begging for his release.

“Y/N- Y/N, fuck!” He hissed as his hips slammed against you, tightly holding his cock against your cervix as if he was threatened to be ripped away. He groaned, emptying himself into you completely, his cock jerking and flexing harshly, making the veins on his shaft more pronounced. You whimpered, your cunt tensing around him as you felt hot waves shooting inside of you. He stayed for a moment while panting, his thighs shaking slightly, relishing in the feeling as oxytocin and dopamine flooded his brain. Simon pulled out, a throaty groan leaving you at the sudden emptiness, your legs letting go of him.

“Well… let’s hope nobody heard that.” Simon said in a low voice, pulling up his underwear and pants, buckling his belt and grabbing your panties for you. You slid off of the sink and inhaled sharply as your knees buckled. He immediately latched onto your arms, making sure you wouldn’t fall. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, y’alright?” He asked, slowly loosening his grip to make sure you were okay on your own.

“My legs, Simon. Jesus Christian Christ - I can’t stand.” You huffed, leaning against the sink, glowering at him as you took your panties from his hand, embarrassed.

He unrolled his sleeves, buttoning them. “You’re really gonna talk like that? On Jesus’ birthday?” He looked at you as he grabbed his jacket, shaking his head. “What would your nan say, hmm?” He feigned sincerity, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he swung the jacket on.

“Well, the jokes on you because Christmas isn’t even Jesus’ birthday.” You snapped back at him, slowly sliding your underwear on as your knees shook like a newborn giraffe. He tutted in disapproval as he moved up to you.

Simon’s body was close, his body radiating warmth. He wasn’t one for a lot of physical affection, which was alright, so when he took the time to be attentive to you… you always melted against him immediately. His finger lightly hooked under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Your body subconsciously gravitated towards him, like a moth seeing the moon for the very first time.

He leaned down, lips brushing so close to yours, your eyes still connected . “Fuck what day it really is - I just know I’m home.” Simon pushed in for a deep kiss, brimming with emotions, the kinds he couldn’t really say. As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but admire you.

The golden candlelight fluttered across his face. His tired but warm eyes studied you, as if seeing you for the first time, memorizing and mapping every freckle, wrinkle, and spot, because he’s scared that the moment he looks away, he’ll forget. He took in your flushed, messy appearance as if God himself sent down a heavenly body to give him a reason not just to fight, but to live; an angel on its mission as a guide, and he would willingly martyr himself on the ground at your feet if it meant he could just hear you say his name. Once.

Simon wanted to say these things, but he wouldn’t. He might never. But that’s alright, too. Not everyone is meant to love so boldly.

You cocked an eyebrow as he stared at you so intensely. “You okay there, Lieutenant?” You asked, a small smile on your lips.

He realized that, yes, it was alright that he didn’t say those things. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have to - you just knew. Everyday he thought about how he didn’t deserve you. You, ever so loyal and strong. You’ve given him a purpose, motive, after all of these years - alone.

He often wondered what he had done to deserve having someone like you in his life. Someone who loved and cultivated, with hands of soft mercy, so tender and kind. A voice of validation, honesty, reason, all stemming from your unconditional love. If he had met you years ago, before the therapy and psychiatry helped, he would’ve let your fingers prick and bleed as you grasped at his thorns while he plucked you of your petals, leaving you broken and bare.

He didn’t deserve you.

Simon returned the smile, his voice soft, “Never better.” His hands moved to hold your waist as you two shared a few more kisses. “You know I like it when you call me that,” he hummed in between the lip locking.

You moaned gently and teasingly bit his bottom lip, your hands pressing against and gliding up his shirt. You kissed his jawline and sighed, “Is that so, Lieutenant Riley?”

He squeezed your waist in a warning. “Careful, love, we don’t have time for round two. Save it for tonight.” Your pussy purred just as Simon pulled away, picking up the mask from the sink and putting it back on in an attempt to obscure his identity.

You hummed, legs still a little shaken. “Well, I might need a minute to get my feet under me. You… okay with managing my family alone?” You asked hesitantly, eyes slightly squinting as if to flinch. He studied you for a moment, eyes glancing you up and down. It made you a little self-conscious, causing you to shift.

“Of course, Y/N,” his tone was reassuring, and subtly professional, “you sure you want me to leave you? Just say the word, love.”

Your body relaxed a little, and you nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

Simon faltered, if for a moment, before he gave you a soft squeeze on the arm, and left. You sighed, turning to lean onto the counter and fix your hair in the mirror. Your legs really were shaking, much to your surprise. Yes, yes, Simon makes you shake plenty, but he doesn’t always fuck that hard, if rarely. You couldn’t be more embarrassed. Sending your fiancé, who is not the biggest people-person, back to the wolves, but it’d be more embarrassing if you walked out there in your current state.

You fixed your dress and made sure you were able to stand properly again after a few minutes. Making sure your hair, makeup, and dress were all still together, you left the bathroom with caution. You quietly snuck down the hallway, back against the wall. You got to the doorway and peeked around the corner to peer into the party.

You don’t know how long you were in the bathroom for as the crowd surprisingly died down. Family members left for home, hotels, or whatever bedrooms your grandparents had available, so the end-of-the-night afterparty was intimate and calm. You inched into the room, eyes falling on Simon, who was outside with your grandfather, lighter in his hand.

You smiled gingerly as your mother called you over. “Sweetie, everybody loves Simon. I know he isn’t much of a talker, or a hugger, but he made a great impression.” Her voice was filled with warmth and happiness, and she spoke in a hushed tone. “He also listens to your grandfather’s stories, bless his heart.” She cooed. Your mother continued to speak, but her voice drowned out as you watched your future husband.

Simon stood at ease, with his hands held together and relaxed behind him as your grandfather engaged him in a story, puffing his cigar shakily as his hands trembled while he was animated. It was so calm and serene, watching him nod, the ghost of his jawline moving beneath the mask as he spoke. Your heart fluttered as Simon’s eyes flicked over and locked onto you, giving a little wink before turning his attention back to the present conversation.

Okay, you’re definitely sitting on his face tonight.

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