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coffee-and-geto · 2 months

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“BE MY VOICE AND I CHOOSE YOU TO FILL THE VOID”

“Why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?” “Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

★ pairing: fashion designer! suguru geto x supermodel! reader

★ summary: after you broke up with suguru a few years ago, you swore you’d never have anything to do with him ever again… until new york fashion week arrived and you found yourself forced to take part in the event with suguru geto—aka your ex and one of the most famous personalities in the fashion world, as your fashion designer. but perhaps the latter will take advantage of the event to do his utmost to regain your heart.

★ warnings: +18 only, smut, modern au! (no curses), exes to lovers, geto is your ex-boyfriend, fluff, (light) angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety attack, bossy! reader, nobara is the reader’s assistant but also plays cupid, only one bed/second chance trope, jealous! geto, gojo makes an appearance because he’s a fashion designer too, switch! geto, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, handjob (m! receiving), body praises, fanart by @ / hiikeu.

★ wc: 15,257

“He wants you among his troupe.”

You nearly spit out the sip of your drink through the straw. “Excuse me?” you laugh out loud.

But even in front of the serious expression of one of the employees of the agency you work for, it’s hard to keep your own. A fit of giggles takes over your stomach, releasing uncontrollable laughter that echoes throughout your dressing room.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Nobara — your assistant — squeezes her planner against her chest — a nervous tic that has never been trivial to you. Silence finally returns to the room, and neither of the other two women utter a single word. The corners of your lips fall. “This is a joke, right?” you whisper breathlessly.

Nobara pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls for a few seconds before showing you an announcement from the official website of New York Fashion Week. She is followed by the employee who hands you a tablet screen displaying an email signed by someone you had erased from your life years ago:

Suguru Geto.

°°°°

“Next.” Suguru’s sharp tone cracks like a whip as another model steps onto the casting studio podium. His fist clenches nervously around the handle of the megaphone, resting its bell on the foldable wooden table.

In front of the silhouette of yet another candidate, Suguru’s gaze scrutinizes the model’s fine features that adorn her refined face with prominent cheekbones. A defined jawline. Hazel eyes and a slender body.

“Next,” Suguru repeats mechanically — perhaps because his eyes are desperately searching for your form? With each new woman, he hopes to meet your captivating gaze. And he almost systematically dismisses everyone when it’s not you?

“Mr. Geto, maybe we should—”

“Silence,” he cuts off without a glance at Manami, his assistant.

She sighs and offers an apologetic smile to the model who leaves the podium with a look of icy disappointment. Suguru’s right leg starts to twitch slightly in his chair—a sign of anxiety gradually eroding the calm he tries to maintain in his troubled mind.

“Night Skies: The Illuminated Darkness.”

A relatively inspiring theme and quite easy to design. So why has no inspiration come to him since the announcement? Why do his thoughts constantly drift to outfits that only you deserve to wear, making him prefer to withdraw his participation rather than let someone else wear them?

Fuck.

After the next four hours, Suguru and Manami leave the casting studio for a break in the lounge. He leans against the counter, letting his obsidian eyes fix on a void, swept away by his overwhelming reflections. In the background, the coffee machine rumbles.

You had to join his troupe. Even though he already envisions a firm refusal from your agency. But he is ready to try anything for you — even risks that could endanger his career.

Manami clears her throat slightly and takes a hesitant step towards him. “Mr. Geto? Out of the three hundred top models proposed by partner agencies, we’ve only shortlisted four…” She fiddles with her nails painted in vermillion red, bites her lower lip, and adds, “And that’s under my insistence. At this point, I seriously doubt—”

“Write a letter to this agency,” Suguru cuts in once again without listening to a word of what she tried to explain. He hands her a business card from your agency and mentions your name. “You must know her. I want her among the models for my collection. Otherwise, I’ll cancel my participation,” he declares in an uncompromising tone.

Manami carefully takes the small card and studies it. She lets out a perplexed sigh and nods. “Alright.”

°°°°

“No, absolutely not! I refuse! Reply to him that it won’t be possible!”

“Miss, please—” Nobara tries to calm you and prevent you from committing murder against the top model manager of the agency.

“We’re talking about Suguru Geto! THE internationally renowned designer!” the manager yells with such vehemence that it surely carries well beyond your dressing room.

“I don’t give a fucking damn! There are thousands of models in the world! No one knows, so reply to this email with a fucking refusal!” you yell back just as fiercely. Your usually well-groomed hair is slightly disheveled by a few rebellious strands as agitated as your anger.

There is no way you’re participating in New York Fashion Week or any other event involving Suguru Geto. Not after everything that happened.

Not after he abandoned you.

No.

“But are you aware of what you’re saying—”

“Shut up! If you’re not happy, I’ll quit this damn agency right now! Do you think you’re the only one who wants me? I have hundreds who will be at my feet as soon as I’ll leave!” you spit after a bitter laugh.

Nobara’s soothing hands rest on your shoulders and force you to sit in a chair. Assured that you won’t attempt another assault on the manager, who has turned pale at your declaration, your ginger-haired assistant easily pushes the manager out, whispering to her not to set foot back in here until the refusal is sent to Geto.

She tries to argue one last time, her voice a bit more pleading and less aggressive, but Nobara slams the door in her face. She leans against it, sighs deeply, and closes her eyes for a moment. “Phew…”

As for your own state, ‘fury’ is the perfect adjective. Hair in disarray, cheeks flushed with anger, chest heaving with irregular, harsh breaths, and a vein throbbing along your neck; it’s as if you could turn your dressing room upside down at any moment.

Nobara heads to your automatic water dispenser and pours you a fresh glass. After ensuring you drink every drop, she notices you seem calmer.

Your bloodshot eyes meet her gaze, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll personally make sure everything is sent properly.”

You nod and run a hand over your face to wipe away your overflowing emotions.

It’s crazy how just the mention of that cursed name can set you off. But the final straw was when your manager was informed of Suguru Geto’s request for you to join his models for New York Fashion Week. She insisted relentlessly despite your patience for a no.

She said she didn’t understand.

Of course, no one could understand when no one knew that one of the world’s greatest designers had been your boyfriend before your careers took radically different paths. But how could you explain when he was the one who pushed you to break up with him, leaving you alone, lost, and broken with only an unknown fate to face without anyone’s help?

It was without anyone’s help that you built yourself into who you are today.

Even less your international career.

All the agencies are at your feet, but the only person you wanted to see there wasn’t.

So there was no reason to pay attention.

You will not participate in New York Fashion Week. As long as it involves Suguru Geto, anyway.

°°°°

Mouth agape in shock, Suguru thinks what he sees before him is a prank.

But it’s indeed a clear refusal from the agency you work for.

No, no, no, no, no.

NO.

Suguru storms out of his design office and rushes upstairs to his luxurious bedroom to rummage through his personal belongings. An old photo album is hidden under the piles of clothes in his dresser. He scatters his things carelessly, paying no attention to the mess, and with trembling hands, he drops to his knees, flipping through the album.

On each page, a plastic film covers photos of you and him. One — the most painful — is the first one he took at the beginning of your relationship with him. Both of you standing next to an ice cream vendor, radiant smiles on your faces with sun rays illuminating both your faces, you had your arms around Suguru’s neck. Another one, as he turns the pages. You, lying in his bed one morning. He had taken it the night you had your first time with him. Your figure, which he worships, is covered with his sheets, and your mouth is slightly open as you sleep. A cute little drool escapes from your mouth.

All these photos hold real memories. Proving that nothing was imagined by him when, in his moments of madness, he wondered how he could have ended up here if it all was real. His heart twists in his chest when his eyes catch a photo of him with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and your lips pressed against his cheek. Those flowers were the first Suguru had ever received. He had never received flowers — not even from his own family. You were the very first to give him any.

Suguru pinches his lips, lost in reflections that lead him to check your Instagram page. On your profile, your posts are often collaborations with luxury brands, your body wrapped in fabrics showing your silhouette in its best light, some old videos of you as a child that you wished to share with the world, or random photos of you in pajamas in front of your mirror or with your daily makeup.

He couldn’t help but watch your stories, your posts, your interviews, and your shows in the shadows, never intervening as much in public as in private.

Suguru is obsessed with you.

And he has never stopped being, even after you broke up with him years ago. He never wanted to end things with you.

He pushed you to do it so as not to hurt you more than you would be.

It was when you announced the breakup that he felt all the accumulated resentment he had caused in your heart, and he was nostalgically happy for you.

You no longer had to endure the pain of canceled dates, missed calls, his constant absence.

He knew, at the time, that he was hurting you. He knew you hid your wounds behind forced smiles and excuses you found for his lack of involvement and neglect without him even having to make them when his career started to take off in the fashion world. He understood that he didn’t deserve you.

Yet today, Suguru burns for you.

He is ready to risk his career to find you and seek your forgiveness.

He is ready to lose all his dignity, let you use him like a mere pawn, humiliate him, and break him.

All that, just for you.

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants your forgiveness at all costs.

Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants to redeem himself to you.

Leaving your Instagram page, he opens Twitter and tries to find a way to force your hand to participate with him in New York Fashion Week, to meet him, to allow him to do everything to deserve you again and no longer have any regrets.

He taps the ‘New Tweet’ icon and writes words that may place his reputation on an unsteady platter that could fall at any moment.

°°°°

The grip around your phone threatens to make it explode between your fingers. Your knuckles whiten, your hand trembles, and your eyes burn as you read the few words on a Twitter post where you’ve been tagged. It’s as if this time, you’ll actually turn your dressing room and even your agency’s headquarters upside down.

“@reader’sagency. @reader, would you do me the honor of participating with me as a model at the next New York Fashion Week? :)”

Your eye twitches, and you robotically lift your head toward your assistant. “Nobara, I beg you. Pinch me, hit me, slap me, but tell me this is just a nightmare.”

She looks up from your phone and sighs with a forced smile. “It’s... a nightmare?”

You grab a cushion from your red velvet sofa and bury your face in it to muffle a long scream from the depths of your soul. Nobara chuckles and places a hand on your shoulder. “You can just refuse. I’m sure everything will be fine. A public refusal should calm him down,” she whispers.

“Have you seen the comments, retweets, and reposts?” you murmur in a small voice, your brain numb.

Nobara frowns and shakes her head before taking out her own phone. But you stop her by handing her yours without lifting your face from the cushion. “No... Already? But... He posted it less than twenty-four hours ago!” Nobara breathes out in astonishment, covering her mouth with her hand.

Indeed, even though Geto’s tweet is less than a day old, it hasn’t stopped an overwhelming number of internet users and fans worldwide from reacting strongly to the news. You could very well refuse publicly yourself or through your agency — even humiliate him by posting a screenshot of the initial private request that was rejected, making him look desperate and creepy. But that’s not the issue.

By daring to renew his request publicly as if the previous one never existed, he’s putting your reputation and your fans’ hopes — whom you cherish so much — at risk.

If you refuse, you risk disappointing many and tarnishing your image as an arrogant and condescending supermodel for refusing to participate in such a globally anticipated event with one of the best-known designers in the world — despite the fact that no one knows about your past connection with Geto.

The reactions are so hyped, so excited and amazed at the possibility of you and Geto forming a partnership that would result in something beyond imagination.

Suguru Geto has just forced your hand, hovering a threat over both your career and reputation, as well as his own. But you need to make a decision.

You lift your head from the cushion and take a deep breath to brace yourself for what you’re about to do.

“Nobara?”

°°°°

With one foot in a pair of shiny white stiletto sandals and an outfit of the same color, one of your bodyguards helps you step out of the black sedan with your first step onto the ground. You stand up elegantly, wearing dark sunglasses. You are escorted in front of a huge building — one familiar to you from the pages of fashion magazines you usually read — and the immaculate sliding doors open for you.

You stand in the middle of the enormous hall, head held high and one eyebrow raised. “Weren’t the other models supposed to be here at the specified time?” you ask Nobara, who hurries to join you at your side.

“That’s what the email indicated…” she sighs, busy arranging the white fur draped over your arms, framing your long strapless dress in the same color as your heels — a tribute to Marilyn Monroe. Nobara lifts her head with a worried frown. “He couldn’t have stood us up or changed the address at the last minute—”

A confident and cheerful female voice calls your name. In a synchronized movement, you and your assistant turn toward an elevator entrance where a fairly tall woman with a slender and elegant figure, dressed in a long sleeveless Byzantine purple dress, stands. Your two bodyguards follow you and Nobara to join the woman, but she raises a firm hand.

“Your assistant will suffice.” She smiles professionally, and you nod, entering the elevator with the other two women. Like Nobara, she holds a clipboard against her chest and almost looks at you with admiration. “It’s an honor to meet you in person.”

You offer her a polite half-smile, and the elevator begins to climb its endless floors.

“My name is Manami Suda, Suguru Geto’s personal assistant and one of his executives,” she continues, glancing at Nobara. “And you are?”

“Nobara Kugisaki, her personal assistant,” Nobara replies with equal seriousness, and a hint of pride fills your chest. “But since you are Mr. Geto’s assistant, that answers our question. Why are we the only ones to arrive at the agency on time? Where are the other models?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, skeptically.

A small chime announces the arrival at the very top floor, and the doors open to let the three of you out.

Manami doesn’t lose her smile and leads the way down a corridor with an immaculate gray carpet. Her black heels make muffled sounds with each step until reaching a door where she knocks three times. “Everything will be explained by Mr. Geto himself,” she assures, opening the door after a ‘come in’ is heard from the other side.

The voice, though muffled by the door, is easily recognizable. A bitter pang grips your heart, but you shake it off within seconds with a blink.

Manami steps aside and introduces you as you enter.

At the back of the office stands a black swivel chair facing away from you — masking the already known identity of the owner and adding palpable tension.

Manami discreetly leaves, closing the door silently, leaving you to face one of your worst nightmares. The chair turns to face you and Nobara, and the face of Japan’s most popular designer and couturier lays his dark eyes on you.

You remain secretly frozen a few meters away, back to the door, your eyes coldly staring at your ex.

Suguru Geto has always had a reputation for being a man of style, in his behavior, his language, and his way of dressing. While the basic suit he wears contrasts with the extravagant outfits that the wealthiest designers can afford — in this field, they are certainly experts, and some can wear clothes as expensive as the series of Picasso’s “Les Femmes d’Alger” paintings — his perfectly sculpted body and charm embellish the slightest thing he wears, even if it was straight from an old supermarket. But if there’s one prominent feature of his face that can match his advantageous physique (his body), it’s his hair. Being a chic, elegant, and refined man, Suguru is also known for his iconic long raven hair. With strands cascading down his back and bangs framing his temple, the half-bun at the back of his head has always earned him numerous compliments and collaborations with the most well-known brands for their haircare products.

Suguru’s piercing eyes narrow as his lips stretch into a smile. Your name rolling off his tongue gives you goosebumps. “Welcome. Please, have a seat.” With a broad gesture of his hand, he indicates two cocoa-colored leather chairs at the end of a ridiculously long glass table.

You take a seat without looking at Suguru at first, and Nobara seems to read your thoughts as she immediately asks, “Where are the other models?”

Suguru places his forearms on the table in a measured gesture, but as he responds, his gaze never leaves yours. “None are at this agency, it seems.” And it all feels as if asking such a question is stupid.

“That’s what was written in the email,” you reply in a dry voice.

“That’s what was written in the email,” Suguru confirms with a strange softness. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? If I hadn’t said that, you would have refused the meeting.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Suguru’s smile widens even more as he continues, “Aren’t you happy to see me again?” And for a nanosecond, you thought you saw his irises darken.

Nobara alternates her gaze between you and Suguru, completely lost.

“Mr. Geto,” your tongue clicks against your palate, “I came here to discuss the initial progress of the collection you will present at New York Fashion Week. Nothing else.” You pause. “If it’s for any other subject, please address my manager, and I can leave right now.” Your frozen facial mask doesn’t falter at all.

“Awwww… You’re breaking my little heart, love—”

“Enough.”

Nobara looks dubious. “You… you already know each other?”

“We…” You pause, torn between the idea of confessing everything to Nobara or pretending nothing happened. “In the past. Before we became known,” you reluctantly admit. “But it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to do with anyone now.”

Suguru’s gaze darkens and never leaves yours. Yet, he doesn’t say a word, and an uncomfortable silence sets in.

Nobara decides to break it by clearing her throat and speaking again. “I— I see. I won’t say a word,” she murmurs.

You sigh and straighten slightly in your seat. “Fine. Let’s discuss the proposed theme.”

Suguru’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows, and during the next half-hour, neither of you brings up your past relationship with Suguru again. The choice of the leading model was quickly settled on being you — because among all the proposals from partner agencies, no other model in Japan reaches your level of fame.

Suguru also doesn’t waste time revealing that he has selected very few models since the theme announcement. The delay will potentially impact the preparation and organization for New York Fashion Week, but he hasn’t bothered to explain why. He simply asked for your help with the rest of the selection.

You hesitated before accepting, finding it strange that someone like him is so behind. But how could you know that you are Suguru’s muse — his source of inspiration, the purpose of his existence? He is much more confident than a few weeks ago since he finally saw you again and ensured you decided to work by his side. It’s only a matter of time before you settle the score with the low blow he dealt you — something impossible to do with witnesses like Nobara around.

The agreements also included a trip from Tokyo to New York. The group will be accommodated in a secure, comfortable, and luxurious hotel until Fashion Week ends and preparations allow access to dressing rooms for each model.

This means being much closer to Suguru than expected...

°°°°

“What do you think?”

“I’m not a stylist.”

“That’s true; you’re more than that.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on… Don’t be so rude! I need your help!” Suguru grins, and you roll your eyes, noting the name of a model who just walked past.

On the runway where hundreds and hundreds of models from all over the world are parading, you, along with Suguru — much to your dismay — are perched on a high platform giving a panoramic view of each model. Of course, he had to move his two-seater table just to spend time with you — a detail he didn’t hesitate to hide from you. What’s the point? he muses with amusement, glancing at you; from the side, he gets a view of your hair falling like a curtain along your cheeks, your nose bent over your clipboard as you jot down names of models that would be interesting to keep for Fashion Week. This poses no problem in itself, especially for an event like this.

If only your partner wasn’t Suguru Geto.

Ugh.

“Help you? While I’m the only one noting names while you harass me with your pathetic attempts at conversation? Don’t pretend to ask my opinion when you’ve barely looked at more than ten models,” you retort irritably. The ballpoint pen rolls over the paper with obvious frenzy.

“‘Harass’ is a bit harsh,” Suguru comments, his lips pursed in a mockingly offended pout — just to hide his predatory smile. “I’d say I’m trying to have a conversation — something you, let’s be honest, avoid like the plague.” A smile curves his thin lips. “And then, why bother looking at what doesn’t interest me when I already have what I want. I’ve never bitten, you know,” he whispers, his eyes softened by a tenderness he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“You don’t have me,” you respond immediately. You raise your eyebrows and, without looking at him, you continue, “Oh really? You do have quite a resemblance to dogs,” You wrinkle your nose to sneer mockingly as he takes offense. It’s strange because you haven’t laughed in front of Suguru for years. But as expected, the laugh is not joyful; on the contrary, it’s meant to hurt him because you still can’t stand his presence — even less when it’s forced.

“Hey! You’re insulting me!” he frowns and wipes away a laugh. Suguru shakes his head and sighs. “How cruel.”

Your lips turn downwards, and you roll your eyes yet again (you could have won an award for the record number of eye rolls in such a short time). Ignoring the feeling of vice and hatred gnawing at your heart, you refocus on the runway several meters below. The blinding spotlights brilliantly illuminate all these models eager to participate in the highly anticipated Fashion Week alongside Suguru Geto, the internationally renowned stylist, and you, a supermodel equally famous — while you both are plunged into the shadows of the upper floor that looks more like a hallway where stage technicians usually come to secure and manipulate high-up equipment, rather than anything else. Especially when the provided table is just foldable wood and almost fragile to abrupt movements.

Your eye catches a rather tall model with long ebony hair and golden, radiant skin. Her silhouette seems almost ethereal, and it’s at this moment that you don’t regret for a single second having taken your life into your own hands when you were alone just to admire the beauty of all these women of various beauties, shapes, and ages. The female body is beautiful.

No, magnificent.

“That one…” you murmur, noting the candidate’s name announced by Manami below. You bite your lower lip in a concentration tic. “She’s perfect. We’ll keep her for later.”

Suguru nods, but his gaze hasn’t once rested on the model whose name you just mentioned. His irises don’t leave your features, which he has missed so much, especially at this distance. “Hmm…” he hums simply. He gets lost in his contemplation.

You haven’t changed a bit.

Even if your hair is styled differently, your makeup meticulously done, and your chic and luxurious fashion sense, to Suguru, you left him in the same state you are now. He knows your body by heart — not thanks to the photos he kept of you — but because your existence has marked his so much that your simple face is forever etched in his retina.

When Suguru says he is obsessed with you, he goes to the end of his words.

Of course, he regrets his past actions and seeks the right moment to ask for your forgiveness, but he couldn’t hold back.

It was stronger than him.

°°°°

In the spacious studio typically reserved for smaller fashion shows (the irony noted), today it is being used to give Suguru a first taste of what his final troupe was proposing. With your help, Suguru has finally moved on to the next stage just before the outfit creations begin.

Manami, who is backstage, is managing the music and the secondary effects. She sends a message to Suguru to indicate that the line of models can begin their walk before returning from the runway.

The music starts with a rhythmic tempo suited to the steps the models are to take. You are the last to go, which annoys you immensely. Your supermodel status is far more valuable than that of a mere model. Every aspect of your profession is a relentless effort; so seeing these poor models advance with such banal and mediocre strides makes you want to vomit.

Did you accept this for that?

Already, you’ve had to endure disdainful looks from the other models in the group regarding your popularity. It’s quite audacious for them to act so confident when their steps resemble those of a penguin, you can’t help but ponder.

When it’s finally your turn, you waste no time.

The music resumes, and you begin your first steps with a feline grace, almost silently gliding down the runway. Your high heels strike the ground with a hypnotic regularity, syncing with the pulsing beat of the music and its rhythmic cadence: a perfect synchronization. Each step is a demonstration of confidence and control, shoulders straight, chin slightly lifted, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Each step brings a breeze that lightly lifts your hair from your face, like a halo enhancing your display worthy of a true model. At the end of the runway, you pause gracefully before turning on your heels with impeccable precision.

As you return, it’s even more captivating as you continue to walk with palpable assurance, your hips swaying slightly, capturing everyone’s attention.

Your turn finally ends, and the desired effect has certainly been achieved: everyone’s eyes have been glued to you from start to finish. You also didn’t miss Suguru’s gaze fixated on you, his lips parted in captivation. This, of course, earns you the disdainful looks of the other models in the troupe, but a triumphant smile adorns the curve of your lips.

This is what it means to be a model.

“Very well, very well! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your very pleasant and… captivating performances,” Suguru announces energetically, standing in front of his chair with his arms open towards his official troupe.

Unsurprisingly, his gaze does not leave you and remains fixed on your silhouette as you move towards the backstage, back to him.

°°°°

You knock on the door, and Suguru’s muffled voice invites you in.

For a stylist and designer as popular as he is, Suguru’s sewing workshop is… more unconventional than you would have thought.

Indeed, several spacious tables are littered with sketch sheets—some colorful—fabrics of all colors, lengths, and textures. Crafting materials are scattered here and there, cluttering the passage along with open boxes on the floor, making it nearly impossible to take a step without brushing against piles of stuff that threaten to collapse. But at least the workshop isn’t filthy and retains the same aesthetic touch you’d find in TV shows or fashion serials.

At the far end of the room, a single chair is occupied by Suguru, who is sitting with his back to you. Hearing your approach, he turns towards you, his eyes fixed on a bright yellow measuring tape and a metallic needle wedged between his teeth, with a fuchsia pink thread running through the tip.

“Come closer,” he murmurs, moving towards you with the help of the wheels on his chair.

Feeling self-conscious, you take another step closer, and when he lifts his eyes to you, it feels as if you are naked before him: less than a step away, you are wearing a delicate sport bra that barely covers your chest, dreading any shiver that might reveal hardened nipples, along with a pair of equally revealing bicycle shorts in the same color. You had insisted to Manami on a firm refusal to wear any underwear in front of Suguru, without providing a reason.

Even though he has seen far more intimate parts of your body before, the current situation with him challenges everything.

A faint blush colors your cheeks, and without a word, Suguru extends his arms, his long, slender, pale fingers wrapping the measuring tape around your waist first. You can’t gauge the meaning of his gaze. How is he reacting internally right now?

But his mischievous remark answers you the moment after, “You okay? Are you still breathing?” The sarcastic tone immediately irritates you.

“And you’re taking the opportunity to enjoy the view, aren’t you?” you retort venomously. You’re about to continue spewing your hatred towards him when his hands gently — but with some firmness — grasp your hips and make you turn around. You stifle a moan at his touch, which sends a shiver through your body and, as you feared, your nipples harden. You step away from him abruptly when his breath grazes your side. “What are you doing?” you ask sharply, your arms futilely trying to cover your chest.

Suguru sighs. “Are you done acting like a kid?” He grabs you by the elbows and forces you to turn your back to him. He wraps the measuring tape around you again. “So no, I’m not enjoying the view, I’m doing my job.” He kneels to measure your hips, and with a glance downward, you see his amused smile. “You should have refused to work with me if it bothers you so much to be measured.”

“Ah, as if I had a choice?” you retort abruptly.

“You did,” he whispers as he stands up, brushing your hair away from your back, and for a moment, his warm breath caresses your shoulders. All you want right now is for him to place a tender kiss on the side of your neck, but the resentment towards him always takes over.

“No, you know that’s not true.” Your tone is harsh as a whip. “By the way, have all the other models been through here? I saw assistants with all this gear. Why am I the only one alone with you?”

Suguru grins. “The others went through with my assistants,” he replies with a chuckle before taking your bust measurements. “You’re the first I’m measuring, and the only one.”

“What game are you playing?” you murmur after a pause.

“None.”

He continues with the rest of your measurements — bust, thighs, legs, and finally arms. During this part, he takes an unusually long time to scrutinize you, and his head tilted close to your skin makes your heart race uncontrollably.

The final straw is when his lips accidentally brush against your arm.

“Stop that,” you warn him all of a sudden, stepping back. Your furious gaze seems to want to kill Suguru on the spot, and he loses his smile.

“I—”

“Stop pretending to be clueless, Geto.”

He already knows it will be hard to win you back, especially with this reaction he had long feared. But it had to explode sooner or later.

“If you think I’ve forgotten the past, you’re deluding yourself. The jerk you were is still the same in my eyes,” you seethe.

Suguru takes a step towards you in an attempt to beg you not to avoid him as you continue to back away. He murmurs your name in a plea. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I did all this for you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to refuse a second time with—”

“I don’t want you to try to make up for it, not after all these years. Is that really why you asked me to come back? Because I’ve reached your level of popularity? My money? My body?” Your throat tightens further, and you squint your eyes to hold back your tears. “I will never forgive you, Suguru. I’m no longer the naive girlfriend who waits like a fool for someone who didn’t give a damn about her!”

“I— It wasn’t— Please, let me explain… I still love you as much as I did before, and I know I’ve been unworthy of everything you’ve put up with for me, but—”

You bitterly laugh in his face. “Liar! You’re lying, and you always have, even when you said you loved me! Your babble about what you were and what you are now is just the typical crap an toxic ex says when they want to win someone back. Did I really have a choice to come back to you? Do you think it’s a good method?”

With those words, you turn around and walk away towards the workshop door.

Suguru’s heart screams at him to follow you and beg on his knees for you to listen, but he knows your stubborn temperament. The only words that come from his mouth after his first failure are enough for him to know you’ve heard them, even as you fling the door open and rush out.

He knows you heard him.

“You will always have a choice with me.”

°°°°

“What do you mean, ‘the camera isn’t working’?” Suguru thundered with severity.

The entire group waiting for the final shoot (including you) turns towards the back of the studio to face a visibly agitated Suguru. He is handling the camera in every direction and then turns towards you.

You’re ready, dressed in the latest collection from the luxury brand you’re working with for Suguru’s troupe’s Fashion Week. There’s no problem on your end.

So why is he talking about a camera that isn’t working?

Especially when it’s your turn?

You take a hesitant step towards him, and Manami quickly avoids your questioning gaze, stepping away from her superior.

A few other models follow you, whispering incomprehensible things not far away to your ears, but all you care about is hoping you’ve misunderstood something.

“Find me another camera,” Suguru orders, violently throwing the one he had against a wall. The sound of metal shattering on the floor startles everyone.

Manami follows him out of the studio at a brisk pace. “Wait! Mr. Geto! Did you forget that this isn’t our studio? It’s the only camera we were able to borrow!”

“SO?” Suguru retorts acridly. “She’ll be the only one not photographed while she’s the star of MY troupe?” His tone rises significantly towards Manami. But he doesn’t spare a glance at you, even as everyone listens to their conversation intently. “Don’t forget that tonight the magazines will be prepared, and we won’t be here but at Gojo’s reception!”

All the other models turn to you in unison, watching you with astonishment.

“Too bad, I’m sorry but she won’t be in it!” Manami resigns with an even tone. “We need to leave in an hour, and the reception starts then!”

“Absolutely not! Find me a fucking camera so she’s in the magazine for tomorrow!” With those final words, Suguru opens the studio door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him with a loud bang.

Silence envelops the room, and you find yourself at a loss for words, your lips sealed and your voice stuck in your throat.

Manami sighs and finally turns to you, her face showing sincere regret. “I’m sorry… I know it’s really unfair, but I think you won’t be in the promotional magazine for the brand partnering with us…”

“I—” Your face falls completely, and you look in dismay at the broken camera on the floor from a few minutes ago.

“I’m truly sorry…” Manami murmurs, lowering her head in genuine remorse.

A few hours later, you’ve resigned yourself as well. The luxury brand partnering with Suguru’s agency had lent outfits from their latest collection for advertisement in fashion magazines. The models and the brand were to be highlighted, but this preview was unfortunately ruined by the delay caused by Suguru, who couldn’t complete the photo shoot in his own studio. On the same day — at a time too close to the reception hosted by his friend-rival Satoru Gojo, a stylist of equal renown—the weather and equipment decided to turn against you.

According to Manami, the camera borrowed from a nearby photo studio was sabotaged right after photographing all the other models. So, despite your star model status, you won’t appear in the magazine coming out. The lack of time also prevented photographers, as well as Manami and Suguru, from finding another camera in time, as everything was prepared at the last minute.

Your troupe isn’t the only one participating. Those of other stylists — like Gojo, for example — will also be featured in a fashion magazine with their partner brand and all their models. The shame will fall upon you as the one not included.

And it will be a scandal — you couldn't make it up.

But Nobara has been far more helpful than you would have thought. She learned the news that evening while helping you prepare in your dressing room for Gojo’s reception and was outraged by the situation. Most of all, she was scandalized to learn that someone had attempted to sabotage your photo shoot.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name rolls off Satoru Gojo’s tongue as he bows respectfully and takes your hand, brushing his pink, thin lips against it.

“Likewise.”

Your raise eyebrow and small, sly smile don’t escape him, and he responds with a laugh that makes your heart flutter. Through his signature round sunglasses — Gojo’s trademark — his cerulean eyes sparkle with mischief. He gives you a wink, then releases your hand and offers you his arm. You take it without hesitation, appreciating the touch of a man like him.

The reception hall is packed with models and stylists; some are Japanese, while others come from different corners of the world, ‘passing through’ before heading back to New York. Indeed, the trip is fast approaching, and this evening is one of the last things you’ll need to face before traveling to the other side of the world.

Chandeliers light up the marble floor with tiny reflections that resemble stars. Tables lined against the walls overflow with dishes and canapés — along with chocolate fountains and desserts. Small groups are gathered in every corner of the room, and the dance floor is filled with couples or partners dancing amidst the exceptionally chic ambiance.

“I’m meeting you in the flesh,” Gojo murmurs, casting a flirtatious glance at you. This man has always had the reputation of being exceedingly handsome and tall. Today, you confirm it.

In his immaculate tuxedo, Satoru Gojo walks with you through the room, maintaining a perfect conversation without awkward pauses or questionable vibes. He is exquisite, charming: everything a woman could dream of.

“Few people get to meet you up close,” you add with a light giggle. You adjust your hold on his arm and look up at him. “I heard you’re also participating in the New York Fashion Week.”

“Indeed.” He takes a glass of champagne and hands it to you. “It would have been a pleasure to work with you, though,” he murmurs with a wry smile.

“I would have loved that.” Your gaze sweeps across the room as you take a sip of champagne. “It’s a shame I went with Mr. Geto.”

“Oh yes, Suguru. My eternal rival. I was surprised by that Twitter post. A model like you… should be among the best, and unfortunately, Suguru is one of them.”

“Do you think so, Mr. Gojo?”

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer as he stops near a table with canapés, not far from a window. “Call me Satoru,” he says, looking at you over his sunglasses and taking a mini macaron.

You pick up one as well, and Suguru’s figure passes by you, too quickly for you to understand what’s happening but close enough to notice his gaze on you and Satoru.

“Would you be interested in working on a future collection with me after Fashion Week?” Satoru asks, his attention completely focused on you.

Your blood rushes in your ears as you feel his breath on your lips and you hold back the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“With pleasure, Satoru,” you respond with a smile as playful as his.

“Perfect.” His face lights up, and he is about to say something when he is interrupted by a trio of models approaching you.

“Excuse us, Mr. Gojo,” one of them coos with a sugary voice, batting her eyelashes.

“Can this wait?” He rolls his eyes without any shame. “I’m busy.” He pulls you closer to him with a firmer, more possessive embrace.

Without wasting any time, he takes you out of the reception hall, where a few people are lingering and chatting in a slightly more intimate setting. Thick crimson velvet curtains adorn the various entrances, and Satoru leads you further in.

Your cheeks flush in reaction to the pleasant situation you’re in. Your mind even begins to compare him to Suguru...

“Have I told you how beautiful you are, especially in that dress?” Satoru whispers near your ear, his voice low and warm.

“No,” you murmur, dazed by his hand resting on your lower back, his thumb making gentle circles.

Satoru leans in and his lips brush against yours. “May I?”

You nod, aware of what’s to come as his lips slowly capture yours in a soft, needy kiss. Your lips respond immediately, and Satoru’s two hands join behind your back to guide you into a room that looks like a luxurious bedroom.

Without breaking the kiss with its wet sounds, your back meets the soft surface of a mattress, and you’re already panting. You know that with him, you won’t regret doing anything.

Satoru’s heavy breathing moves away from your pink, swollen lips to approach your bare collarbone and kiss it with those same lips. With his hand gently caressing the back of your thigh, which you lift and drape around his waist, Satoru uses his nimble fingers to slide down the thin strap of your dress. Your chest rises and falls with the sensual tension descending upon you. Your fingers help him lower your dress, first revealing your bare breasts, and a flush colors your face.

“Beautiful, sweetheart,” he purrs in your ear, taking pleasure in depositing a line of soft, affectionate kisses along your neck and down to your chest. Satoru stretches his lips into a smile against your skin and lightly touches the swell of your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

A moan escapes you, and you arch your hips to rub against him desperately. His bulge becomes more prominent and presses against your own underwear, adding friction that makes your core sensitive. “Satoru…” you pant softly, stroking his snow-white hair as he lavishes your breasts with wet kisses. “More…”

He grins and returns to your lips, whispering “Adorable…” while sliding your dress down further.

But the door to the room suddenly opens, revealing a frozen Suguru standing before the scene. You and Satoru immediately turn your heads toward the intruder and pull away from each other abruptly.

But it’s already too late, as neither of you have time to say a word before Suguru turns and leaves as quickly as he arrived, his face as pale as a sheet.

An unusual pang tightens in your chest, and you sit up from the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. But why? Why feel this way?

You sigh, and Satoru shakes his head. “He won’t say anything,” he reassures you, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.

You don’t push him away, but he understands that you wouldn’t want to go any further with him tonight.

°°°°

“Here… Lift your chin…” Suguru takes a photo with a sharp click. “Perfect…” he murmurs to himself, his tone filled with admiration.

Sitting on the floor of Suguru’s photography studio in yet another outfit from the luxury brand partner, you give him a profile shot, your chin lifted in a dreamlike expression of devotion. For another photo, you lie on your side, your eyes fixed directly on the lens.

Suguru, for his part, doesn’t hesitate to give his best effort to capture the most beautiful photos he’s ever taken in his career. He insisted on handling it personally — despite what happened less than two days ago at Satoru’s reception. He even came up with an idea to make up for the consequences of his delay with the magazine published for all the participating Fashion Week troupes in New York. The scandal over your absence, despite being one of the featured models, had shaken most social media, and indeed, enough for Suguru to come up with a plan that would do justice to you.

What better way than to discuss with the luxury brand partner to release an entire magazine featuring you as the sole model? You would showcase the clothes that weren’t worn due to the lack of time. The success and attention would be all focused on you — spotlights fixed on you.

Because you deserve it.

No matter how long it takes Suguru.

He vowed to do everything to make amends.

So that’s why you find yourself alone in the studio with him, posing in outfits that shake him so much that he’s suggested taking a break twice to calm his trembling hands.

Two days later, the magazine is finally out, with you as the star, once again shaking up social media and causing a wave of appreciation from fans. At your finest, every page shows only you.

You, the heart’s desire of Suguru Geto.

“Have you seen the reactions?” Suguru asks as he approaches you while you’re busy admiring the sky and the skyscrapers from one of the agency’s balconies. Suguru slides the glass door closed and joins you. “Am I bothering you?”

You sigh.

“Come on, at least thank me for doing such a good job. You look stunning in all the photos.” He has a smirk and nudges you in the ribs as he leans his forearms on the glass railing. “And you always have been.”

You give a subtle smile but don’t immediately respond. You leave a small silence between the two of you. For the first time in years, Suguru’s presence doesn’t bother you as much.

“Thanks, I suppose,” you murmur. Without looking at him, you continue, “It’s nice of you to do this.”

“I did it for you,” Suguru breathes, his heart tight.

You nod. Lately, it feels like you don’t quite know how to react. All these compliments, the fact that he hasn’t changed his behavior after catching you with Satoru (he’s even become even more gentle)... It’s a lot to take in.

You eventually clear your throat. “Well, I think—”

“Wait.” He turns his head toward you. “Please.”

The note of pleading is the only detail that brings your feet back to the railing.

He lets a light silence linger, not saying a word. A breeze brushes both your faces, like cool water on a tired face.

Perhaps it’s this that makes Suguru speak up, saying your name.

“You’ve become someone since then,” he whispers with a faint smile. “I’m proud of you.” And oh, how you wish you could erase the blush spreading across your cheeks! “I don’t want to pretend like nothing happened anymore.” He turns fully toward you, the wind whipping his long raven hair and his obsidian eyes scrutinizing you. “I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve never forgotten you, actually.”

His sudden declaration catches you off guard. Why is he saying this? You already knew it. And your behavior towards him gives an unspoken response. You simply turn your head towards him without moving your body, with a forced nonchalance. He mustn’t see what he still evokes in you after all these years.

“Not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I know I hurt you, and coming back now is probably not the best way — especially after I pushed you away.” He takes a step towards you. “And I want to win you back.” You prepare to retort, eyes narrowing, but he cuts you off immediately. “I know. And it’s not because you’ve become a famous model. Far from it.”

He repeats your name once again.

But this time, his tone is different.

His voice returns to what it was so long ago. The voice he used to whisper in your ear in bed, when you were standing in a supermarket line, and on the phone.

The thorny brambles of your heart wrap painfully around you, reminding you of what he became later.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Your lips press together, and you start to pull away from the glass railing.

“Give me a second chance, I—”

“No. There’s no point.”

Your steps move closer to the glass door, but Suguru grabs your hand.

“Please, let me at least explain—”

And your hand tears away from his grasp with an insensitivity hidden beneath its opposite in your heart. “We were perfect, Geto. Incredibly perfect. But now, I really wonder if you ever truly loved me,” you admit without any warmth.

“I did, and I still—”

“No. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been increasingly distant, avoiding our dates as your career took up more and more of your life.” You take a trembling breath meant to chase away the tears from your eyes, but it’s in vain. Your voice quivers. “At least you didn’t give up on your dreams for someone. Even less for love. And for a love that only brought you pain after it left you…”

“Love,” Suguru pleads in a heart-wrenching whisper. He takes another step towards you, arms outstretched, but you shake your head.

“But at least, I can thank you for what I’ve become today. I’ve become the person that little me always dreamed of being. Thanks to your departure from my life.”

The words slap and scratch him violently.

You turn on your heels and open the glass door, casting one last glance back at him, tears streaming down your face, smearing your mascara.

“So don’t ruin it all.”

°°°°

As scheduled, the private jet successfully dropped Suguru’s entire troupe at a New York airport less than a week before Fashion Week, where a luxurious van awaited your arrival. As soon as you stepped inside, fuchsia purple LEDs assaulted your eyes, and a multitude of leather seats were lined against the vehicle’s walls. At the very back, there was a mini-bar stocked with alcoholic beverages and spaces near the seats featuring multifunctional drawers: a retractable coffee machine, a selection of accessories and makeup products, as well as blankets, sleep masks, and other handy items. Near the driver, who greeted the troupe with a nod, a tablet fixed to the wall allowed you to change the background music at will.

Without delay, everyone rushed to the seats and chatted merrily over drinks and snacks as the journey finally began. All the models’ assistants were allowed to join the trip, which meant you found yourself laughing with Nobara about the different shades of blush provided in one of the drawers.

She took out her phone and suggested doing an Instagram story, which you accepted without hesitation. You were soon joined by the others, and a group photo was taken by Suguru. To your great surprise, you participated with a small pose. It was also posted on Suguru’s agency’s Instagram, and Nobara quickly showed you the reactions. For the past three weeks, she has almost been gushing on your behalf over the wave of positive responses you received following your appearance in the latest leading fashion magazine in the United States — even despite the success that Satoru Gojo’s own troupe has also enjoyed.

But it has also been three weeks since you last spoke to Suguru following your conversation with him. Throughout the journey to the hotel — where you will stay with your troupe for the rest of Fashion Week until its end — you couldn’t help but have unintentional eye contact. Fortunately for you, he didn’t make any attempts, and somehow, you would have liked to have Suguru in your life once more — just one last time.

But your bitter past with him still haunts your dreams, so that’s out of the question.

A few hours later, the van drops the troupe off in front of the famous hotel, but to everyone’s great surprise, a crowd is packed around the entrance. Security is pushing back some people protesting that they’ve been queuing for hours, and Suguru steps outside to observe what’s happening.

“They were right. The hotel is packed.” Of course, all due to Fashion Week taking place just a few kilometers away. Celebrities, high society, and tourists alike, the gigantic hotel promises not to be easy for the model troupe and Suguru himself. He signals the driver, who contacts security agents and bodyguards via his walkie-talkie to approach the van so that the troupe can either queue or simply navigate through the crowd.

So, with further delays and heightened security, a decision was made regarding the group: it was divided into several smaller groups so everyone could pass without issues. Some models have already gone to the reception and are enjoying their rooms, while you find yourself paired with…

…Suguru.

And last in line.

Neither of you speaks a word, and you are engrossed in your phone, trying your best to ignore him. On the other side, your assistant with ginger hair, Nobara, has asked if it bothers you that she takes a trip to do some shopping in New York— a rare opportunity for the young woman. How could you refuse her? How could you say that you don’t want to be alone with Suguru, even if it’s for the sake of organization? Being stuck in a line with him is uncomfortable?

You finally sigh in relief when your turn comes after forty minutes of waiting while other customers check in.

Bodyguards step aside, both of your luggage in their arms, waiting for a word from you.

The receptionist clears her throat and squints at the screen of his computer. “I apologize, but... I think there’s a reservation issue with your rooms.”

“What do you mean?” Suguru and you ask in unison.

“Um... There’s only one room reserved for both of you.”

The response hits your ears like thunder. You blink, the embarrassment of the situation rising to your cheeks. You don’t even dare to glance at Suguru. “Then book me another room,” you request in a measured tone.

The receptionist discreetly elbows her colleague, who looks up at you. “I— Miss, you are the last guest with Mr. Geto for the coming weeks, and there are no more rooms available…”

For the next five minutes, you try every possible way to avoid being alone in a single room with Suguru. But it’s in vain, as you end up in the infamous room with the receptionists offering a myriad of apologies, blaming their oversight regarding the reservation.

In the room, you stand, boiling with anger as the bodyguards set down your luggage and leave. One of the women tries to divert your attention from your ready-to-explode gaze by pointing out an undisturbed sofa — of course — where one of you might sleep.

But a single glance is enough to see that even your own feet wouldn’t rest on it. The receptionists leave the room in their little heels, and you sit on the firm sofa. You grimace and massage your temples while Suguru has not said a word since entering the room.

He takes a few steps towards the bed and places a hand on the mattress, so soft and comfortable that his fingers almost sink into it. “You can take the bed if you want,” Suguru offers with a calm and kindness that makes you grit your teeth. “I can take the sofa.”

Your body is in such turmoil that if you stay one more second in the room with him, you might explode — literally. So, you don’t respond and rush to your luggage, driven by the need for space. You pull out some comfortable clothes and retreat to the bathroom.

A small sigh of exasperation from the main room still reaches your ears.

You lock yourself in and collapse on the floor, groaning with frustration.

Damn it.

Why does this only happen to you?

If a shower seems to have calmed your nerves a bit, you would have preferred not to have decided to shower right away because, barely dressed in a loose t-shirt and pajama shorts, hotel staff members are gathered around the sofa and start carrying it out of the room.

In shock at the realization of the situation, you call out to them. “Hey! We need that sofa!”

One of them turns his head towards you nonchalantly. “There’s been another reservation issue. We need this sofa for others in a much more urgent situation than yours, miss.” He adjusts his hat as a gesture of apology and leaves the room as if nothing happened, taking with him the only thing that provided a slim chance of escape — however slim — to avoid Suguru.

Suguru stands there, arms hanging, too stunned by what’s happening to react. He blinks several times without saying a word.

This is all just a nightmare.

°°°°

“I’m not going to break my back sleeping on the floor, and neither will you. Or is that what you want?” Suguru nearly barks as he slips under the covers.

“There’s no way I’m sharing a bed with you!” you retort in the same tone, arms crossed over your chest.

“Stop being so prissy for two minutes, will you? It’s not like we haven’t done this thousands of times before.” He rolls his eyes and finally lies down.

The comment hits your chest like a sharp arrow. The already horrifically awkward situation combined with Suguru’s reasonable demeanor, which only seems to make things worse, makes you look simply ridiculous for not cooperating out of pride.

So, you find yourself under the covers, forcing as much space as possible between you and Suguru, trying to stay as far away as you can. Both of you have turned your backs to each other, nerves too frayed to say anything without igniting yet another argument.

But Suguru closes his eyes with a smile on his lips that night, noting in the back of his mind to thank Nobara as soon as he has the chance for agreeing to his ridiculous plan of deliberately booking a single room for both of you.

°°°°

That night, your sleep is much more restless than usual. You have sleep troubles, but this night they seem to intensify despite your peaceful breathing, which Suguru uses as a lullaby to fall asleep. You toss and turn from time to time, with your leg carelessly hanging out of the bed or an arm too close to him. A dangerous position where you might easily slip off and fall.

When Suguru feels the sheets pulling away from him as he’s about to fall asleep, he turns around and catches you just before you fall. With a pounding heart, he pulls you a little closer to him and finally lets you go.

Unaware in your sleep, you roll towards him and your fingers cling almost desperately to his t-shirt. He freezes and doesn’t dare move, hoping you won’t wake up so he can extricate himself from the embrace you’ve claimed. Your arms drape around his shoulders and your legs seek to wrap around him like a koala.

“Sugu…” you murmur in your sleep. Your face contorts into a small frown.

His nickname is a purr to him. He’s tempted to push you away, but your slight frown, seeking comfort, makes him relent, and he holds you completely in his arms. Your nose nestles into the crook of his neck and you hum before letting out a small snore.

Maybe Suguru is dreaming — amidst the dim light of the room and your two blurred bodies. Nevertheless, he rocks you gently in his arms, holding the most precious thing to him close.

°°°°

Your dream continues where you’re alone, nestled in your bed — yes, it must be that. Finding yourself in the same bed as your ex is just a nightmare.

Or maybe a dream.

Warm, sweet whispers envelop you in a comforting embrace.

“Forgive me, love. I’m sorry… I love you so much.”

These distant words soothe you enough when your sleep is half-awake, with Suguru’s body and voice surrounding you. You should push him away, but everything around you feels so dreamlike. So why not give in for once when you can’t in real life? After all, it’s just a dream for one night.

Nothing can happen to you.

Especially at a moment when your heart wants to accept these pleading whispers of forgiveness that will probably never happen in real life.

°°°°

A warm ray of sunlight tickles your cheek, and you hum as you bury your head against something firm and comfortable that envelops you. Arms rub your back, and you smile, deciding to give in to the warm embrace. Something places a gentle kiss on your temple, encouraging you to stay in bed a little longer.

Before a knock at the door jolts you from your comfort.

Nobara’s voice is heard from the other side. “Are you awake?” she asks out loud. “Almost everyone is already ready!”

You open your eyes at the same time as Suguru, and your noses almost touch. It’s a close call not to scream and almost jump out of your spot. Dazed and still groggy from sleep, neither of you says a word, only muttering a few curses about the alarm not going off.

You rush to do your makeup and put on your outfit, as by 11 a.m., at the very place where the last preparations for the show will be made, hundreds of fans, journalists, and paparazzi will be lined up behind barriers or security ropes, shouting for autographs or even a smile. So there’s no time to waste; you need to cover your tomato-red complexion with foundation.

Downstairs in the hotel, the rest of the crew is waiting for both of you, and others arrive at the last minute — some even with their poodles. To your great relief, no one seems to suspect anything about Suguru, whom you carefully avoid even after arriving at the Fashion Week preparation area.

As you step out of the black sedan, piercing fan screams ring out, eagerly waiting for you to approach them: banners with names written in capital letters, notebooks, and hands outstretched almost desperately.

On the red carpet and under the bright morning sun, female fans call out your name, and you turn with a smile to approach them behind the security barrier. You spend about ten minutes taking selfies and signing autographs with the rest of the crew until one girl, after you’ve signed her autograph, speaks to you again. “It’s incredible that you’re working with Suguru Geto! I never thought I’d see this day, so I’ll be here to watch you walk the runway!” she exclaims with stars in her eyes.

Your smile freezes at the mention of Suguru, as you’re constantly reminded that no one but you and Suguru know what happened between you two. You swallow and regain your composure. “Oh, honey, you’re adorable. I’m glad you’re coming. I hope we’ll run into each other again.” You then give her a final wink and rejoin your group.

Nobara catches up with you a few minutes later in your dressing room with a smile and quietly closes the door. You collapse onto a couch and sigh, hiding your face in your hands.

°°°°

“You’ve measured me before.”

“I lost them.”

“Liar.”

Suguru lets out a small laugh and grabs his measuring tape before approaching you. “It’s just my job, love.”

“You’re playing around,” you accuse with a pout, and he kneels in front of you to measure your legs and waist.

His movements are precise, slow, meticulous, and attentive. Even his gaze doesn’t fall inappropriately on you, a look of respect filling his entire being, guiding him gently with that eternal mischievous smile that reminds you of Satoru’s.

“Don’t give me that pout, now,” Suguru whispers as he stands up with a sigh.

Today, he’s wearing a simple white shirt under a pair of black pants and a matching blazer — perfectly tailored, of course. An unfair perfection. Among all the exes you could have had in your life, it had to be Suguru Geto—the man with a beauty almost impossible to rival, and who clearly shows a refusal to let you go. And the worst is the still-fresh memory from the night before with the image of a half-asleep Suguru against you — you in his arms. If you loathe yourself for what happened, why does his embrace comfort you so much? If you truly hate Suguru, why do you show such weak resistance to both his gentlemanly behavior and his irresistible charm?

“And there we go,” Suguru announces softly with his notepad in hand. “Lovely as always,” he adds with his eternal smile. “Hey!” You punch him in the bicep, and he steps back, laughing.

“Don’t mess with me,” you grumble, still pouting.

When was the last time this kind of situation happened?

When you two were still together.

And is forgiving him a good idea after all?

“I wasn’t messing with you, love,” Suguru replies quietly. He locks his eyes with yours to capture all your attention. “You’ve always been beautiful. And that will never change, even if you turn into a slug.” He grins at your comical look of disgust.

"A slug? You’d still choose me even if I were a slug?" you repeat, not convinced at all by his promises.

Suguru scoffs and moves closer, facing you directly. “No matter what you are in any lifetime, it will always be you that I choose, again and again.” He slowly lifts his hand and places it on your cheek. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, and your guard weakens. His words, spoken with sincere tone, float like clouds in the dressing room-turned-sewing workshop.

You remain as vulnerable with Suguru Geto — despite years of building a fortress to avoid falling back into the state you were in years ago. Yet, you are in a massive denial, giving a semblance of change in your life. You haven’t erased all feelings for Suguru. You’ve simply buried them in a corner of your heart and forgotten where—neglecting the risk they might resurface someday.

You look up at him, your lower lip trembling. “Then why didn’t you in this one?”

The question seems to catch him off guard, as his lips part and an equally vulnerable look appears on his face. He’s about to respond when someone knocks on the door.

“Mr. Geto? Are you finished?” Manami’s voice calls from the other side, sounding slightly concerned.

You both immediately step away from each other, and the tension between you dissipates, replaced by the usual coldness.

Suguru clears his throat, runs a tired hand over his face, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, yeah, yeah. You can come in, Manami.”

°°°°

Less than two hours before the main moment, you are practicing breathing exercises to calm the stress of a runway show. You’re wearing one of the luxurious outfits designed by Suguru himself, and if that alone isn’t overwhelming enough, an invisible vise is tightening around your chest, making your breathing heavy and your lungs congested.

You grimace at the sensation and groan as your heart beats more erratically than expected, and tremors run through your limbs. You can’t have a panic attack now.

No.

Not when Nobara isn’t by your side to help you relax.

Staying locked in a stuffy dressing room won’t help, but the very idea of stepping outside paralyzes you. You need to wait patiently for the makeup artists to finalize your look, and it only makes you more impatient and on edge.

Someone knocks at your door and asks to enter.

Suguru.

You open your mouth to utter even a sound, but anxiety wraps around your throat and chokes you. You gasp for air, your hands sweaty and cold, slipping from the back of the chair you’re clinging to, and you collapse to the floor.

The noise is enough for the door to burst open, and Suguru rushes in, dropping to one knee and taking you into his arms.

“Love, what’s happening?” Suguru murmurs as you cling to him as if your life depends on it.

The panic attack gradually overwhelms you, and you start crying in front of him. Thank God your face is only covered with skincare, but tears are streaming down your cheeks, mingling with your grimace and your difficulty breathing.

“I…” Then a hiccup takes over. You try to inhale, but as soon as your lungs fill, the air cuts off and doesn’t pass through. You keep trying, but all you manage is to cry without stopping.

Suguru frowns. “You… Wait.” He slides one arm under your knees and back to lift you easily and place you on a sofa. “It’s going to be okay, my love… Everything will be fine… Do the same thing I do.”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes to prevent the blurred vision from making it even harder to see Suguru helping you. He places his hand on his chest and does the same for you. “I’ll count to three and you breathe in very slowly, okay? Same for exhaling,” he murmurs with all tenderness and patience. His chest rises slowly in sync after he counts to three. The air flows more smoothly now. Encouraged by this, he smiles and holds his breath. He nods for you to do the same, intertwining your fingers with his and exhaling at the same slow pace. The icy air leaves your lungs at the same time as your racing heartbeats.

For the next five minutes, a silence punctuated by controlled, rhythmic breathing fills the dressing room. You eventually manage to regain a normal breath and quell your panic attack, leaving only a few residual hiccups.

Suguru leans toward you and kisses your sweaty forehead. With your still-trembling arms, you grip his to keep him close and draw him against you, the tip of his nose brushing against your neck. The unexpected action makes him freeze, and up close, you can see goosebumps spreading over his skin. With hesitant movements towards each other, you both hold each other gently in a comforting embrace.

“Suguru…” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the recent panic attack. You take the opportunity to bury your head in the crook of his neck.

He immediately welcomes your touch and affectionately kisses your cheek. “I love you, love. Do you feel better?”

His affirmation reaches your heart so strongly that, once again, tears well up and you force yourself to blink them away. Suguru notices and a worried crease forms between his eyebrows. For a moment, his chest against yours allows you to feel his racing heart. “You—”

“I’m better,” you interrupt weakly. “Thank you…”

He sighs in relief and gently caresses your hair absentmindedly. His fingers weave skillfully through your strands, bringing back a memory that hits you hard: him comforting you for various reasons when you were together, that same hand resting and caressing the same spot on your head. So for once in years, you let yourself indulge in this nostalgic feeling without pushing it away.

However, you can’t prevent a burning question from crossing your lips. “You love me?”

Suguru reacts immediately. He carefully pulls away from you and helps you sit up on the sofa, wiping the dried tears from your beautiful cheeks. He smiles at your flushed face and bloodshot eyes. “Of course I love you. I’ve told you. I’m sorry, and even if you don’t accept it, I’ll do everything to make you forgive me.” He kneels in front of you. “I didn’t want to break up with you because it would have broken my heart, so when I saw that my career was starting to affect our relationship and I couldn’t take care of you as you deserved, I thought it would hurt less if I let you detach from me.” His shoulders shake with a sigh. “Forgive me, my love. I want to make amends and—”

“But why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?”

“Because we’re too stubborn, love.”

His words, spoken with such sincerity, reach your heart directly.

You take his face in your hands and press your lips against his. Suguru gasps slightly in surprise but quickly follows your lead, his hesitant hands sliding to your waist to deepen the contact.

Fuck.

How he missed you…

With every kiss, you reclaim Suguru’s lips as if one moment without them would take away your life. They are so soft and warm, as alluring as they are addictive, making it almost impossible for your body to pull away from him. It’s only when you feel that time seems to be passing a bit too quickly that you finally pull away from him.

“I…” A semi-horrified expression pulls at your face as you’ve just initiated a kiss with your ex—the one you’ve been avoiding for months. You shake your head and back away, stammering, “Sorry… That was a mistake, I—”

Suguru utters your name in a pleading tone. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I only need one word. One word, and I’ll stay. One word, and I’ll leave and never come back to your life.”

“You…” If you’ve never been short of sharp retorts for Suguru, today is a new experience.

One word from you, and Suguru will accept your choice. For any other ex you might have had, you wouldn’t have even attempted to participate or do anything that involved them. But with Suguru…

“S-Stay…” you murmur in a broken voice, almost throwing yourself into his arms. He wraps you in his embrace and rocks you, his breath quick. “Stay, Suguru…” You break down, tears returning with a vengeance, flooding your face.

“I love you, sweetheart. Forgive me…” And he continues to repeat these words until someone else knocks on the door.

He prepares to pull away, but you hold him back, not wanting him to leave you once more. With a swift move, he crouches and rests his forehead against yours. “I have to go. You’re going to do great. I have no doubt, and you have no reason not to, understood?” His breath, as warm as his hands around your head, brushes your nose, and you sniffle one last time, nodding. “You’ll be perfect. I’ll watch and wait for you at the show. You’re going to shine.”

°°°°

The lights in the hall dim, plunging the audience into darkness. A bright spotlight illuminates the runway as the music begins to resonate throughout the fashion studio, amplified by the speakers.

“Here we go… In three… two… one…” Manami makes a frantic arm gesture to signal the lineup of models to step onto the runway.

The first model makes her entrance, wearing a spectacular outfit that instantly captivates the audience, with audible “oooohs!” reaching even backstage where you await your turn with a suffocating pressure. You are among the last to walk, but the distinct sound of heels clicking in rhythm with your heartbeat still reaches your ears.

But there is no room for panic now that you no longer carry the weight of your past relationship with Suguru.

He will be there to admire and reassure you from afar.

Manami gives a final signal and your lineup thins, giving you the space needed to step onto the stage.

The outfits parade down the runway, each one more impressive than the last. The theme of the collection is clear: dark silhouettes adorned with sequins and stars, reminiscent of a starry night sky. Your own outfit, the centerpiece of the collection, is bound to captivate the awed spectators. The black, sparkling dress catches the light with every step, creating an illusion of a moving firmament. Murmurs of admiration fill the room first, followed by camera clicks and cheers as you appear at the first quarter of the runway.

Taking a deep breath, your heels glide as elegantly as ever down the runway. One foot in front of the other, the sole firmly planted but almost silently advancing on the runway, chin up, and a neutral expression on your face; if anyone had never heard of your modeling career, your impression answers immediately.

Your hips sway slightly from side to side in the same entrancing rhythm as the powerful beat of the music, giving an unmatched grace to your walk. Reaching the end of the runway, your gaze falls on the front row where recognizable men have their eyes fixed on you, feeling the palpable energy of the room.

The scene lasts only a second, but it feels like an eternity.

Satoru Gojo, with a smirk, hands in the pockets of his dark stylist suit, stands with his legs spread in a posture highly unflattering for a personality like his. But then again, he exudes a carefree attitude, so who would be shocked? You manage to keep your mouth from stretching into a smile thanks to Suguru Geto, whose eyes are glued to you. His obsidian irises shine with admiration, professionalism, and also pride. He gives you a knowing wink that sends a warm, pleasant wave through every corner of your abdomen.

You snap out of your trance and pause, striking an elegant pose under the camera flashes before gracefully turning around. The shimmering fabric of your dress captures the lights with every movement, creating a shower of stars around you.

As you return backstage, the music shifts, signaling the grand finale. The crowd is buzzing, applauding enthusiastically as the spotlights sweep across the stage to accentuate the dramatic effect of the starry collection. The show comes to an end several minutes later, and you notice the applause intensifying. Suguru seems to have taken the stage and begun speaking — his voice reaching every ear — and you listen intently near your pairs.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. This collection has been a true labor of love, and I am honored to share it with you. Thank you also to all the wonderful people who made this possible, especially our incredible models,” Suguru declares, a wave of shared pride resonating through his speech.

The applause erupts once more, louder than ever.

°°°°

“Really?” you murmur softly, the tone as warm as Suguru’s hand on your hip. “If I did so well in the show, don’t I deserve a reward?”

He kneels in front of you, sliding his large hands along your thighs. “So beautiful, so magnificent…” Suguru continues to whisper as if in a prayer. “I love you… Ruin me… Use me and hurt me, love…” he pleads before placing a long, sweet kiss on your inner thigh.

The effect sends waves of goosebumps across your body, and desire burns in your eyes as you lower them to your desperate lover.

What better place to want to fuck your ex than during a festive reception hosted by Satoru Gojo, in one of the luxurious corridors of his many mansions? The same heavy, thick, velvet burgundy curtains brush against your back as he nuzzles between your legs like a little boy.

The gesture might seem funny and cute, but not when he slides his head under your evening dress and presses his nose against your panties. You gasp in surprise and place your hands on his head. “Sugu… Not here…” you whisper, alarmed.

He grumbles like a displeased child, the vibration of his voice against your core increasing your sensitivity. “You— Ah…” you moan as he plants a kiss on your already swollen clit.

“I love you, sweetheart… I love you so much…” Suguru keeps repeating these words that make you melt. He shifts your underwear with his index finger, finally gaining access to your core. He starts with a chaste kiss on your damp folds and hums in contentment, as he catches the first drop of your juices. “Tastes s’good, baby…”

Your moans intensify under his agile tongue as it licks and laps at your swollen, wet folds. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, forcing you to gasp. “Suguru…” You groan as he focuses on your throbbing bundle of nerves this time. He gently sucks on it, coaxing more juices from you, and this has the effect of drawing whimpers from your lips. If you were already struggling like mad to keep quiet, Suguru always loves to tease you and he gently inserts a finger into you. Your walls clench around it as if afraid he might pull it out. Unfortunately, pleasure comes far too quickly. With only a few long, slow thrusts inside you, your fingers find their way into his dark strands. “I’m going to—”

“Cum for me, my love,” he murmurs between flicks of his tongue.

You pray that no one can see or hear you, letting the knot in your stomach that was holding back your orgasm finally release. It bursts onto Suguru’s mouth, who doesn’t waste a single second in collecting your juices until the last drop, all while you moan in pleasure.

He finally pulls his hands and head from under your dress, panting in the same ragged rhythm as you, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs for the umpteenth time.

A slightly exhausted smile from the intense sensation lights up your face, and before you can even respond, Suguru scoops you into his arms and nearly runs to one of the luxurious bedrooms in the Gojo mansion.

He locks the door and gently lays you on the mattress. Within seconds, you take charge, removing Suguru’s pants and teasing his bulge with the tips of your fingers. You smile mischievously and giggle.

Suguru shivers at your touch and props himself up on his elbows, weak as he is for you. “Sweetheart—” But you catch him off guard by pulling down his boxer, exposing his twitching erection. “Oh God…” He almost rolls his eyes as your hand administers a few gentle strokes. “I love you… I love you… I love you… I love you…” he repeats in a plea in the dim light of the room.

Your fingers wrap around his base as you lower your head just to kiss his sensitive, reddened tip. “What, baby? Is it too much for you? You’re already so hard f’me…” And he doesn’t have time to protest as you go slowly, for he might not last. He smiles slyly as you lick the bead of pre-cum that escapes his length.

“Damn, princess… I’m not gonna last…” he hisses, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. He lets out a sigh, his muscles tensing under your hands. You run a thick band with the flat of your tongue along his dick, and he grits his teeth. “Tease…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Let’s see about that…” Your lips part around him, taking him fully into your mouth. As soon as his tip hits the back of your throat, he lets out a groan. “Sorry…”

Your hands slip to graze his balls and caress his thighs. With a motion of your head, you suck him, your tongue swirling around his tip and veins. “Love, I—” And with a twitch of his cock, he signals that he’s about to cum. He shudders and groans, moaning your name. His cheeks flush, and you take the opportunity to tease him. He gives in and lets his release paint your mouth white. Without wasting any time, you swallow the warm substance and pull his cock from your mouth, a string of saliva mixed with his cum linking your lips to him.. The sight of your lover in a messy, submissive state sends a shiver down your own spine.

He regains his breath, rising onto his knees, unuttons his white shirt, and tosses it into a corner at the foot of the bed. Suguru’s hands settle on your hips, pulling at the fabric to undress you completely. Your panties are just as damp as when he ate you out. Your bra quickly joins his discarded clothing, and he seals his lips with yours as if it’s the last thing he needs to do in his life. He gently flips you onto your back on the bed.

Your hands move sensually across his chest to settle on his shoulders, maintaining a grip, while Suguru’s hands grasp the back of your thighs and slowly detach his lips to press them against the side of your neck where your pulse races. He marks a hickey in that exact spot and revels in the moan you produce.

“Suguru, please… I need you…” you plead into his ear, you aching clit grazing his hard cock, and he clenches his jaw to avoid holding you too tightly in his arms. Hasn’t he dreamed for years of having you like this, in his arms, begging him to please you?

“Anthing for my princess,” he coos, his lips curling. Gently, he wraps your legs around his waist and maintains eye contact with you. One of his hands grabs his dick and teases your needy cunt with the tip to collect droplets of your wetness. “Still so wet?” Then your blush is enough to make him burst into laughter. You pout, and he purrs. “Awww… I’m going to give you what you want…”

With utmost care, his tip parts your folds and slowly pushes into you, finding its way deep inside your hot, dripping pussy. Breathing between his teeth, Suguru closes his eyes for a moment and hisses. “Damn, you’re so fucking tight…” He pants for a few seconds before resuming his movements as you moan for him to go further. “Fuck, princess… taking me so well… Like you were made for me since start…”

“Suguru…” You moan, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. The pressure his cock exerts makes it hard for your pussy not to react and tighten with each of his slow thrusts as you adjust. “That’s IT, my love… You’re doing so well…” He whispers in your ear. His hands grip your hips, helping you find the right space for both of you as he sinks into you, your pretty walls clenching around him deliciously. He lets out a whimper of your name and hits that sweet spot deep inside, making you twitch beneath him.

"Again… Please… Sugu—” But another sound of pleasure escapes you as he slowly increases his pace inside you. His length twitches between your gummy, tight walls. “So deep… So good…” you murmur with a pleasure-filled wince. “I love you… I love you…”

Words hit Suguru like a punch to the stomach, and he almost has tears in his eyes. He doesn’t stop bucking his hips into you and nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck. “Baby…” you whisper, your fingers tangled in his hair, pleasure all for you now. He nods, and his hand snakes to your clit, rubbing it in circles. “Suguru… I’m close…” you squeal as he continues to pound into you until you see stars and your cunt contracts around his length, your toes curling.

His seed paints your walls white, a warm, gentle sensation spreading through your lower abdomen, Suguru groaning into your neck, his teeth biting into the flesh of your trapezius. He slightly lifts his head, panting heavily, and presses his lips to your ear. “I don’t want to see you on anyone else’s arm, okay? Not even Satoru.”

You nod and giggle, trying to catch your breath, your eyelids closed and exhausted from the aftermath of intense pleasure. “Jealous, hmm?”

“Yes. And very possessive, love,” he affirms in a strained voice. “Will you forgive me?” he adds with a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. He withdraws from you and lies down beside you, attentive to any signs of discomfort.

“For a long time, Suguru,” you affirm, yawning.

“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Can I ask since when?”

“Since the hotel.”

Suguru buries his head between your bare breasts and closes his eyes with a sigh. “I see. I owe that to Nobara. What do you think would make her happy?” he asks in a casual tone.

Suddenly, it’s like gears are turning in your brain, and your fingers, which were caressing his hair moments ago, freeze.

“WHAT?”

And Suguru’s laughter echoes throughout the room.

★ a/n: finally! i'm relieved that i've finished this fic (promised from far months now...) well, i hope you'll enjoy it! <3

★ tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @alwaysfreakingout @mutsu422 @lymsfm

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judasofsuburbia · 2 years

Text

something something kindergarten teacher! steve who is so tired of going on bad dates. kindergarten teacher! robin who doesn't want him to give up.

“Really? The date went that bad?” Robin asks again.

“Yes,” Steve drones. “I swear she looked like she’d rather be at the dentist than on a date with me.”

Robin makes a sad face at him. Steve continues to sort the paint jugs and throw out any that have been mixed with other colors. Robin finishes putting toys back into cubbies and sanitizing the fake food.

“Okay so,” Robin starts.

Steve immediately holds up a hand. “Don’t say ‘maybe she’s not the one but someone is’. I’m sick of this, Rob. I feel like I’m just better off alone.”

“Not true,” Robin argues. “You’re a catch. You’re attractive and good with kids. You make me laugh so hard my ribs shake. You’re a great listener and you make amazing cocktails. Great helmet of hair. Who wouldn’t want to date that?”

Steve’s heard it all before. He loves Robin, he does, but it doesn’t seem to matter what she thinks of him because no one in this town wants to make it to date two with him.

He used to be so good at this. Always had a girl on his arm at football games in high school. Always had a date to prom. Always had some girl to make out with at parties. Even when he realized later on in his twenties that he liked boys too, he still couldn’t find one that took his attraction seriously.

Steve Harrington? Like both? Unheard of, apparently.

Still, Steve didn’t want to start the first day of school on a bad note. “Thanks, Rob. I might need to lick my wounds for a second but I’ll get back on the horse I promise.”

“Good because our marriage pact could be closing soon,” Robin mumbles with a sly smile.

Steve’s head whips around. “Are you‒”

“I have a ring picked out,” Robin practically squeals.

Steve does his best to gently set down the paint jugs and rip off his latex gloves before darting across the room to pick Robin up in a twirling hug. He kisses her head repeatedly until she’s groaning, giggling, and shoving him off.

“Rob, that’s amazing,” Steve breathes. He squeezes her tightly again.

“You better keep your mouth shut,” Robin warns with a pointed finger. “It’s so hard to surprise Nancy Wheeler but I think I’m finally going to be able to.”

Steve’s grinning from ear to ear as he mimes zipping his mouth closed. “Secret’s safe with me.”

The alarm on Steve’s phone breaks them out of their little love fest and suddenly the halls are filled with parents, children, and teachers gabbing to high heaven. Robin gives him a salute before crossing over onto her side of the classroom. Technically, there is a foldable partition between the two rooms but it will be a cold day in Hell if Robin and Steve ever actually separate their classrooms.

Steve goes to stand by his door and greet his new gaggle of students. He high-fives each of them as they walk through the door and points to their assigned cubby and seat.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s looking around the room and sees that two seats are still empty. Dustin and Max Munson. He didn’t see them at parent-teacher night last week but he knows from their file that they’re fraternal twins from a single, widowed dad. He tries to keep an eye out for them but he knows the other kids are getting restless.

Then he hears, “Oh, Mr. Munson, you’re actually in Steve’s‒sorry, Mr. Harrington’s class. He’s just right across the way.”

Steve glances across the room and does a double-take. Across the room is the alleged Mr. Munson, this tall, lanky man with curly brown hair that hits his shoulders with a blank bandana tying down the top of his head, big brown eyes, a leather jacket with pins, a white tank top, and coverall sleeves tied at his waist. He’s positively breathtaking.

Holding either hand are Max and Dustin. A little redhead with a baseball cap, overalls, and a striped shirt. A little brunette curly head with green khaki shorts and a shirt with a dragon on it. Mr. Munson smiles apologetically at Robin and walks across the room to Steve’s. Dustin bolts to his assigned seat and starts talking animatedly to Will Byers who looks a little scared out of his mind but is quickly rescued by Mike Wheeler who is just as excited. Max stays glued to Mr. Munson’s side as he walks up to Steve.

If Steve’s not mistaken, Mr. Munson looks him up and down before speaking.

“Sorry we’re late,” Mr. Munson says and of course, his voice is pretty too. “This one is a little nervous about being away from her dad.”

Steve draws his eyes away from the strong neck and pale collarbones that poke out from underneath his jacket to the scared girl. He bends down to her level and gives her a soft smile.

“Are you Max? I’m Mr. Harrington,” Steve says.

Max blinks, inching more and more behind Mr. Munson’s pant leg.

“School’s kinda scary, huh?” Steve asks.

Max nods.

“I know I get a little nervous on the first day and I’m the teacher,” Steve admits in a small, dramatic voice. He sees the tiniest sliver of a smile on Max’s face. “I’ve sat you next to Lucas Sinclair,” Steve points to the smiling kid on the other side of the room. Lucas gives a small wave. “He’s a very nice boy and I think he even likes the Bulls,” Steve gestures to Max’s hat. “So, I think you guys will have loads to talk about. We’re gonna have a really fun day, okay? And then you’ll get to tell your dad all about it.”

Max glances timidly around the room again and slowly lets go of her dad’s pant leg. Dustin rushes over and shows Max where her cubby is which detaches her completely. Max sits next to Lucas who does get very excited over her hat. Steve and Mr. Munson watch her relax little by little.

“Holy sh‒shirt," Mr. Munson coughs and smiles sheepishly. "Wow, uh, you really know how to talk to them. Literally made her a friend within five seconds."

Steve stands and tries to regain composure now that the irresistible dad’s attention is on him.

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly. “The first day is always a little tricky.”

Mr. Munson holds out his hand and says, “Eddie.”

Steve takes it, feeling a little dizzy over how firm his grip is and the callouses on his hands. “S-Steve. Harrington.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it last week. Last-minute towing emergency for Chief Hopper,” Eddie says, finally dropping Steve’s hand.

Steve playfully rolls his eyes. “I’ve been telling him for years that he needs to dump that old hunk of junk already. I’m guessing you work for Munson Mechanics?”

Eddie smiles boldly and glances down at his attire. “Yeah, that’s where I get this sick uniform. Very exclusive.”

“I’m jealous,” Steve laughs nervously, trying desperately to keep his eyes on Eddie’s face. But even then, his eyes are so pretty and his smile is so radiant. There’s faint stubble on his upper lip and jaw. Steve wants to run his fingers over it amongst other things.

“Well, I won’t keep you much longer,” Eddie smiles, clapping Steve on his back. “Maybe I’ll get you a free oil change for your trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble‒”

Eddie leans forward a little and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. He whispers, “Or maybe I just want to see you when there are not twenty five-year-olds staring at me.”

From this proximity, Steve can smell his cologne and lingering car oil. He can feel his brain cells dying every second he inhales the intoxicating aroma. Steve breathes shallowly, too aware of the growing blush on his cheeks, and says, “S-sure. I’d like that.”

Eddie smirks and has the audacity to wink before going to each of his kids, ruffling their hair, and kissing them goodbye with a big wet smack on their cheeks. He passes by Steve again and murmurs, “I won’t say goodbye to you like that. Not yet, at least. Good luck with my little gremlins” before walking out the door.

Steve hears the clunk of his boots echoing down the hall and each step makes his heart beat louder against his ribs.

He dares to look at Robin across the room who is staring at him with a smug grin on her face. She mimics getting on a horse and does a little lasso with her hand.

Steve adjusts his glasses, clears his throat, and says in his best teacher voice, “Alright friends, who’s ready to start kindergarten?”

EDIT 2/8: READ THE FULL FIC HERE 🤠

#KINDERGARTEN TEACHER STEVE MY FUCKING BELOVED #emily writes #steddie #steddie ficlet #ronance #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #steve harrington/eddie munson #teacher! steve harrington #mechanic! eddie munson #dad! eddie munson

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sssammich · 6 months

Text

fic: come what may pt 3

part 1 | part 2

if you wanna read on ao3

thanks x

---

Kara’s body sags into the lawn chair that she keeps on the rooftop of her apartment. There’s an area up there that she’s claimed for herself, right by the back corner just around the rooftop entrance. She’s glad for it, especially right now, while she stares out onto the other rooftops of her neighborhood with her powers blown for at least another couple of days.

She lets out a big pathetic sigh, puffing out her cheeks, when she recalls how she got into this predicament.

It had been a hectic day for Supergirl. A rogue missile headed straight for downtown National City coming at the heels of a drawn out fight with an invading alien group. She’d only had enough time and energy to redirect said missile, but not to release it and fly away in time. Shrapnel lacerated her suit and embedded itself into her flesh when she attempted her retreat while the fiery explosion singed the edges of her cape as she spun out of the blast radius. She was then propelled by the force of the explosion, nosediving at the precipice of consciousness into the cliff’s edge by the coast.

She winces at the memory and the proceeding aerial footage that Brainy showed her where she collided with the side of jagged rocks off the side of a cliff, taking a chunk of it out. The worst part was when she’d startled awake the next morning, frantically searching for the date and time, realizing with a sinking heart that she’d missed the night she told Lena she’d return to her balcony.

She hoped Lena would understand, yet when she had plugged her phone in, there were no messages from her. Kara frowned and tried not to let the silence between them affect her. But by the way she slouched back on the sunbed, she couldn’t quite shake off her disappointment.

Now that she’s off-duty for a few days while she recovers, she requests to work remotely to spend the time researching just so she can finish hiding in her apartment. Well, at least for now, she’s hiding on her rooftop. It’s become a kind of oasis for her. Not just today, but for a few months now while she accepted their new normal and tried to navigate this Earth. She didn’t think it would make a difference, but when she brought up two foldable lawn chairs and a tiny round table to make a little sitting area for herself, it somehow made her feel less alone.

These days, Kara will take whatever she can get.

Her head lolls to the side when she observes a few birds walking near her before perching themselves on the cement ledge nearby. One of the birds flew up before dropping down on the cement ledge gracefully.

“Show off,” she mutters to herself. “I can do that, too, you know.”

The birds continue on disregarding her comments and her muttering. She is then interrupted by a buzz of her phone in the plastic cup holder section of her foldable chair. She considers not answering, Alex probably pestering her to get some rest like she’s not already doing that. But the idea of getting yelled at just doesn’t interest her, not when she's already feeling herself at her lowest, so she decides to pluck her phone out of the cup holder.

Her back straightens and eyes widening in unabashed surprise when she glances down at the message displayed on her phone screen.

Lena: Are you home?

She sucks her lips between her teeth, her thumbs hovering above the glass. She moves her finger and presses the call button.

It rings just once when Lena picks up.

“Uh, hi,” Kara offers lamely, cringing at herself.

“Hi.”

“I’m—did you need something?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“Alex told me what happened. I…I thought to bring you some food since I heard you’re not well. But if you’re not at home or don’t want company, I can leave the bag by your door.”

“Uh…no! I mean—you didn't need to do that,” she starts, scrambling out of her chair and rushing to the rooftop door before jumping down, taking the stairs two at a time and almost colliding with the stairwell wall. “You’re—that’s very nice, Lena…”

When her apartment door comes to view, she freezes mid-step. Kara’s gaze drops down to the bottom landing of the third floor and finds Lena, still dressed in her work clothes and hair done up in a loose bun, holding a plastic bag in one hand and her phone by her ear in the other.

“You're at my door,” she comments, stating the obvious, hearing her voice echo through the open phone line between them.

Lena smiles, the motion slight and lopsided.

“It would appear so.”

Gingerly, she steps down one step at a time, her eyes never once leaving Lena. Long seconds pass between them until she arrives by her front door, a measly two feet away from her visitor.

Lena pulls the phone away from her ears with a smile before pocketing it. Kara mirrors her when she realizes she hadn’t hung up yet. Lena’s smile drops and her now empty hand reaches up but stops mid-air between them.

Oh, right.

“Looks a little gnarly, huh?” she jokes, an awkward grin on her face. Truth be told, she feels better than she looks. By tomorrow’s time, her injuries will disappear and fade, her face returning to its unblemished state. She remembers that very few people see her like this, and it’s with an ache in her chest she realizes that this is the first time that Lena has seen her in this state. “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt.”

Lena slowly closes her hand into a fist and eventually drops it. She does her best not to feel disappointment at that.

“Um, you—you had food?”

It’s then that Lena lifts the bag she’s been holding, extending her arm out. “I got your favorites.”

She accepts the bag, their fingers grazing with each other until she grabs hold of the bag, welcoming the weight of the food that’s inside.

“Would you like to join me?”

The rooftop door opens to a fresh breeze and the waning sun.

She leads the two of them to her makeshift sitting area by the far end where a couple of birds have taken to loitering. They flap their wings and get away from the commotion of their presence and she sets the bag down by the table.

Her eyes are drawn to Lena crouching down slightly and brushing the back of her skirt so she can sit on the lawn chair properly, sinking down until her knees are higher than her hips.

Kara outwardly grimaces. “Sorry, I forgot that’s the saggy one. We can trade place—”

“I’m fine. I don’t mind.”

Kara watches her but silently nods and resumes taking out food from the bag and spreads them out on the table, filling every space on it. Unsure what to say or even how to speak to Lena, Kara then decides to take her time serving them their food. She passes a pair of paper-wrapped chopsticks to Lena who accepts it quietly before she peels her own, separating the wood with a snap.

She senses Lena’s eyes trained on her, but she doesn’t flick her gaze up not once, instead focusing on taking the plastic lids off and turning it into a makeshift plate. She then serves up a portion of lo mein and a few pieces of sesame chicken before putting three healthy pieces of golden brown potstickers to finish out the plate.

Kara finally looks up to Lena studying her. She offers a crooked smile and offers the lid-turned-plate towards the other woman who accepts it quietly, their fingers once again grazing against each other. She hurries and picks up the lid of the lo mein and serves herself her own plate, the portion smaller than what she normally eats when her powers are fully intact.

For the next few moments, they eat in silence, the soundtrack to their early evening but the crowing of the nearby birds and the sound of distant traffic down on the streets. Every now and again, her eyes cast up to watch Lena as she digs into her own plate. The silence between them settles comfortably, like before.

Before the distance between them, before her lies and betrayal, before Lena’s revenge. Before all the hurt she inflicted, they inflicted on each other. Before, before, before.

Except they can’t ever go back to that world, to that life.

As she catches sight of Lena chewing on a potsticker and eyes staring out onto the view from her rooftop, she thinks there are worse places to be and she’s fine exactly where she is.

“Thanks for the food,” she says, breaking the silence between them, her lid-plate completely empty. “I appreciate you coming by.”

“Well,” Lena starts, leaning back on the chair, sinking further, her legs crossed at the knee. She looks comfortable this way despite the sharpness of her work attire. “I was promised a ‘something’ and I’m here to collect.”

“I meant to come back.”

“You were busy.”

She chuckles at that. “A rogue missile can do that to you.”

Lena tilts her head, as if studying her, and Kara does her best not to squirm under her watchful gaze. Then, Lena silently leans forward and stands from her seat, wiping away any minuscule dust or crumbs from her lap. Just as quietly, Kara tilts her head as she follows Lena’s every move.

A gasp escapes her mouth, her brows jumping to her hairline when Lena extends a hand forward.

“Let’s dance, Kara.”

Her eyes drop to the offered hand in front of her. She looks back up again to an unreadable expression on Lena’s face. She gets on her feet, her legs slightly wobbly until she’s standing to her full height.

Careful in her movements, as if Lena might take her offered hand back, Kara clasps their hands together and steps forward just as Lena steps back.

“There’s no music,” she says. Lena simply quirks her brow before she reveals her phone in her other hand. Kara blinks, wonders how she could have missed that.

“There’s always music.”

Lena then presses play on her phone, the first few notes playing. Her brows crease together, her eyes quietly asking, but Lena just shrugs. They then get into position, Kara’s other hand on Lena’s waist just as Lena’s rests on her shoulder, her finger almost tracing the scabbing gash lines on the side of her face. Kara barely resists the shiver that runs down her spine.

“I was watching Notting Hill last night because my schedule cleared up.”

She cocks her head slightly as the two of them begin to sway. “Didn’t take you much for a romantic comedy kind of viewer.”

“In this world, I am.”

She nods. “I like it.”

The cool evening air breezes past them as they entangle themselves as they sway on beat to the song, their gazes stretching past each other’s heads.

“What’s it like, not having powers?”

She shrugs a little. “Like things are muffled, almost muted. I feel weighed down, like gravity’s working twice as hard to keep me down. It’s not unpleasant or anything, but it’s not a feeling I’m used to.”

Lena nods, almost to herself, as she seems to take the information in.

“I got worried when you never showed last night,” Lena says as she stares right up at her, her voice soft.

She shakes her head, though, and pulls Lena closer, wants the other woman to make sure she’s looking when she says, “I wanted to be there, but I was out cold, apparently. I woke up this morning and panicked when I found out I’d missed it. Then when you didn’t contact me, I just thought you were mad at me.”

“I thought you changed your mind.”

Kara tilts her head up to find the blues of the afternoon sky having been traded in for the oranges and pinks. “As part of our pact of starting over, I think we should really improve our communication skills.”

She then releases Lena so she can twirl her.

“You’re not a fan of us assuming the worst of a situation or each other and internalizing it as a moral failing of ourselves?” Lena teases, exhaling a breathy laugh.

“Lena, please,” she grumbles, a half-hearted attempt at suppressing her laugh. “Be serious.”

She spins Lena twice until they come back together again, their fronts now pressed to each other, their faces inches from one another.

Lena she turns her head until her chin rests on Kara’s shoulder. “We can stand to be better, I agree.”

They move gently and loosely on the rooftop, Elvis Costello’s crooning voice filling the space around them and the National City city skyline just off to the distance. Finally, the last notes of the song play until Lena separates their hands and stops the next song from playing on her phone. Kara watches on as Lena walks towards the ledge of the rooftop towards the city’s skyline.

It takes her a few drawn out moments to follow suit and stand beside Lena, her eyes trained on the twinkling lights of the city she saved just yesterday.

“Kara.”

She glances sideways, watching and waiting. Lena pivots her body so she’s facing Kara, green eyes bright and alive even in the blanketing darkness of the evening.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she breathes out, her warm hand on Kara’s forearm where a large gash sits. “I’m glad you asked me to stay for dinner. I’m glad…you let me in.”

She places her own hand atop Lena’s. “Can I tell you that ‘something’ I promised?”

Lena gestures with a nod, curling long, elegant fingers around Kara’s arm, like she’s trying to anchor herself to Kara, or maybe it’s the other way around. She’s not sure, but she doesn’t care either way, just that they are.

“I want to rebuild our friendship first and foremost, and that’s what I’ll be focusing on. But I also…” she pauses, chewing on her bottom lip. When Lena looks on encouragingly, she takes a deep breath. “But I also hope that if you’re open to it, that it could someday lead to something…more.”

“Something…more,” Lena repeats.

“Yeah.”

“What are you really saying?”

Kara scratches her temple, adjusting her glasses on her face. “I’m saying that there are feelings that I’ve denied myself about you because I’d hurt you and then you’d hurt me. But they’ve never gone away, Lena. Not once. And if it’s alright with you, I don’t want them to.”

When Lena doesn’t say anything, Kara’s confidence wanes and her mouth goes rogue. “But if you don’t feel the same way, if you don’t or c-can’t love me as more than a friend, then that’s fine, too. I’d never—that’ll never stop me being your friend or wanting to protect you.”

“You love me?”

“Without question,” she says, pressing forward as she tightens her grip on Lena’s hand.

“What if you change your mind?”

Kara’s heart tries not to bruise at the fear and apprehension in Lena’s eyes.

“I won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” she says with a helpless shrug. “But I know you.”

Lena doesn’t say anything more, her eyes searching Kara’s face—for what, she’s not sure, but Kara won’t look away. Wordlessly, Lena twists her head to gaze out to the darkened horizon for a moment, and Kara prepares herself for the worst. She’s not prepared for the shine of tears in Lena’s eyes when she turns back to look at Kara. She thinks if she looked closely, she would find her reflection and the threat of her own tears.

“I thought we’d missed our chance. After everything, I just thought—”

It’s then she shakes her head, inches closer, her heart rapidly beating when she thinks about what Lena’s saying. “It’s still here, Lena. I’m here.”

Lena lunges forward and Kara receives her in her arms, winding them around Lena’s middle, tightening her grip when Lena buries herself in the crook of her neck. They rock side to side in place as they simply hold one another, the city’s night sounds of National City buzzing around them.

After a short while, they break apart, eyes searching for each other under the dim rooftop lights that Kara just now notices have turned on.

“Okay,” Lena finally says, her voice watery, but strong.

“Yeah?” Her heart sings and swoops when Lena bobs her head. “Okay, then. Um, do you wanna go downstairs and watch a movie or something?”

Kara doesn’t move or breathe or do anything but watch as Lena brings the back of her hand and gently caresses cheek. “I’d love to, but I should head back home.”

She resists the disappointment to wash over her and offers a genuine smile.

“Let me walk you down.”

They untangle from each other, Kara’s body practically vibrating as they clean up and march down the steps hand in hand. When they reach the front of her building, Kara isn’t surprised to find Lena’s driver already waiting.

“When’s your next dance lesson?” Lena asks when she turns to face Kara once again.

“Thursday at the Y. 7pm.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

Her face splits into a wide smile that she doesn’t bother hiding. “Never.”

“Goodnight, Kara,” Lena says, leaning forward and pressing a small, chaste kiss on her cheek before squeezing Kara’s hand and letting go. “See you Thursday.”

Her response is to carefully dip down and place a mirroring kiss on Lena’s cheek. When she draws back, it’s to the image of Lena’s face soft and gentle, smiling up at her.

The smile never disappears from her face as she watches Lena stride towards the backseat of her car, as she rolls the windows down and gives Kara a parting wave, as she rolls the window back up only after they’ve turned the corner.

The air around her swirls with hope, crackles with possibility, and she clings onto it all while she ascends the stairs two at a time to her apartment, humming the song of their earlier dance. This is just the beginning, a chance to make it count.

So that’s what she plans to do.

#samfic #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #supercorp fanfic #this is the final part we are done we are free #good work team #goodnight also

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nicoline1998enilocin · 1 year

Note

I FOUND IT, I FOUND THE IDEA I NEEDED FOR A REQUEST.

Oke Listen...

Ready?!

Bucky and Reader take care of a baby and Bucky holds the little toddler in his arms and takes care of that sweet little one. And the toddler is absolutely in love with Bucky and his metal arm like Reader is.

Please with sooo much fluff as much as you can?🥺🥺

Babysitting duty

PAIRING | Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1K

SUMMARY | Andy has asked you to babysit for him while he is away on trial, and you couldn't be more excited about it. You didn't tell Bucky since it was such last minute, but he absolutely adores the little girl you're babysitting, and couldn't be happier to see how good you are with kids.

WARNING(S) | None.

A/N | Thank you so so much for this sweet request, I've tried to shove as much tooth rottingly sweet fluff in here as I possibly could! I hope it is everything you've thought of and more, and I can't wait to see what other ideas you come up with in the future! 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

You're getting ready to go grocery shopping for Bucky's return from his mission when your phone suddenly rings. You look at it and see it's Andy Barber, your good friend, so you pick it up.

''Hi Andy, is everything okay?'' you ask, wondering why he would call you in the middle of the day.

''Hi Y/N, yeah, no, uhm… I know this is a little… last minute, but could you watch Ivy for a few days? I must go to trial with my client and can't take her. I'll pay you double what I would usually pay you as compensation,'' he tells you, and you just smile.

''It's okay, Andy, you don't have to pay me double. I'd absolutely love to watch Ivy. When do you need me to pick her up?'' you ask.

''You're a true lifesaver right now; I was honestly running out of options here,'' he sighs. ''If you could pick her up tonight, you would be a huge help,''.

''Alright, I'll see you around 6 PM, okay? That way, she can sleep at my house, and we don't have to wake her for transport,''.

With that, you change your grocery shopping plans; instead of buying food for 2 people, you're getting it for 3, so little Ivy can eat too. The shopping trip is going smoothly; before you know it, you're back home.

You already went to the attic to get the foldable bed you use every time you babysit and set it up in your and Bucky's bedroom.

Next are some toys you like to keep around, even though Andy always lets Ivy bring some.

When all that is done, the apartment is getting clean and tidy; when that's done, it's time to pick up the little girl.

When you arrive at Andy's house, he quickly opens the door with his daughter on his hip, tightly holding her favorite stuffed animal in anticipation of who's ringing their doorbell.

''Y/N, please come in! You're an absolute lifesaver right now,'' Andy says as he lets you into the house.

''It's not a problem at all; you know how much Bucky and I love this little Munchkin right here,'' you say as you pinch her cheeks softly.

She reaches her arms out for you, and you take her from Andy's arms, so he can get all her things ready.

''Are you ready to come to sleep with me and Uncle Bucky for a few days? You say, "We have missed you so much!'' she nods.

''Sweep with you,'' she repeats.

''Yes, sleep with me! Good job!'' you praise her as you walk over to Andy, who is just grabbing some clothes for her.

''How long do you think you'll be gone for?'' you ask, eyeing the pile of clothes he's packing. ''You know we have a washing machine, right? You don't need to pack up her entire wardrobe,'' you chuckle.

''I'm sorry, it's just… It's so last minute, and I feel bad that I had to ask you like that,'' he says, but you reassure him it's okay.

''We don't mind, Andy, not even in the slightest.''

When everything is packed up, and Andy has said his goodbyes to Ivy, you head to your house. She is already sleeping in the car, so you transfer her to the bed when you arrive.

You turned on the baby monitor and grabbed a glass of wine in the kitchen, sitting down with your drink and a book, enjoying your evening.

''Are you excited to pick up Uncle Bucky today?'' you ask her after you dress her in one of the outfits Andy packed.

''Unnel Buck!'' she says, not quite getting the hang of the word ''Uncle'' yet, but it is absolutely adorable.

You arrive at the Compound a little earlier than expected, and the Avengers aren't back yet, so you decide to wait in Bucky's room - which he barely uses since the two of you moved into your apartment together - with Ivy.

When FRIDAY showed that the Quinjet was about to land, you approached the hangar, ready to greet Bucky and all the other Avengers.

Ivy had spotted him before you did and was wildly waving her arms to be held by him.

''Hi, little troublemaker! It's nice to see you again!'' Bucky said after he picked up his pace a little and jogged over to where the two of you were standing.

''Andy had to go to trial for a few days, so I agreed to watch her for him while he's gone,'' you explain, and Bucky takes her out of your arms.

''Unnel Buck!'' she coos as she pets his long hair, earning her a big smile from the super soldier.

''Hi, little Ivy, I missed you! Are you ready to come home with me and Auntie Y/N?'' he asks, and she coos a yes at him.

When the three of you arrive at the car, Bucky puts her in the car seat before moving to the passenger seat, dropping into it with all his weight.

''Arm, arm, arm!'' she says as the three of you are back at your apartment, and you both know she's entirely in awe by Bucky's arm.

''Arm…'' she says softly as Bucky holds out his Vibranium hand for her to hold and to look over before her gaze moves over to the rest of his arm.

''I still think it's the cutest thing ever, how much she loves your arm! She has good taste,'' you say with a wink, making Bucky blush slightly.

''Alright, I believe it is time for a nap, troublemaker,'' he says before scooping her up with the metal arm and bringing her to bed.

He walks back into the kitchen when she's asleep and gives you a proper hello. He grabs your cheeks in his hands and brings your face to his, meeting in the middle for a deep, passionate kiss.

''I love you so much, doll. I can't wait to have a little one of our own one day,'' he says, pulling you closer and capturing your lips again.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes request #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff

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dreamauri · 1 year

Text

♪ — 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗞𝗦 max verstappen x fem! driver! reader (fluff) “. . . you and max fall in love through your years together in f1.”

( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests | taglist )

Max propped up his cheek on his fist, sinking down in his chair bored. You who, was sitting beside him, decided to play trickster on him. Sneakily you quickly poked him under his armpit ( where you knew he was ticklish ).

The blond was quick to retract and curl away. You could only smile at him innocently as he glared at you. In an attempt to take revenge, Max reaches forward to poke you back but you recoil and dodge.

His glare and frown deepened as he tried again only to fail as you silently laugh at him, picking your tongue out. The two of you were starting to get the attention of the people in the conference room, even Charles who was answering a question paused to watch the little war between the redbull drivers.

In a final attempt to get you back, the boy jumped on you. The two of you fell back in your chair, laughing as he tried pinning you down wrestling style.

"OK! OK! I give in." You laughed trying to push him away from his face. "SIKE." You tackled him.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hi. I'm Max Verstappen." You greeted as you looked into the camera lens holding a serious gaze. "And I'm princess Barbie." Max finished off in a thin girly voice, an extremely bad impression. You broke out in laughter rocking back in the foldable chair. "Oh shit-" you tried to reach forward to stabilize yourself, which was utter failure because you ended up falling.

"Are you okay?" Max asked in the thin voice, sucking at holding his laugh in. "Oh my God, princess Barbie." You wheezed getting up slowly only to fall back on your knees again wheezing as you held your stomach.

"I can't believe you right now." You laughed getting up and sitting on his lap instead now that your chair is demolished. He was quick to hug you around your waist and pull your back close to his chest.

"Wait, what were we doing?" He asked the marketing team forgetting what you were filing in the first place.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max leaned his phone on a tissue box with his selfie camera recording. You were holding his face still drawing clown makeup on him with purple lipstick.

"She got a higher position." He gave Context. "I got higher position~" You sang smiling brightly, continuing to draw the small circle on his nose. "He's going to dinner like this." "Wait what?! No. You're joking."

He tried to pull away but you only held him in place laughing evilly. "Hey hey, we had a deal. Loser does whatever the winner wants." You squished his cheeks. The boy could only pout to the camera as you draw an upside down triangle under his right eye.

"Aren't you a handsome cutie." You teased kissing his cheek making the Dutch boy smile brightly, forgetting all about his future coming embarrassment.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"MAAAAAAXX!!" You ran through the paddock jumping onto the boy once you go to him. He luckily caught you hugging you tightly. "I missed you." He mumbled once he set you down, hugging you tightly which you of course returned.

"It's only been a week." Riccardo commented walking past the two of you laughing. "That's still long!" You defended, taking Max's hand walking with him to the Torro Rosso Motorhome. "Did you get a chance to eat yet?" He asked opening the door for you. "I was waiting for you actually."

"I sneaked in these cookies I got from Walmart, I don't know if they are good. I wanted you to try them first." He whispered quietly, making sure no one could hear, as if it were a drug operation. "You're the best." You giggled excitedly.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Maxie! Say cheese!" Max was taken by surprise. Turning to you, he smiled widely laughing ( and you couldn't help but snap a picture ). "Hold up the trophy and your medal." You told him and he did, adjusting his pose as you snapped another picture on your phone.

"I'm so proud of you." You pocketed your phone, pulling him in a tight hug. You rubbed his back as he relaxed in your embrace closing his eyes. "I'm so proud of you, Maxie. That was an amazing drive. My race winner." He squeezed you in his hug smiling. "I couldn't have done it without the best teacher in the world. Thank you, Y/N."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max looked at you sadly as you packed all of your stuff from your driver's room. He sat on the couch where he spent cuddling you after sessions for months. "Hey, stop frowning. You're going to make me sad."

"But you're leaving." He sighed, propping his cheek on his hand. "I'm just changing teams. I'll still be around." You smiled, standing in front of him. He looked up at you with an expression you could only describe as grief. "Hey, Daniel will take my seat next year. He'll treat you well. I'll make sure to always be high up so we can share our podiums." You crouched down on your knees kissing his cheek, putting your hand on his free one.

"I'll spend all summer break with you." "You promise?" "I promise." You nodded smiling receiving a kiss on your cheek, the first one he's given you. You and Max had developed a relationship like no other. Being his first teammate, you welcomed him into the sport and treated him better than some other people *cough* jos *cough cough*. You taught him all your tricks and was there for his first win, which he was so proud to show you on the podium.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"There he is!" You cheered as Max ran into your arms. The two of you shared a tight hug with loud laughs. "Championship contender! That's my boy!" You lifted him up spinning him, making the boy wheeze. "I'm so proud of you." You set him down cupping his cheeks. "I'm so so proud, Max. You deserve it. And I can't wait till you win the championship!"

He could only look at you smiling brightly. You made him feel so good about himself. You gave him courage and confidence, to do and preform better. And he did, all because of you. You were crying as you watched him raise the Abu Dhabi grand prix trophy. He pointed at it, gesturing for you to see. And you nodded proudly, wiping the tears from yours eyes. He found you soon after, smashing his lips into yours in a passionate kiss which you returned wrapping your hands around his neck.\.

"I love you so much, Y/N. Thank you so much! For everything. I would've never made it without you." He whispered in your ear, holding you in his embrace like his life depended on it. "Lets go out tonight." You whispered back smiling. "Lets have fun, you deserve it."

youruser

liked by pieregasly redbullracing and 67M others youruser I have no words to describe how happy i am for you, Max. You deserve the world 🧡❤️💙can't wait to see the number one on your car next year!!

#‧˚⊹🪴 ଓ :: 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 ‧₊˚⤾#f1 #formula 1 #formula racing #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max x reader #max x you #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff

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adore-laur · 10 months

Text

DADRRY: PART TWO

— part one

——

The Styles household is missing a vital component this weekend. Harry isn't home, which is a rare occurrence, but duty is called at the most inconvenient moment. It had been a little after five in the morning when he received a blaring phone call from his boss. His snores had abruptly stopped as he fumbled around to answer the call before speaking groggily with a pinch to his eyebrows that would indeed induce a splitting headache.

You were still half asleep when it happened, and all you can remember seeing was Harry running his hands over his face after he hung up. He then slid out of bed with a quiet groan and took a shower. It didn't take long for you to realize that he had been called in to work. His pragmatic side refused to leave the restaurant severely understaffed, and you understood his decision.

Before he slipped out the door, a minty kiss was given to the corner of your lips, and he whispered, "Love you." You later awoke to a cold and empty bed, and it felt uncomfortable without his warm body pressed against you.

It's a quarter after eight now, and you assume Harry will be done working after lunchtime. Your daughter will undoubtedly be confused about why he isn't here to cook a breakfast buffet and carry her down to the beach for a morning swim like he does every weekend. You're dreading telling her because she could throw a toddler fit at any moment, especially when sleepy.

With a suppressed yawn, you reach for your phone on the nightstand and text Harry. You'll try to make his shift less chaotic.

I'm sorry you had to go in today. I hope it goes by quickly. We'll see you when you get home! I love you.

You hope you can ease some of his frustration. He becomes grouchy when work obligations are thrown at him at the last minute, and working on a Saturday could be extra stressful since he doesn't know the weekend menu and preparation like he used to. Despite that, he's a professional, so you can count on him to push through and adapt.

Eventually, you start your day by walking to the balcony overlooking the coast. Your daughter will wake soon, so you bask in the soothing moment alone. Below the balcony is where all the beach toys live—floaties, buckets for building sandcastles, and even a foldable lounge chair Harry spoiled your daughter with on her last birthday. It's your family's subtle mark on the world, and it ignites a strong feeling in your chest. You built this life with Harry, from every little toy on the sand to the oceanside memories the three of you will always cherish.

Your reminiscing ends as the brisk morning breeze ripples goosebumps over your arms and legs. Your mind naturally drifts to the thought of Harry and how tomorrow will be his only day off before he has to pound out five straight days of work again. He's dedicated to his career and tries desperately to leave his stress at work instead of bringing it home, but you have a feeling he'll be spent today.

You hear soft footsteps padding down the hallway as you think of something you could do to cheer him up. You smile and walk back inside, meeting your baby girl's puffy eyes and lost expression. Your heart immediately crumbles. Harry is always the one to wake her up on the weekends. After waking up, you'll often see them already at the kitchen table, either sharing a slice of buttered toast or creating faces on their pancakes using an assortment of fruit.

Kneeling to her height, you brush tangled curls out of her eyes. "Good morning, sleepyhead. I know Dad was supposed to wake you up, but he had to go to work. He'll be home in a few hours, okay?"

Her lips pout. She's currently in a clingy phase, so not seeing her dad when she usually does has her understandably upset.

You gently shush her to try to stop any forthcoming tears. "I know, sweetheart. Let's eat some breakfast, and then we can think of something to do for him before he comes home," you say, not wanting to deal with a meltdown this early.

She nods and sulks toward the kitchen, with you closely behind. You make frozen chocolate chip waffles with a lousy side of green grapes. It's nothing compared to what Harry would make, but it'll have to suffice. You sit next to her and cautiously watch her eat so she doesn't shove big bites into her tiny mouth. She still looks visibly upset.

The vacant chair across the table mocks you. It feels bizarre not to have him here talking about the day's plans or what's for dinner. You can't remember the last time he had to work during the weekend. The restaurant's management has always been top-notch, and the employees are usually punctual, but there must have been someone sick or an unforeseen scheduling issue.

"Can you think of something to do for him?" you ask your daughter.

She silently mopes and picks at her waffle. You'll have to think for both of you.

You could have lunch made for him when he gets home, but you're not sure if he'd be hungry from being around food all morning. On top of that, he'll be exhausted and will most definitely want to take a nap. A better idea would be to visit him at work at the end of his shift. He'd appreciate it.

"Would you want to go and see him at the restaurant?" you suggest, stealing one of her grapes.

That gets her. Her eyes focus on you as she excitedly bobs her head. You grin and kiss her temple before cleaning up the remnants of breakfast.

"I'm going to shower, and then I'll help you get ready," you tell her while lifting her out of the highchair. She gallops to her room without another word, clearly in a much happier mood than before.

You pull out your phone and ask Harry what time he works until. Since you want to surprise him, you send a vague text. You're not worried about getting a response soon, so you check on your daughter and find her playing with her toys, then head to the bedroom to take a quick shower.

After that, you're met with a new text message.

Harry: 1:30 or 2. Everyone is in a bad mood. The breakfast rush was a disaster. Someone called in because they were hungover. How are you guys doing? Sorry if she's cranky because of me.

You: That sucks. Only five more hours, though. And she's fine, just a little mopey. Have a good rest of your shift, baby.

Three dots immediately pop up.

Harry: Tell her I miss and love her. I'll call you during my lunch break if it's not swamped.

You:Will do.

You shut your phone off and find things to do around the house to make time pass faster—cleaning, playing with dolls, and even baking brownies. When it finally hits one o'clock, you pick out an outfit. It's not too hot outside, so you wear a long sundress that flows prettily. You then dry your hair and let it loose, knowing Harry likes it that way.

Entering your daughter's bedroom, you find her still playing with dolls on the plush carpet. A yellow gingham dress and white Mary Janes lay on her bed. You grab them, help her into the cute outfit, and then brush through her wild curls.

Once you both are ready, you grab your keys and head out the front door. You strap your daughter in the Volvo's car seat before settling behind the wheel. It takes fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant, so you put on a Disney playlist for her to listen to on the way there.

When you eventually pull into the parking lot, it appears to be busy. You couldn't imagine working at a restaurant on a Saturday during the summer. Once parked, you unbuckle your daughter and hike her up on your hip before walking around the back. There's an employee door that leads to the kitchen without having to walk through the entire building. You've visited Harry on his lunch breaks before, even before you got married. When you first started dating him, you remember how he would wait outside in his chef coat, standing against the brick wall. When he'd spot you, he'd meet you halfway and trap you in his arms, kissing and hugging you until he had to clock back in.

Now, you walk through the door with a mini version of you and him clinging to your side.

The kitchen is bustling, and the smell of sizzling meats and vegetables instantly invades your senses. Dishes clang in the sink, so you assume they must have just finished serving lunch. Everyone recognizes you by now, and they offer a friendly smile or wave before resuming their respective duties.

You scan the room for Harry but can't find him anywhere.

"He's in the employee bathroom," says a man you've seen before as he passes you. "He needed a break. The lunch rush was a nightmare."

If the breakfast rush was a disaster and the lunch rush was a nightmare...

"Oh no," you mumble. It must have been bad for everyone today. "I'll go check on him."

You wander toward the bathroom door and knock twice. The familiar clearing of Harry's throat is muffled on the other side.

"Yeah?" he says hoarsely. His nose sounds plugged up. Has he been crying?

"It's me, honey. Can I come in?"

It's silent for a few seconds before you hear the lock turn. You crack the door open and step inside before turning and locking it again. When you meet Harry's gaze, your heart sinks. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, his chef coat is unbuttoned, and his curls fall over his forehead. He looks so worn out.

Yet it all goes away momentarily when he sees who you have on your hip. He gives the slightest smile before sniffling and taking her from you, hugging her tightly while her arms throw themselves around his shoulders. His eyes stay trained on yours, offering a nod as if to convince you he's okay.

You close the short distance and run your hand through his tousled hair. Your thumb then grazes the faint wetness under his eyes before you squeeze the apple of his cheek and give him a sympathetic smile. He leans forward and plants a tender kiss on your lips. It tastes like bell peppers.

"Are you okay?" you murmur with concern.

Harry sighs and says, "Not really. It was six hours of nonstop orders and running around. We're so understaffed, baby. Everyone kept pissing each other off." He sniffles. "I just want to go home."

"Are you done for the day? I can help clean up or something."

"I have to take the meatballs out for dinner service. They're almost done, then we can go."

"Do you want to help him take the meatballs out?" you ask your daughter. Her head snaps up with lightning speed, making you and Harry laugh.

"Yes, please," answers her soft voice.

Harry sets her down and takes her tiny hand before leading her out of the bathroom and toward the ovens. Sure enough, a large sheet of seasoned meatballs is cooking in one of them. "Four more minutes, and then we can take them out," he tells her.

She kneels in front of the oven, watching them closely. Harry smiles fondly and grabs a spare chef's hat from under a nearby counter. He places it on her head and crouches next to her.

After admiring them for a while, you stand behind Harry and massage his shoulders. His head rolls back as he looks at you upside down, dazzling you with his handsome face.

Once the timer beeps, Harry carefully opens the oven and grabs two mitts, putting one on his hand and one on your daughters'. He slides the baking sheet out so he can grip the edge while he maneuvers her hand to grip the other side. With slow and cautious movements, they successfully set it on the stovetop. Harry quietly cheers and high-fives her, then takes their mitts off. She looks so proud of herself.

"I was thinking we could go to the supermarket and get ingredients for date night tomorrow," you say as Harry washes his hands.

"Yeah, we should do that," he replies, hanging up his chef coat. "I have some recipes saved on my phone."

His outfit is somewhat wrinkled—a cream-colored button-up untucked from gray trousers. After he removes his work shoes and slips on white loafers, he wipes a clean rag over his face to get rid of the buildup of sweat and grease.

"Do you want to ride with him?" you ask your daughter. "We're stopping at the store on our way home."

She nods and raises her arms for him. He picks her up and clocks himself out before escorting you to the parking lot. Harry buckles his girl in the Bentley while you get in the Volvo. He then saunters to the open driver's side window and casually rests his arms on it.

"Are my eyes still red?" he asks, rubbing them with his knuckles.

"Don't rub them; it'll make it worse," you say. "But they're not too bad. I'm sorry today was stressful, Harry."

"It's fine. Hopefully, management gets their shit together so I won't have to come in on my days off. They know my weekends are important." Harry stares into the distance and mumbles, "It's that idiot's fault for getting wasted the night before his opening shift."

"Hey, stop dwelling on it. The hard part is over. Now, you get to go home and take a nap. Plus, you have off all day tomorrow."

"You're right." He readjusts his footing and focuses intently on you. "By the way, I like your pretty little outfit."

"Thank you. Your clothes are so wrinkly."

He scoffs lightheartedly. "Wow. What a nice compliment."

"No, you look great," you say, backtracking. "It's just such a dad outfit."

"I guess that's better than when you say I dress like a grandpa."

"A cute grandpa." Before he can reply, you say, "Let's get out of here."

"'Kay," he says, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the car. "Bye, my love. Please drive safely."

You start the engine and crank up the air conditioner. "The store is literally a street away, and you'll be following me. I think I'll be okay."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Let me worry about you, yeah? Traffic was awful this morning."

"I know, I know. You, however, need to drive even more safely. You've got a baby on board."

"She's not a baby anymore."

"Don't say that. I'll start crying."

He laughs. "Please don't. Crying while driving isn't safe."

"I'm kidding. Sort of. Okay, we're wasting time. Begone." You wave him off and roll up the window, but Harry knocks on it offendedly.

You groan and roll it back down. "What do you want?"

"Uh, a kiss goodbye? Am I chopped liver to you?"

"You're so dramatic."

Harry leans in until half of his torso is through the open window. He puckers his lips, and you give him a searing kiss. He hums, satisfied, and then gives you a peck on the cheek before retreating.

He always gets his way.

——

Shopping started wonderfully. It truly did.

Now, not so much. Your daughter is throwing a tantrum in the beverage aisle with wails and crocodile tears galore, all because you won't buy chocolate milk for her. You keep reiterating that there's a jug at home, but according to her, it's not the same. Harry is on the opposite side of the store, finding a specific type of rice needed for the date night recipe he picked out, so you're left trying to diffuse her outburst alone. You hope he'll heroically come down the aisle any minute.

Your skin feels hot and prickly as you attempt to calm her down, but she's stubborn like her dad. Usually, she'll listen, but there are rare times when she unleashes her full power. It's absolute torture to endure them while simultaneously trying to subside them.

No one really talks about the humiliating parts of raising a child. The most common example is dealing with tantrums in public places where everyone stares at you with subtle judgment.

It's almost comical how she plopped herself on the cold, hard tiles as she cried to no one in particular. An impulsive thought made you want to tell her that she was just embarrassing herself, but you resisted. There was no need to make her cry even harder.

Just in time, Harry comes speeding down the aisle with a frazzled look and a bag of rice in his hand. He takes in your defeated expression, then glances at the cause of it. He huffs—relieved that it's not an emergency—and crouches to her height.

"I told her I wouldn't buy chocolate milk because we already have some at home," you explain, trying to blink back frustrated tears. "They're different brands, and I guess that's a massive problem."

Harry sighs while looking at your daughter sternly. He'll often take a soft approach, but you know this tantrum is worse than others. She rarely gets temperamental in public.

"That's enough," he scolds firmly. "We have some at home that you can drink, okay? You listen to your mother when she tells you no."

Her sobs weaken, yet her tears still fall. She sniffles and stares at you with those devastating eyes before choking out another raspy sob. She starts to run away, but Harry's paternal instincts have him standing with a displeased groan and catching up to her. He scoops her up using one arm and secures her over his shoulder so she can't escape. She begins squirming and screaming, causing you to tiredly run your hands down your face.

"All right, let's go," he says, his body practically a punching bag for her little fists and feet. "You're being a brat."

Harry roughly passes the rice to you and then takes her to the car. You release the breath you were holding and decide to just buy the chocolate milk anyway, so you don't have to deal with whatever that was again. You also find the other ingredients before heading to the checkout area to pay. The monotone beeping of the scanning gun keeps you from crying in front of the cashier.

Being a parent is draining. People warned you, but it's ten times harder than they make it out to be. Sometimes, you feel like a bad parent for not being able to control your child. You've had conversations with Harry about how he feels the same way. You know it's completely normal to feel guilt, shame, and insecurity, but it doesn't make those thoughts any less heartbreaking to conquer.

It's just one difficult day. You always get through it.

Once you leave the store, you spot Harry setting up a movie to play for your daughter on the small screen that's hooked to the back of his headrest. You don't hear any crying, so you assume he successfully calmed her down.

Harry eventually sees you in his peripheral and gives you the tiniest wave. You almost fall apart at his gentleness as you walk to your car. Your daughter probably doesn't want to see you right now, plus you don't want to set her off again, so you just get in the driver's seat and bite down on your bottom lip to keep the tears at bay.

After a few moments, you hear Harry's car door shut and footsteps walk closer. It's enough to make the first sob escape. Harry's attentive and caring nature can always break the dam if you're sensitive enough.

He opens the door on your side and immediately brings you in for a warm, consoling embrace. You let out soft cries in his arms, his hand cradling the back of your head as he shushes and sways you. His presence alone is enough to patch the holes today brought.

"She's good now," he murmurs, his cheek nuzzling the side of your head. "It's okay. We'll talk about it later. Let's go home first."

You nod, just wanting to be in the comfort of your own home. Harry reaches over your legs and opens the center console to pull out a small package of tissues he knows you keep in there. He takes one out and dries your tears while gently cupping your cheek.

"Today's been weird with you being gone. It's not your fault, but I guess we're not used to it. Sorry for crying."

"Hey, stop that," he replies quietly. "I cried, too. It's good to cry. What do we always say to each other? Parenting isn't easy, and we're learning every day. We're in this together, right?"

This time, you start crying at his loving words, and you can't help but start laughing at both of your messy states. He cradles the back of your head and kisses your forehead several times. "Are you good to drive?" he asks, his hands gripping the top of the car as his foot plants itself by your seat.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." You nod your head toward the grocery bags in the backseat. "I bought the milk so she doesn't hate me forever. Is she still mad at me?"

"I had a little talk with her. I told her to give you a big hug when we get home, so be prepared."

"Thank you for handling her. I love you."

"I love you more," he says. "I'm sorry for throwing the rice in your hands, by the way."

You wave him off. "Doesn't matter."

"Okay." The door begins to shut. "Drive safe."

"Excuse me, am I chopped liver to you?" you repeat what he said earlier. "Leaving me without a kiss?"

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth. "You've got snot in your nose, so I think I'll pass," he teases as he walks away.

"Hey! I kissed you in the gross restaurant bathroom after you were crying."

He just shrugs smugly. You grin and start driving.

——

After you arrived home, Harry took a short nap and later made a seafood dinner. Your daughter also gave you a bone-crushing hug, as promised, but you're sure it was only because she saw you bought the chocolate milk she wanted.

Now, you are all at the house's private beach area to get some fresh air. Harry puts swim floaties on your daughter's arms while you bring out her plastic sandcastle-building tools. The sky is a dull blue, and the coastal breeze is pleasantly warm.

Even when it's gloomy, your family feels like sunshine.

Once her floaties are secure, she runs into the ocean to splash around—she knows not to let the water rise past her waist. You set her tools by the shore and look at Harry with your hands on your hips, waiting for him to start the activity he came up with. He suggested that the both of you pass a football around for some reason, and you couldn't think of anything else to do, so you agreed. He's changed into yellow swim trunks, a blue tie-dye shirt, and black sunglasses on his face. His feet are bare, and he's holding a football. You don't remember ever owning one, so you have no idea where he grabbed it.

"Ready?" he calls out over the wind.

"Sure!" you call back, showing him your palms so you can catch it. "Please don't throw it too hard!"

"You act like I'm an NFL player. Stop stroking my ego, love."

"Just throw the ball, Harry."

He peers at you over his sunglasses as if to tell you to get ready, then brings his arm back over his head and throws it. It goes left and doesn't even reach you.

"Nice throw," you say sarcastically as you pick it up. "You're really giving Aaron Rodgers a run for his money."

Harry briefly scowls at your comment, and you glance back to see him jogging toward you. You try to run away from him, but he quickly lurches forward and lifts you. You squeal as he spins you around before setting you down and stealing the ball.

After twenty minutes of Harry's horrible football skills, the both of you decide to lie on the hammock close to the water. You and Harry can fit on it together, so you curl into his side as he throws one arm around your shoulder to keep you near. Lightly swaying in the wind, you enjoy the peaceful serenity of where you live. Your daughter is still in view, collecting shells along the shore. The waves rush forward and then retreat. The clouds hang low in a sheath of gray. It's a sight to behold.

Harry kisses your cheek softly before murmuring, "Wanna talk about earlier?"

"We probably should," you reply, propping yourself up with your elbow.

"Talk to me about how you felt," he says, taking off his sunglasses. "Lay it all on me."

You shift your gaze to your daughter. "I just... I know we've dealt with her tantrums before. But that one in the store was the worst one, you know? I've dealt with them alone when you're at work, and I know you deal with them when I'm gone, too. She's usually so well-behaved in public, and I kind of froze when she threw a fit. She wouldn't listen to me no matter what."

Harry nods, paying full attention as you continue, "And I was embarrassed because people stared at me and probably wondered why I couldn't control my child. She's such a sweet girl, but it's those stubborn moods she gets into that frustrate me. I don't want to yell at her either, because that will upset her more. Then I almost started crying at the checkout because I felt so ashamed that you had to step in to help. And I know we're a team, but I felt useless." You finish with watery eyes while watching your sweet baby girl pick up a seashell and place it in her little self-made pile of others.

Harry brings you closer and kisses your temple before responding in a voice that's just above a whisper. "Everything you just said, I understand entirely. I feel the same way sometimes. Remember when you were out with your friends and I was home alone when she was just a baby? I called you, bawling my eyes out, because she wouldn't let me hold her. She kept wailing, and I tried everything, but absolutely nothing worked. And I felt so shitty because my entire job as a dad is to take care of her, yet I couldn't even do that. I was so scared that she was done with me. But like I told you today: we're learning. We're in this together until she moves out and gets sick of—"

You kiss him mid-sentence. "Don't say that, please. She's not even three yet. I don't want to think about her moving out."

Harry squeezes your shoulder and says, "Sorry. But you get the point, yeah?" He slides his hand up your neck and through your hair. "You're the best mom." I'm so grateful you can come to me and talk through these insecurities. We're never too old to talk about it."

The sun peeks from the clouds, and you take in Harry's features, now basking in golden light. "You're the best dad and husband I could ever want. Thank you for being my shoulder to cry on and for always listening to me no matter how big or small the problem is."

"I love you," he whispers, thumbing along your cheekbone. Did my sweet-talk give you flutters?"

"Oh, it's fluttering. For sure."

"I've still got the moves," he says, pumping his fist.

As you snuggle into his arms, your daughter prances over with a sand dollar in her palm. She clumsily clambers on top of Harry and holds it up to his face. His head retracts to look at it, and he smiles widely at her discovery, even though she already has about seven sand dollars in her bedroom.

"For me?" he asks with exaggerated surprise.

She nods. "Because you had work."

Your heart melts at her sweetness. Harry looks over at you and raises his eyebrows before looking back at her. "Yeah? Thank you, baby. And where's mommy's present for getting you chocolate milk?"

Her face drops, and she quickly climbs off before returning to her seashell pile. You laugh and hide your face on Harry's shoulder. Even through the hardships, you feel like the luckiest person on the planet every single day.

Once the sun sets, you all walk to the house and settle in the backyard. It's a spacious area with two reclined chairs and trees surrounding them, with string lights strung across their branches. It's one of your favorite spaces. It's where you and Harry snag some alone time after your daughter goes to bed, or where slow dances and conversations about the future happen.

Slow dancing still happens, but a certain little girl likes to join this time.

You venture inside momentarily and grab your music speaker, then head to your bedroom to steal one of Harry's old shirts for your daughter to wear as pajamas. It'll fit more like a dress on her, but she sleeps better with his scent engulfing her. Truthfully, you can't blame her.

Outside, Harry is letting your daughter look through his phone for a song to play. He helps her scroll through a playlist he created for sleep troubles. You unzip her dress and take it off as Harry helps maneuver her so you can pull the shirt over her head. She practically drowns in it.

Once she chooses a song, you turn the speaker on so his phone can connect. The flute that begins playing is familiar—"Constant as the Stars Above" from Barbie as Rapunzel. Harry sometimes hums it to her when he tucks her in at night.

He sets her down and lets her stand on top of his feet with her Mary Janes. They dance under the moonlight, with Harry holding her hands above her head as he twirls her. She tiredly giggles, and you check your phone to see that it's way past her bedtime. You can't bring yourself to disrupt the moment, so you admire their special bond for the next few minutes.

When her eyes start drooping, you carry her inside and lay her in bed before calling it a night. Getting to wake up with your family tomorrow puts a dreamy smile on your face as you fall asleep to the sound of distant ocean waves.

——

Sunday mornings are medicine for the soul.

A delicious assortment of food is on the counters as Harry gracefully travels around the kitchen to flip pancakes on the griddle or crack eggs into the pan. He's entirely in his element, with tortoiseshell glasses over his sleepy eyes and a white robe tied around his body. Your daughter sits in her highchair at the kitchen table, her curls sticking up every which way. She's in her own world, eating Cheerios.

Whenever Harry passes by her to set plates or cups down, he ruffles her hair and kisses her cheek, sometimes even stealing a piece of cereal from her. She turns around with a pout before smiling because Harry playfully looks around the room and whistles nonchalantly, like he didn't do it.

Once all of you are sitting down with plates full of Harry's five-star breakfast, you discuss plans for the day. Your daughter is spending the night with Harry's mother since it's date night for you and him. She's leaving right before dinnertime, so she'll still be spending a good portion of the day with the both of you.

Harry plans to cook Chinese food tonight, and you plan on getting him to watch The Bachelorette with you. He told you he was absolutely not doing that, yet you know that once it's on, he'll become engrossed with the drama. He'll pretend he doesn't like it but then bombard you with questions about who hates who.

It hits five in the evening fairly quickly, and your daughter just left with no fuss. You hope she doesn't have another one of her temper tantrums.

Harry has changed out of his pajamas and into a white T-shirt with a baseball hat turned backward. He also has a bit of scruff from not shaving for the past week.

There are days when you look at his outfit and think he looks more like a dad than usual. Today is one of those days. He has a black apron tied around his waist as he boils water for the rice. You'll never get tired of watching him cook. He's so focused and delicate with his hands, whether chopping vegetables or sprinkling seasoning.

You sit on the counter and watch him. While he waits for the water to heat, his hands place themselves on either side of your legs. You smile as he slides his warm hand under your sweatshirt and strokes his thumb against your stomach. There are permanent stretch marks indented on your skin from being pregnant. You tried to get rid of them by using expensive creams and exercising. After a while, you gave up and slowly but surely accepted that your body helped grow and bring a child into the world, and there would forever be proof of it. Harry had helped tremendously with seeking acceptance. He never forced you to love the physical changes. He was the one helping you put on beauty cream and looking for workouts to do with you. He never pushed you.

His thumb continues stroking your soft skin, and his eyes are zoned out on the floor. You wonder what he's thinking about.

"The water's boiling," you whisper to snap him out of his trance.

Harry stands straight and clears his throat. He pours the rice in, and your hand raises to scratch the stubble along his jaw. He tilts his head and kisses your palm.

Once dinner is done—two savory Chinese chicken and fried rice bowls—the two of you sit across from each other and dig in. As Harry chews, you notice he's off in his own world again. You nudge your foot against his.

"Where's your mind tonight?"

He blinks quickly. "Sorry. Were you saying something?"

"No, I'm just observing you," you say with a soft smile. "You were daydreaming when you were making dinner, too. Just making sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm good. I just… I wanted to talk to you about something before we go to bed. Nothing bad, I promise."

"We can talk after we watch The Bachelorette. That's more important."

He rolls his eyes and replies, "I guess I'll watch it with you."

The both of you clean up after finishing your meals, then head to the couch and tune in to the show. You've been recording episodes after they premiere since you're usually too tired after work to stay up and watch them in full. You're about halfway through the season, and this is the first episode you've been able to watch with Harry. Or, well, force him to watch. He hates all the crying and stupid fights. Not to mention how you always talk about how cute the guys are.

Your favorite contestant appears on screen, and you gasp. "That's Greg! Isn't he adorable? I want him to win."

"He looks like he finishes too fast," Harry comments flatly.

You scoff. "Looks like you guys have something in common, then."

"I will shut this off and delete the recording," he threatens under his breath.

"I'd divorce you. I'm not kidding."

"And leave me for Greg? You wouldn't."

You just huff and continue watching Greg get some action in a hot tub with the bachelorette. When there's a commercial break, you lay your head on Harry's lap.

"If you were the bachelorette and I was a contestant, would you pick me?" he asks after a few moments.

"No."

He pinches your side. "Liar."

"It's true," you admit honestly. "You'd try too hard. You wouldn't kiss me the first night to seem like a gentleman. And then another guy would steal your time away from me, but you'd be too nice to say anything about it."

"I would not," he argues weakly.

"You're getting pretty defensive. I beg to differ."

"Whatever," he replies, scratching along your arm. "I'd sweep you off your feet, and then we'd get married. The whole nation would love us."

"Greg could do that as well," you tease, loving how he's getting jealous.

"Well, good thing we're already married and have a kid together. Unless you're planning on leaving me for him."

"Thinking about it," you mumble as the show comes back on.

When the episode ends, it's around nine. You still have dishes to wash, so you get up and fill the sink with soapy water. Harry is beside you in seconds to help, and you suddenly remember what he mentioned earlier during dinner.

"So, what'd you want to talk about?" you ask, beginning to wash cups.

"Oh, um, this is just something I've been thinking about lately. And I wanted to bring it up because it concerns both of us—you, mostly."

He's nervously spewing words, so you shut the water off and grant him your full attention. "Talk to me," you encourage, bumping your hip with his.

Harry exhales somewhat shakily. "When you were on the counter and my hand was under your sweatshirt, my mind immediately went back to when you were pregnant." He avoids eye contact as he scrubs a plate. "How much I loved it. The whole progression."

You know where this conversation is going. You've thought about it before. Dreamed, even.

"It's been on my mind for a while, you know?" he continues. "She's almost three, and I think having another one would be nice. Again, it's completely up to you. Pregnancy isn't easy, so it's just an idea."

"But you've been thinking about it for a while?" you reiterate for clarity. Harry nods shyly, drying the clean plate with a towel. "I've been thinking about it, too," you add.

Harry's head whips toward you. "What?"

"I feel ready to do it a second time. To be pregnant again."

He sets the towel down. "Seriously? For real?"

"It's a perfect time. We've got the money and space. I'm all in if it's what you want. I think she would love to have a sibling."

Harry inhales heavily and darts his gaze between both of your eyes. He then breaks out into a beautiful smile, rubbing his hand along his mouth. "Okay," he says. "Yeah, I want another baby more than anything. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

You grin while washing your hands. The dishes can wait until tomorrow. "We can start tonight. We're home alone, and the outfit you're wearing is making me hot."

"Yeah?" he says, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Sweet. Wait, right now? Are we doing this?"

"Yes, right now," you reply as you walk toward the bedroom. "C'mon, let's brush our teeth and get a head start."

Harry takes off his hat and catches up to you. When you glance back, he's nervously wringing his hands in front of him like a schoolboy, and it almost makes you laugh. After seven years together and experiencing the awkward stages of dating and then pushing out an entire child with him in the room, he still gets nervous about these things.

It reminds you of the time you told him you were pregnant.

——

You pushed the gift bag toward Harry, and he gave you a suspicious look paired with a smirk.

"Did I miss our anniversary or something?" he murmured as he opened the bag and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper.

You shook your head and braced for his reaction. You'd been trying for a few months, and you finally got the answer that both of you wanted. The positive pregnancy test hidden behind your back felt like a ticking bomb.

Harry carefully unwrapped the present. His eyebrows furrowed as he unfolded an apron in front of him. His eyes ran over it, and then his jaw went slack. Written on the fabric was 'Daddy Duty,' and three pockets were sewn into the bottom to hold baby supplies while he cooked.

He stared at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. You just nodded your head and presented the stick from behind your back. He slowly stood, setting the apron on the coffee table, and walked over to you with his hands reaching out. He took the stick with a shaky hand, his other covering his mouth.

Staring up at the ceiling, Harry choked out something between a relieved breath and a sob. His arms instantly wrapped around your shoulders, bringing you into his warm embrace. He was trying hard to keep it together, but you heard his shaky inhales and sniffles. You were crying, too. You'd both wanted this for so long.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered against your neck. "I can't believe this. How far along are you?"

"I'll know at my first appointment next Thursday. I'll text you all the information."

"No, screw that. I'll take off work. I have to be there."

"Okay, we'll go together," you told him, secretly hoping he would say that. "Are you happy? I was so nervous. I didn't know how to tell you."

"Of course, I'm happy." He breathed exasperatedly, like he couldn't believe what you had just revealed. We're going to be parents. We're going to have a baby."

The two of you laughed at each other in disbelief. It was surreal, and it was all happening at the perfect time.

——

The thought of giving him another baby to cradle in his arms and to get up with at crazy hours in the morning leaves you yearning for it more than ever.

After brushing your teeth, you take your clothes off and don't waste any time taking Harry's off. You push him to make him lay back on the silk sheets before straddling his thighs, his tattoo peeking out from underneath his boxers. You grind against his cock, noticing he's hard already. Your hands spread on his firm chest as you continue rolling your hips.

Your underwear dampens, and Harry's hands grip your waist. He lifts his hips to relieve some pressure, his neck straining as he whimpers after every movement of yours.

You stop straddling him and slide his boxers off, his cock resting against his abdomen. You then take your underwear off and hike your legs over his thighs to hover over them again. This is the first time he's gone without a condom since you were pregnant, so you're nervous about the raw feeling.

"Are you with me, baby?" Harry asks breathily. "We're doing this?"

"I'm just going to go slow so it doesn't burn," you say, lining yourself up.

He nods encouragingly. "We'll take our time. Let's make this good."

You exhale and slowly sink yourself into his cock. The stretch burns, but it still feels heavenly without a barrier. Harry groans as your hands grip his tense shoulders. His fingers flex on your hips when you take him all the way and begin rocking back and forth. He moans in response, his hips meeting the motion of yours.

You've missed this. You can feel every inch of his skin, and the contact is a pleasure like no other.

Harry decides to quickly flip you over so he can be on top. His forearms prop himself up as he starts thrusting at a faster pace. So much for going slow. His face is buried in your neck, and he places nipping kisses on it every so often, leaving love bites. You wrap your trembling legs around his body as he hits the deeper spots that have you arching your back against the mattress.

"Feel good?" he asks, his cheek resting against yours.

"So, so good. Don't stop."

The pit of your stomach forms a tight knot as he continues. He lowers one hand and stimulates your clit with his thumb as he roughly snaps his hips against yours, letting out salacious groans and whimpers into your ear. His body is warm like a personal furnace—it's burning against yours, and the closeness of your two bodies always leads to eruption.

"I'm almost there," you say, heat striking your back. "Keep going. Please don't stop."

"I'm close—God, I'm close. I'm with you, honey. Just tell me when you're ready."

You clench around him, and he pulls out and quickly gets behind you, pushing you to lay on your side. He thrusts back in, his chest pressing right against your back. One hand moves to grope your breast, and his other arm places itself above your head on the pillow to move some strands of hair off your forehead. The two sensations have you leaning your neck back against his shoulder and moaning loudly.

Your orgasm hits before you can warn him, and you cry out as his hips slow, riding it out before stilling and shuddering out his release. Broken groans are muffled into your neck as he asks, "Gonna make me a dad again?" You nod fervently at his question. "Yeah?"

You keep nodding until he's physically spent. He keeps his cock inside you, his body relaxing against yours. The both of you are breathing heavily, and you feel his cock soften, the feeling bringing you a strange sense of comfort.

"Think that did it?" he asks.

"I hope so," you answer. Harry repositions himself, his cock nudging inside of you. "God, you feel so perfect all the time."

Harry begins stroking his hand across your stomach, every so often giving you a gentle thrust that has you softly clenching around him. You're sensitive, but it's a natural response. When his hand starts rubbing circles around your stomach to ease the remaining pressure there, you smile giddily and think about getting to experience pregnancy all over again.

Harry eventually pulls out and kneels before you, hooking your knees over his shoulders. This is precisely what he did the last time you were trying for a baby years ago. Apparently, the position is supposed to help get one to stick, for lack of better words.

Harry begins whistling nonchalantly, and you start laughing hard because he's acting like he does this every day. He tries to give you a look as if to say what he's doing is incredibly serious business, but he eventually sputters a laugh. Now, both of you are giggling like maniacs.

After about five minutes in the position, Harry sets your legs down to put his boxers back on and then leaves. He comes back and provides you with aftercare—a warm, damp cloth, a clean pair of underwear, and one of the brownies you baked earlier today.

You eat your dessert while the ocean waves crash outside the open window. You get comfortable on his lap, and he circles his arms around your waist.

Tomorrow will mark the start of a new week. Your daughter will come home, and you all will make new memories together.

After tonight, it will hopefully be the start of another chapter.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dadrry #dad!harry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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lavenderfilledcoffin · 24 days

Text

companion

noun

a person or animal with whom one spends a lot of time with.

*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*ೄ·*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*

Your coworkers often asked about the ring on your finger, but you were extremely dismissive about it.

It raised some suspicions, but they all brushed it off, calling it odd, but you didn't care.

You and Sebastian preferred cats over dogs. There was one night where the two of you couldn't stop talking about cats. Cats this. Cats that.

It was nice talking about them, but it would be better if you could actually have one.

Your home was big, and extremely lonely. It was only you and Sebastian. It wouldn't hurt to have a little fur ball, right?

You got off of work, heading to a cat cafe that you've been eying. You opened your phone, heading to your boyfriend's contact, saying you would be home late.

"Stay safe, I love you! 💕" You smiled at his reply, pressing the side button which caused the screen to turn black.

You placed your phone in your pocket, entering the cafe, a small bell chime heard as the door opened.

"Welcome! Is it just you today?"

"Yes."

"Alright! Would you like thirty minutes or an hour with the cats?"

"I think thirty minutes would be best, thank you."

"Okay! Follow me." The worker led you to the front desk, ringing up a key that cost twenty five. Not bad. Not bad at all.

You paid with cash, a fifty dollar bill, to be exact. "Keep the change." The worker slid a basket full of cat toys and treats next to the key.

They led you to the second floor of the cafe, there were a few individuals in separate corners, each drinking different kinds of drinks and eating small snacks.

You chose to sit in the middle of the cafe. There were pink partitions that surrounded you with cat paws adorning them. A small table was between two of the partitions, two cats playing with a ball of yarn right next to it.

You sit down at the table, placing the small basket next to you, then placing the key in your pocket.

You skimmed over the menu, everything was cat related in some way, it's cute.

Sebastian would love a place like this.

You frowned at the thought, wishing he was with you.

It's okay, though.

A worker dressed in a suit that appeared to be lolita fashion approached you, "are you ready to order?"

"Yes, I'd like jasmine tea with a small strawberry shortcake."

She scribbled down your order, "very well. I will be back with your order when it's ready." She smiled, then left.

The two cats that were playing with yarn became uninterested, deciding to set their attention onto you.

They meowed, rubbing their heads against your knuckles. "Aren't you just the cutest little guys?" You happily cooed, giving them the attention that they were basically begging for.

A gorgeous black cat walked by, it looked at you, but tried to be sneaky about it.

You giggled softly, being subtle about your glances towards it.

The cat shuffled closer, loafing and purring as its eyes shut in a cute way.

It's... sassy. It reminded you of Sebastian. This cat is perfect.

The worker came with your order. "Enjoy!"

The porcelain tea cup was a nice pastel pink with a white silhouette of a cat.

Same with the plate of the strawberry shortcake.

It was a little bigger than you expected, no worries, you'd bring some home for Sebastian.

You pulled your phone out, taking a picture of the table, then the cats.

You took a few sneaky photos of the loafing cat. You were definitely drawing over it to make it look like Sebastian later.

After the lovely thirty minutes ended, you got up.

"Hi, again! I will be taking your dishes and coming back with your bill. Would you like to take what you didn't finish home?" You nodded, and she left, coming back with a foldable white box with pink stripes.

She left again, this time taking your dishes with her.

You placed the rest of the strawberry shortcake into the box; folding it neatly.

The worker came back with the bill, "are there any of our cats that interested you?" She placed it onto the table. You reached for your wallet inside of your bag, placing your card onto it, as well as giving her a ten dollar tip.

"Yes, actually. How about the cute black one?" As you were signing the bill, the cat suddenly appeared.

It was suddenly next to where you were sitting just a few minutes ago.

"Oh, wow. He normally dislikes our customers. Lucky you, haha!" She joked, leaving with your card and bill.

After a three minute wait, she came back with a few things. A padlock, a small packet of papers, your card, and a pink cat carrier.

She placed everything but the padlock down onto the table. She held it up. "Here's the padlock you can unlock with your key which, for us, means that you vow to take care of him."

You reached into your pocket, holding up the key. You smiled as you placed it into the hole, turning it, and it unlocked. She made a happy noise, handing you a pen. "Free of charge, sign these, and he will be yours!"

You picked up the pen again, getting on your knees and resting your weight on your calves as you signed each paper.

You clicked the pen after you were finished, holding it up to her. "Oh, no. You can keep it!" She picked up the papers, rushing away again. In her small absence, you put your belongings away, absentmindedly petting the cat that was now yours.

She came back with an envelope. "This has the certificate, copy of the papers you signed, and everything you need to know about this little cutie. Have a good day!" She waved goodbye, then left a final time.

You scratched under your cat's chin, to which he purred loudly. "In you go." You opened the carrier, and he surprisingly went in with no fuss.

You closed the carrier. A box with cake in your right hand, cat carrier in the other. You were ready to go home and surprise your boyfriend.

"On my way home, I'll see you soon <3"

"Yay!! Pls hurry :(("

"Sebby!" You called out, and he opened the front door, he was met with you carrying a little too much for his liking.

"Where did you go?" He smiled, taking the cake box off of your hands, entirely oblivious as to what was in the pink carrier.

"A cafe of sorts. I brought back cake and another surprise."

"Really?" He turned around excitedly, and you held up the carrier. "Open it."

He traded the cake box for the carrier, and you watched him open it to reveal the beautiful black cat.

It looked like he had malfunctioned. "C... Cat!" He immediately cooed, petting it and rubbing it in spots he knew that cats liked.

His ear fins wiggled happily. You just had to sneak a picture.

If you didn't know any better, you would say that the cat was a bomb from how loud it was purring.

"Oh, [Name], this is amazing!" Sebastian giggled softly as the cat trilled upon each ounce of attention he gave him.

"You're gonna love it here, little dude." Sebastian slithered away, cat in his claws, and you followed him to the kitchen.

You placed the box onto the kitchen table. "I'll be going to the store for cat necessities and groceries. Is there anything you want?"

"Hmmm... Maybe meat?"

You smiled, "of course, Sebastian."

The cat was already exploring, off on an adventure, as Sebastian called it.

Wow. That really is Sebastian in cat form.

#sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian pressure x reader #sebastian pressure #sebastian solace

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reneesghostinthelivingroom · 14 days

Note

i would love to have a poly!plastics fic where reader has chronic pain and wakes one day to a bad flare up of joint pain They/he won't show to class and the girls worry so they ditch class(they walk out mid class) to o find reader who is at home, under blankets and groaning in pain at every movement. each of the girls helps in a way, from massages, to kisses, to having reader's favorite movie ready to be watched!!!! llove ur suff

Cuddles, Praise & Movies! Oh My!

|| poly!plastics x he/they!reader

(I myself am poly)

|| Warnings; injured reader, chronic pain mentions and descriptions, swearing

|| Summary; poly!plastics x they/he reader; reader's got chronic pain and doesn't show up for class, girls notice and come and comfort them.

Requests open!

Started; September 10th

Finished; September 12th

There’s a saying about how everyone is fighting internal demons. Your demons? Chronic pain. An absolute bitch in your life. It has prevented you from being able to do a hell of a lot. For those who live a chronic pain free life and don’t know what it is, feel blessed. Chronic pain is a pain that can happen anywhere on your body and it’s on going. Usually it will last for more than six months at a time. Even if the original cause of the injury is gone, the pain can be left behind. It’s essentially a pain that never fully leaves you. Some days are more manageable; while others it’s hard to even get out of bed.

You were experiencing one of those days. It was more in your upper body where you felt it, from your back to your arms; and because it reached your arms you were in so much pain that you didn’t even bother reaching for your phone. You had wanted to text your girlfriends, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move further than the next pillow.

So you also didn’t go to school that day. The school was well aware of how bad your chronic pain could get, and on the days you couldn’t make it you would usually borrow notes from either Gretchen or Cady. If you didn’t have a class with Gretchen, which was really only a single class, then you had Cady to help you out. Karen and Regina were in some of your classes as well, but they weren’t exactly the most reliable note takers. One time you made the mistake of asking Regina to do it and the note she gave you at the end of the day wasn’t exactly PG. And Karen… well, she actually (literally speaking) took someone else's notes. Since that’s what she’d thought you meant. She tried, you appreciated it. Gretchen and Cady were the only ones who actually did it for you.

Meanwhile, your girls were all in the one class the four of you usually shared together. By now it was fourth period, lunch had passed with no word from you or sighting of you in the halls. Gretchen had even asked around just to double check, but everyone told her they hadn't seen you today. The three were starting to worry as they shared a quiet conversation amongst themselves at the back of the class. Away from Mr Rapp's earshot.

"He's probably at home. No one's seen them today." Gretchen whispered, looking between Karen and Regina. Mostly Karen. Who seemed to be trying to fan herself with her pencil. Gretchen sighed," Baby, no. Get a scrap paper and make a fan, here hang on. Like this." She then proceeded to show Karen how to make a foldable paper fan, which Karen watched with intense interest. Regina just rolled her eyes.

"Come on, we're leaving." Regina stood, the other two shared a confused look and Gretchen grabbed her things without question. She had a pretty good idea what Regina was talking about and was more than happy to skip classes for you.

Karen, on the other hand, was confused as she stood and followed along through the desk rows; "Where are we going?"

"Yes, I would like to know that too." Mr. Rapp raised as eyebrow as the plastics headed for the door.

Gretchen glanced back at him to say something, but Regina grabbed her wrist and pulled her along

"Ignore him." The blonde demanded, a look of fierce determination on her face.

Mr. Rapp tried to ask them more questions, but the girls listened to Regina and ignored him completely.

Regina lead them to her jeep, digging around for her keys. Pulling them out, she unlocked her jeep and got in.

"Hurry up!" Regina honked at them.

Gretchen sighed, understanding Regina was just frustrated and worried about you. All three of them were. So she just listened, not wanting to cause her anymore stress as she took Karen's hand and gave a gentle pull. "Let's go, mama."

The two got in the back, keeping their hands together and fingers interlocked.

In no time at all (Regina may have been speeding just a little bit) they arrived at your place and pulled in the driveway.

Regina lead three into your house, not bothering to knock since they've been there countless times before. Besides, your parents weren't home because they had work and if you were in a chronic pain state like they assumed... you wouldn't be able to answer the door anyway.

They walked up the familiar stairs and into the hall with your room, Gretchen ran ahead at a light jog; throwing your door open. Her eyes immediately found your form, laying in a ball curled up in bed. She frowned and joined you, gently pulling you into her arms so your back pressed against her chest. "I've got you, baby boy." She murmured against your neck, right below your ear lobe. You shivered as you felt the vibrations from her words against you and instinctively leaned into her. Making a small sound.

"A message would have been nice." Regina's voice came from the other side of the bed. You felt it lower, then felt her arms wrap around you as she joined the cuddles.

"Sorry. Couldn't." You explained in a mumble, albeit a poor explanation. Regina sighed and you felt her nails scratch along your back in a soothing motion. It was one of your favourite feelings.

That's when you noticed Karen hadn't joined you yet. You then glanced up from where your head had been buried in Gretchen's shoulder; scanning your room for her.

Karen was over by your desk, getting your laptop started up with a small smile on your face. You thought it was adorable.

"Karen?" You murmured, getting her attention. She immediately looked at you.

"Y/N?"

"What're you doing?"

"Getting a movie ready!" Her small smile became a grin as she pulled out some cd cases, flipping through them. You noticed that each one was one of your comfort movies and your heart melted just a little bit. The gesture was appreciated.

You picked the third one she mentioned, which happened to be Narnia; the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. One of your childhood favourites. She put it into the laptop disk holder then picked up the laptop and joined the three of you in bed, curling up with Gretchen.

You gave a soft smile as she set the laptop in Gretchen's lap so it was closer to you. She didn't want to put it in your lap because she wasn't sure how much pain you were in; and she didn't want to risk adding to it.

As the movie played, you felt Regina get up and turned to look at her with a pout.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Relax." She told you before leaving, Gretchen rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving your cheek a kiss.

You huffed a little and went back to watching the movie with your girls.

It was just about the scene where Lucy enters the wardrobe for the first time when Regina returned. Holding a tray of snacks.

"I thought you went to the bathroom?" Gretchen questioned.

Karen gasped," Did you find them in the bathtub?! Sometimes that happens to me."

Gretchen gave her a look of confusion and concern but didn't say anything. Figuring it wasn't a big deal.

Regina narrowed her eyes at Karen," No. I lied. Surprise." She muttered, holding the tray out to you. You could just tell she was at least a bit embarrassed by what she did.

You took a closer look at the tray and noticed a lot of the things there were snacks with clearly you in mind. She had all your favourites. There was some stuff for Gretchen and Karen, as well as herself too but mainly it was a tray made for you. She set it down in front of you when you didn't grab it and curled back in next to you.

"Thank you." You whispered to her, and if you weren't mistaken... you saw Regina George blush.

"Whatever." She muttered.

The three of you sat and watched the movie, enjoying your snacks; about half way through Gretchen offered to give you a massage. Asking where it hurt. You pointed it out to her and she happily helped you out, wondering if she was doing okay as her hands worked on the spot. You nodded, looking rather relieved as you began to relax.

She worked your muscles so well that you eventually fell asleep.

Last thing you remember feeling was Regina's kisses on your neck, Gretchen's hands on your shoulders and the voice of the White Witch yelling something in the movie.

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clemissleepy · 4 months

Text

closet

perv!jeongin can't control himself!

warnings : dubcon , piss! , p in v , no protection , pull out method , fem!reader , "bub" , "baby" , "sir" , choking , stalking , 'breaking and entering' , oral (f.rec)

PLEZ TELL IF I MISSED SOMETHING

MINORS DNI!!!

y/n 🩵🩵: iyennnnn

do you want to see my new dress??

jeongin smiled down at his dimly lit phone. he knew "of course!" was the right answer, but that didn't mean telling his best friend 'that he had watched her try it on for the first time from her window' didn't cross his mind.

the sky was bright blue and the crickets were screeching when he'd first set up his own little "sunbathing / bird watching" act in his front yard. there was a small foldable chair dug deep into his unkempt grass that he sat in with his swim shorts, a dog tag necklace, and his binoculars. a notebook to his left, a beer to his right, and a beautiful woman in the window directly ahead of him.

when she'd gotten home from her shopping trip, she gave him a sweet wave and skipped along into her home. up in her room, she immediately began to undress and model all of her purchases. jeongin chooses to believe she was putting the show on just for him.

but when she tried on that blue dress, the way the tie around the back hooked in her waist, the way her cleavage jumped out ever so slightly, the way she twirled in her mirror... jeongin was a goner.

he was stunned, he didn't think he could move for the next hour. i mean, all the blood in his body was rushing to his dick, rubbing it against the netting of his trunks while he just sat there and gawked. but when y/n shut her curtain, the pastel clouds of the fabric finally blocking the beaming sun and his ogling eyes, jeongin realized he needed more.

so without a second thought, still hardly dressed with sunscreen poorly rubbed into his skin, he started climbing up the lattice to her window. he had snuck into her house far more than once. he had also been invited to her house just as many times, but something was different about the way he picked the window lock. his heart had never beat this hard, with such urgency that made him feel like every pulse was going to jerk his head backwards.

with the bobby pin he had stuffed into her planter box of hydrangeas, jeongin picked at the lock of y/n's window and slipped inside fairly ungracefully. he could hear every thump that his hands and feet made against the carpeted floor of y/n's room, and he could hear the chatter from below. y/n and her roommates were about to eat dinner.

"y/n! after dinner, do you want to go to the club with us?" ssangmo, the nuisance of all nuisances, asked. jeongin pressed his ear to the carpet, trying to ignore the bras, underwear, and toys he could spot underneath the bed.

"yes! i'll wear my dress!" y/n yelped and the sound of pots and pans clattering had muffled everything else.

jeongin sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to see his lovely y/n up close tonight. however, he could bask in the smell of her. her clothes, her shampoo, her perfume.

he carelessly plopped himself onto her bed. a plush fox faced him, emanating the smell of her baby powder shampoo. her blankets were bunched up, and when he ducked inside he could smell the bodywash, perfume, and y/n herself. he was in heaven, he wanted to be in y/n's bed forever.

thunk. thunk. thunk.

y/n's footsteps were heavy against the creaking wooden stairs. her giggles filled the home with joy as she called, "be ready in 30 or leave without ya!" y/n slammed her door shut in excitement.

with a giddy grin on her face, instead of dressing and getting ready, she messaged her favorite person in the whole wide world. her rock, the boy who understood her more than anyone.

y/n 🩵🩵: iyennnnn

do you want to see my new dress??

yes, "of course" is definitely more appropriate.

innie: ofc!!!

y/n 🩵🩵: k! let me get it from my closet rq!

shit. shit. shit. jeongin stared blankly at the closet's shingled door, yellow light from the main bedroom seeping through ever so slightly. the blue dress was in a death grip in his hands. he watched as y/n's silhouette came up to the door, as her manicured hands pulled the knobs apart, as the light shed onto jeongin's mortified face.

"jeongin...?" y/n's head tilted in confusion, peering around her closet with something more akin to curiosity than fear or disgust. "you okay?"

jeongin's jaw was practically dropped off of a 4 story building. his best friend, the girl of his dreams, was clad only in white panties and a white bra. small delicate bows were on the centers, and the straps were simply coquettish. jeongin was unaware that drool was falling lazily from his lips.

y/n knelt down, cupping jeongin's head into her hands with ease and gentleness he'd rarely felt before. she stared deep into his eyes as her chest rose up and down slowly, breasts revealing from the lacey bra she wore.

jeongin, shirtless in swimming trunks, caught red handed in his best friend's closet, did the first thing he could think of.

he only intended for a short kiss, a mere tap of his lips against her plush glossy ones. but once they met, it was like he was glued to her. her strawberry lip gloss clung to his kiss, a few strands of hair tickling his forehead and cheeks, the hands cupping his face started to quiver.

"jeongin-," y/n gasped from the kiss, eyes blown wide and legs shaking from processing the experience in front of her. but there was no time for processing.

jeongin gripped her hips bruisingly and led her to her bed. he shoved her down and admired her everything. how her hair strewed about on the mattress, how her cheeks were flushed pink, how her hands and elbows came to cover her chest and stomach, and even worse how she hugged her thighs together. jeongin could only growl in response.

"jeongin, my dress!" she points to the floral blue pattern left on the floor. he does not spare it a glance, now letting his hands roam on y/n's abdomen. he reveled in the heavy rise and fall of her breaths, an animalistic smile gracing his lips. he curled his torso over her and watched his dog tag fall and swing into her cheek. the way the metal reflected her flushed expression had him grip her face in just one hand. he squished her cheeks together, pursing her lips and lifting her up into a kiss once more. he moaned and groaned with hands tickling her back, sides, and hips.

"all you care about is that damn dress. what about me, huh?" jeongin growled. he sat himself on her stomach and lay a hand against her exposed collarbone. "look at you..." he admired.

"iyen! listen!" y/n gasped, urgent to put her dress on and head off to the club as to not disappoint her friends. all she recieved was jeongin's fingers pushing the sides of her neck in, hollowing her breath.

"shut up. god, you're so beautiful," he started nipping at her lips hungrily, whining and squirming on top of her. "d' you feel me, bub?" jeongin rolled his hips over y/n's exposed naval, his shorts riding high on his thighs. he took one of her hands and slid it along his leg and into the swimming trunks.

"you wanna touch me? go 'head," he whined as her gentle fingers started dancing around the netting of his trunks until she felt the hair of his happy trail inviting her down. she didn't know what to think anymore, i mean she hadn't even thought about her best friend half naked in her closet, but she sure as hell knew she was horny now.

y/n found his hardened cock and tugged it closer to her, rubbing the tip against the netting and bringing a pathetic moan from jeongin's lips. she sat up and gently caressed his high cheekbones with her spare hand, smiling at his lustful and begging expression.

"make it quick, okay?"

and off he was. he scrambled off of her and shoved y/n's head onto a stack of pillows for support. then, he was tugging her panties clumsily down her legs and lifting her by each asscheek into his mouth. he moaned as he licked a long fat strip of her pussy. he let his nose tickle her clit while his tongue and lips explored every inch of her folds and clenching hole. he kneaded her ass and lapped up every pulse of her wetness that he could.

"jeong-fuck!!" y/n cried as he wrapped his lips properly around her clit and prodded a long finger at her hole. as he slid it in to the last knuckle, her back arched and she allowed herself to cup her breasts for her own pleasure. he slid his finger in and out, twisting and curling with intent. when would this happen again: his beautiful girl beneath him, all at his will?

jeongin watched as y/n took three of his fingers with relative ease. her face was contorted in pleasure and she was airily moaning at every thrust, but she soaked up the digits like it was nothing.

"jeongin! move faster! i've only got ten minutes!" she gasped.

jeongin did not care. "you're not going anywhere, bub," he tells, thumb rubbing circles against y/n's clit. "and you're gonna take everything i give you like a good girl, you hear me?"

y/n's pink lips came up to her best friend's, finally letting herself properly enjoy the sweet taste of jeongin on her tongue. she tangled a hand into his soft hair while she straightened them both to be upright.

"yes, sir," she mumbles, tugging down the elastic of jeongin's trunks. his cock slapped onto his stomach, red hot at the tip and pearling with precum. y/n held it at the base and let it slot between her thighs and rub between the lips her pussy.

jeongin was quick to try and regain control of the both of them. he brought his hips away from her and dragged her up for a kiss by her hair.

then he was throwing her back into the bed and slapping her clit with his cock, smiling impishly at how her legs jerked up. he pushed a hand onto her lower abdomen and watched her mouth fall open in a silent scream.

"jeongin! please!" she cried when the pressure was shortly relieved. but all too soon he was resting his weight back on it while the head of his cock was prodding her hole. "no! i'm gonna-"

"you're gonna piss? yeah, mark me, bub. i dare you," jeongin growled. he sunk himself balls deep into her pussy and whined at the squelch. he matched the pulse of his thrusts with the pressure of his hand. "i've been dreaming of this," he mumbles. "makin' you cum and piss on my cock. every night, baby."

y/n couldn't tell if the tightening in her stomach was her bladder or her orgasm, but jeongin stuffing his fingers into her mouth and holding her jaw open was distracting. he spat into her mouth and giggled at the way her tongue shifted while trying not to choke on their mixed saliva. her moans were gurgled and incomprehensible to anyone but her.

"you're not showing anyone that dress, you hear me?" he grunts with a particularly deep thrust that rubs his tip against y/n's cervix. she squirms, back arching in a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves jeongin sucking on y/n's nipples.

suddenly, with kicking legs and a shaky breath, each time jeongin pulls out a stream of piss follows. it drips down his shaft and onto the comforter.

"iyen!! no, i'm peeing! please!" she cries with no real hope that he'll stop. meanwhile, jeongin throws his head back at the new heat surrounding his cock. he continues pushing down on her bladder with his thrusts until all that comes out is a single drop. he angles his thrusts up a bit more and rides y/n through her high with incoherent blabber.

he pauses his movement to take in the fucked out sight of his best friend. two tears are trailing down her cheeks, but a smile rests on her lips and she looks lovingly into jeongin's eyes. one of her hands extends out to his cheek and trails down his chest. she rubs her thumb against one of his nipples and he curls into himself, cock bouncing out and hitting y/n in the clit again. she jolts up and giggles, but continues smiling.

the mood shifts.

"can you take a little more for me, bub?" jeongin asks, cock twitching for release.

"yes, sir," she whispers and gasps as he shoves his length back into her. she lets herself moan at every thrust, freeing herself from any judgement she was afraid of before. she pulls one of jeongin's hands to her throat and leads another to her breasts that are falling out of the cupping of her bra, bouncing at every pulse they share.

"g'nna choke you and you're gonna swallow my cum, okay? got that, pretty girl?" he coos, watching her doe eyes sparkle and her nod cheekily. he shoves the dog tag around his neck into his mouth.

his thrusts are miscalculated, heavy, and deep. his cock kisses her cervix every few seconds and he gets glimpses of heaven. his hands tighten around y/n's throat and breast, her hot walls clench around his cock and he drags out the moment as long as he can.

he feels a tug in his stomach and has to rip himself out of y/n. he sits on her chest and strokes himself while she opens her mouth eagerly and flattens her tongue to her chin.

"bub, oh, god you're beautiful," he whines while he paints her face white in stray ropes of cum. a bit lands on her nose, some on her cheek, but most in her waiting mouth. she smiles at him so innocently he can't believe he had just defiled the love of his life.

when his orgasm ends, he is scrambling to the other end of the bed and staring bug eyed at his best friend. she knew he was a creep, a pervert, i mean he had made her pee on his dick. though her eyes were full of nothing but kindness, he felt like he was going to get hard again at how he'd treated the love of his life for the 'first time.'

"jeongin, sweetie," she cooed softly. she reached out her hands and beckoned him closer. "c'mere... need cuddles."

jeongin followed every instruction. he ran her a bath and scrubbed her baby powder shampoo into her hair. he cleaned her face with a cloth and helped her back to her closet while her knees buckled and head spun.

"that was amazing, iyennie," she giggled, picking her floral dress up off the floor and placing it on a hanger. jeongin was still shyly rubbing her back in circles that soothed him more than they did her.

"did you like the mean parts?" jeongin asks while hiding his blush in his girlfriend's exposed shoulders.

"oh my god, yes. we should do a scene where you're JUST mean, baby," she laughs. "i think i'd cum so hard i'd explode!"

"you're silly, bub..." jeongin chuckles, wrapping her into a naked but warm and intimate hug. "i love you. we'll do something like that soon...

...now put on the dress."

tysm for reading! its a little all over the place and yes, all of this was a scene, thats why the breaking and entering is in quotes in warnings. but listen i was insane when i wrote this i got stuck in a spell. i hope you enjoyed my first spicy fic!

#clem writes #skz #skz x reader #writing #fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin #yang jeongin smut #skz smut #i.n skz #i.n x reader #i.n smut

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puppyguppy · 3 months

Text

It’s a quarter-past two in the morning, according to his phone, when Shouta finally makes it home. And by that, he makes it to his front door, where he angrily mumbles and fumbles with his keys, and then boots. There’s two text messages: one from Hizashi, calling him a party pooper of all things, since apparently, they’re still in high school, and one from Nemuri, asking him to text once he got home safely. He ignores Hizashi, but sends Nemuri a quick sleeping cat emoji, which he believes to be good enough proof that he did indeed make it home safely, and is quickly heading to the safety of his bed, instead of the streets. He then locks his phone and heads to his bedroom, not sure if the sour taste in his mouth is more from alcohol or frustration. They’d tried to hook him up.

And she’d been…cute enough. Sarcastic, all smiles and giggles, and a bit overly-familiar all too fast; though, he couldn't be sure if that was just because she was tipsy, or...just how she was. She reminded him of both his friends, of Nemuri and Hizashi somehow combined, so he could see why they’d picked her. But, that was just the thing. They’d picked her. And he’d picked you.

He preferred to have his friends as two separate entities, and as friends.

He also preferred you, but since he can't have that, he’ll take the early night in to sulk instead.

He sighs something close to a growl to himself, and slams his bedroom door shut with a little too much force. It shakes the walls, an almost visible representation of how he feels like he suddenly might just shake apart. He loves his friends, dearly and dumbly, but they'd gone and scratched at hardly healed scars again. Pricked at his heart with the best of intentions, and forced him to walk home with internal bleeding. It hadn't been that long, not for him, but apparently it’d been too long for everyone else. (In reality, it'd been months. Almost as many to be considered closer to a year. Yes, he knew the exact amount of weeks, days, and he could probably whittle it down to the exact minute you’d left him. But he tries not to do that...anymore.)

But they act like he hadn't been single before you. They act like he can't be single after you. Like they’d gotten so used to the idea of you, as in plural, as in the both of you. And yeah, he’d been pretty damn used to it, too. But, you’d made your choice. Left him alone to fall back onto his bed, still fully clothed, and with his palms pressing spots into his eyes. Better spots than the after image of you. You, and all the dirty little things you’d do, on a night such as this. When the night air was made that much cooler by the heat beneath, and then between, your bodies. Fuck, you were so soft. Malleable, moldable through the knead of his fingers. Foldable beneath his hands, bendable to his hot, heavy breath, snappable – you’d been so damn breakable, and yet. Shouta had been the one left in pieces, shattered but quickly stuck back together; a haphazard kintsugi of human soul and binding cloth. The same binding cloth he used on patrol, in missions, against villains, and the same binding cloth he’d used on you, to tie you up, and hold you down. You’d asked for it, begged for it, like some nights you couldn’t control your fight or flight, but you knew you wanted to stay, and so he took that choice away from you, cradled it in careful claws, and made you stay. Like a wounded, doomed animal, pupils blown and heart hammering as he licked it all away. Your tears, your sweat, your sounds, your cum. He’d soothe it all away with his tongue, animal instinct begetting animal instinct, and then you’d thank him, and he’d have to close his eyes and count to ten before untying you. The things he’d wanted to do to you, the things he would’ve done for you – his little shadow. Against his better judgement, he’d fallen for you. But, he’d considered it safe enough. Considered you safe enough. Easy enough to hide away from danger, but then you’d implied he was the danger, and. Well. Maybe he was. It’d hurt to hear, but as he lays there and thinks about it, thinks about you – the shape of you, the taste of you, the weight of you, the audacity of you, he’s not sure what’s stronger. The hunger, or the anger. To think that he’d ever hurt you, that he could ever hurt you, outside of your consent and beyond your means? He had never, could never, would never. Never, ever. And he could prove it to you, if he wasn’t trying to respect your boundaries. It’d be so easy for him to find you. He knows who to ask, he knows where to look – hell. He could probably sniff you out. But he hasn’t, and he won’t. Not if you think you’re safer somewhere else, happier with someone else. But fuck, he’d been happy with you. With the way you’d curl around him, while he curled inside you – Amongst other things. Much more wholesome things. Things that his friends had teased him about, and things that were just a little too hard to remember right now with the way his cock throbbed in the confines of his jeans, as if calling out to you. As if he could take it out, and the heat of it, the scent of it, would work as well as a Siren’s song; precum dribbling down like a mermaid’s tear, lonely, longing only in the way that a monster can.

His hands end up in his hair, fisting locks free from their hair-tie in a fit of - of feelings. He scrapes nails against his scalp, filled with the fleeting desire to split his skull open and let all his memories spill out, like a fever was once thought to be spilled with blood. It hurts, it hurts, how much he wants; his head, his heart, his cock. Wants you back. Back where you belong. Beside him, beneath him – the booze were a bad idea.

He rolls over with a groan, the room churning just as much as the desire and despair in his stomach. He thinks about finding you. He thinks about kicking down your door, about dragging you down and pinning you to the floor; he thinks about your fingers digging in his chest, about you screaming no, no, no but only as a precursor to don’t stop, don’t, oh no, no, no! He thinks about how you’d let him, because you always did. You wanted it, you wanted this, and he never once hurt you. You claimed to have been afraid of him that night, but no. He knows better now, even if it took this long for it to sink in. You weren’t afraid of him, but of yourself. And what you wanted. All he ever did was give.

And now he wants to take.

He thinks about what you took.

He licks his teeth, pants, and glares off into the distance between his hands and wherever you are. Hands he white-knuckles into his sheets, while his hips shift in a lazy, subconscious jerk. He thinks about feeling alive again, and fishes his phone back out of his pocket. The light burns his eyes for a second, but that’s fine – he can find what he’s looking for with just a few memorized taps of a finger. And then he hesitates, that finger hovered over an open app, while his hips stuttered and still the rhythm they’d started grinding down against the mattress.

When he finally taps the screen again, it pops up with a map.

It pops up with a location.

It pops up with exact coordinates.

He reaches for his binding cloth.

He shouldn’t have let you go.

And that’s just the thing. You didn’t know he’d let you go.

#aizawa x y/n #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #gender neutral reader #aizawa #dubcon #dubious consent #stalking #possessive and obsessive aizawa shouta #ambiguous shadow based quirk idk #not based on a tiktok this time #but a song!

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theficshop · 10 months

Text

Rafe Cameron x !Pouge Reader

Synopsis:

you’ve just moved to Kildare island what happens when the king of the Kooks takes a liking to you?

Warnings:

Under age drinking, swearing

It had been a couple weeks since your family had moved to the island finding a small house on the cut. You went to Kildare county high school, and it didn’t take you long before you made friends with the Pouges. Finishing the last lesson of the day and it also being Friday, you wanted to finally relax. A brown haired girl makes her way over to you.

“Hey Kie!” You say giving her a one armed hug

“Hi, how’s your first week at school been?” She asked reciprocating the hug

“Surprisingly it hasn’t been as bad as I expected, but Mr Lawson is a dick head for giving me homework on my first week here” she groans

“Speaking of your first week, you need a proper Kildare welcome, we’re having a bond fire as a welcome party, practically the whole island is coming and Sarah insisted on inviting some Kooks” she rolls her eyes

“Really? You didn’t have to do that” you smile as you leave school

“It’s a tradition, and we need to get some guys on your radar” she grins

Going back to your place you get ready for the bonfire. In your bedroom you put an outfit together.

“Mum, dad ’m going out!” You shout coming out of the room

Your mum steps in-front of you

“Where are you going? Who are you going with? and What time will you get home?” She questions

“Mum I’m just going down to the beach for a welcome bonfire with some friends, I won’t be out to long”

“Let her go, it’s good she’s making friends so quickly” her dad shouts from the kitchen

“I’ll be responsible mum don’t worry” You quickly kiss your mum's cheek before walking out of the front door.

Going down the front steps you see the twinky pull in front of the house beeping the horn. Jj rolls down the window.

“Y/N get in!” He pokes his head out

Kiara opens the van door and you get in.

“Y/N! tonight’s going to be all about you” she smiles

“I hate all the attention being on me” you laugh

Sarah hugs her “my brothers going to be there to just ignore him if he tries anything”

“Hey Y/N” John B hugs her

“Hi Y/N” Pope and Y/N do their handshake that they’ve made up

“This is gonna be dope” Jj yells out of the window and he starts the car

Eventually, they get to the beach and they all get out. Jj and John B carry the huge firewood logs onto the open sand of the beach, drenching them in lighter fluid and setting the pile alight. From the back of the van Pope pulls out a foldable table and loads the drinks onto it. Kiarra and Sarah lift the two speakers out and connect their phones to them so they can play music. The three guys pull even bigger logs from the sand and place them around the fire for everyone to sit on.

"Now we wait" John B sighs

it didn't take long for everyone to arrive, you were sure at least half the island was on the beach. The music practically shook the ground as you went over to the drinks table. Grabbing a can of mai tai you look up to see three guys standing next to each other. Two of them seem in deep conversation but one of them seems fairly uninterested as he looks up from a beer to make eye contact with you. Holding eye contact he sends a quick wink.Your cheeks turn slightly pink and you look away. Taking her drink you go back over to her friends.

“Who’s that guy over there?” You say discreetly pointing to Rafe when he turns around

Kie’s eyes widen as she follows the direction of her finger.

“That’s Rafe Cameron Sarah’s brother, why?”

“Oh no reason” you say while breaking eye contact. Making it obvious there was something you weren’t telling Kie.

“Listen, Rafe is like the definition of fuck boy he might look hot but he’s the biggest man whore” Kie states turning to face you directly

“He could be good for something temporary” you shrug

“Do you think Sarah would care?”

“I don’t think she’s very interested in her brothers sex life but, if my friend hooked up with my brother I’d kinda want to know?”

“You should just ask her now, avoid keeping it from her if something does happen”

“Kie this is just a hypothetical remember, I haven’t even talked to him yet” you let out a small laugh

“I’m just gonna… talk to him ya know? Get to know him”

"yeah man I'm not stopping you, just know I warned you"

you look over and, Rafe seems to be by himself finally left alone by the two boys who seemed to be annoying him.

once again he makes eye contact with you.

mustering up the courage you think to yourself "If I stay sitting here nothing will happen and I'll waste the opportunity that's practically been handed to me"

you walk over to him, your heart beating out of your chest

"Hey, Sarah's brother? I've heard a lot about you" You smile at him

"All good things i hope" his mouth slants into a smirk

"That depends" you giggle slightly

"I could uh, show you around sometime I doubt those pouges have enough money to get you into the good spots in town"

"What about Sarah she hangs out with them all the time" you raise an eyebrow

"She's not a pouge really, I reckon you'd be one of us if you lived on figure eight"

"you don't know that" you look away from him

"ill bring you around Tannyhill, that'll change your mind"

"you say that to all the girls that talk to you?" you joke

"only the gorgeous ones" he chuckles

"you're too sweet" she blushes

she looks over and Sarah is talking to Kie she tilts her head to the right in a "what are doing with my brother" way

"Truth or Dare everyone!" Topper calls out

"come around, come around"

soon a group of people circles around the fire including you and Rafe.

"I think Y/N should do the honours" Kie smiles

"Truth or dare?"

suddenly all eyes are on you

deciding to be outgoing you choose dare.

"Kiss Rafe " she dares with a smug undertone

you turn to Rafe standing next to you, "You don't have to" you whisper

He shakes his head placing his hand on the side of your head, then pulling you in to lock his lips onto yours. Only pulling away for a split second he places his lips into yours again.

Rafe Cameron just made out with you in front of the whole island

what have you gotten yourself into?

An: do you guys like it?

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx #drew starkey

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kumezyzo · 1 year

Note

hear me out, now we’ve seen jealpus sapnap i would love to read about reader being jealous ( maybe just someone flirted with him at a party or an event and keeps looking over at him)😭

this is such a funny idea to me idk why 😭😭 also happening to be a really old ask.... suggestive content and drinking mentioned

anyway, enjoy! or dont :) m.list

bf!sapnap who invited you to a frat party his old friends from college were hosting. they were very surprised to see how much he had changed and that he had gotten into a relationship.

bf!sapnap who will stand with you in front of him. he would have his arms wrapped around your midsection and rest his chin on your shoulder, all while catching up with his friends.

bf!sapnap who would have you leaning against a counter in the kitchen, his hands on the counter either side of you. he has you trapped against the counter, his legs separated just enough to have you stand between them. hes right at your eye level, whispering to you about how he just wants to leave.

"i thought you wanted to talk to your friends?" you whisper back as you feel his breath hit your lips. "we're here cause you wanted to be here."

he sighs, and his green eyes over your face, taking in the sight. "yeah, but im kinda over it now." his voice dropping from a whisper to breathy

you scoff playfully as you roll your eyes. you smile, amused by his very expected switch-up. his own expression matches yours subconsciously.

"why am i not surprised?" you ask him, causing him to shrug. "how about we wait just a little bit longer. maybe another... thirty minutes?" you ask, checking the time on your phone before shoving it back in your pocket.

"twenty-five?" he suggests, slightly tilting his head like a puppy.

"thirty," you say with finality. you push him away softly and shake your empty red solo cup. "im gonna get a refill. you want anything?"

"white claw," he says simply as you nod and walk outside to where all the drinks were set up on a white foldable table.

bf!sapnap who, instead of talking to his old buddies like you told him to, scrolled on his phone right where you left him. he tried to make it clear to everyone that he was not open to having a conversation.

bf!sapnap who was very happy to see you coming back inside after a random girl came up to talk to him.

bf!sapnap who kinda wished you were more hostile when you saw the girl.

you walked up to your boyfriend with a weird look on your face. he had looked at you pleadingly as soon as he saw you. infront of him was a shorter girl in a pretty black sequin dress with platinum blonde hair.

"hey, yn," he said in complete reflief. the girl turned to look at you and you smiled kindly at her, handing your boyfriend his alcoholic seltzer.

"hey, whats up?" you ask to no one in particular.

"hi! I'm amelia!" the blonde introduced herself enthusiastically.

"hi..." you said, your confusion growing when she didn't introduce herself further. "uh, how do you know nick?"

"oh, no, i dont," she said her smile also growing confused. "uh... im sorry im really confused right now." she laughed nervously.

"i am too," you laughed the same way, looking at your boyfriend and shaking your head for him to explain.

"im sorry, are you two dating?" amelia asked. her eyes widened in horror and embarrassment when you nodded. "shit im so sorry! i just thought he was really hot, and my friends said i should try to shoot my shot. im so, so sorry!"

"oh my god, no, dont worry about it," you say in understanding. you watched as her face starts to burn bright red.

"okay, im gonna leave... im so sorry, again!" she said, turning around, presumably heading back to her friends.

you turn to your boyfriend slowly, looking at him with wide questioning eyes. "you didnt tell her you were in a relationship?"

bf!sapnap who just kisses you because he's too overwhelmed and embarrassed to answer your question.

when you pull away, he looks at you sheepishly. "she caught me off guard,"

"uhuh," you say, leaning in to kiss him again. you set your cup on the counter to free up your hands so you can then hold his face gently. he sets down his white claw as well, not breaking the kiss to place his hands on your waist.

bf!sapnap who decides that you starting a makeout session in the middle of a party would scare off anyone else who wanted to talk to either of you.

but the more bf!sapnap thinks about it, the more it seems a little out of character. and right before the kiss breaks naturally, he realizes why.

"you're jealous," he says dreamily with hooded eyes when you two pull away.

you roll your eyes and shake your head, "i dont know what you're talking about."

"oh, yeah, you do," he says smugly, following your eye line when you try to avoid his eye contact. "youre jealous."

"and you probably have a boner right now," you shoot back, reaching behind him to grab your drink.

"yea, i do," you look at him with wide eyes as he continues. "but i will at least admit it. cause you're hot... especially when you're jealous."

bf!sapnap who drags you out of the party very soon after that but not without his friends noticing.

"nick! leaving so soon?" one of his friends yells when they notice you two heading for the front door.

"yeah, man, im kinda tryna get laid," he says, earning a slap to the arm from you. his friends all collectively laugh and whoop.

"alright, man, do what you gotta do," he says, shooting you a wink but not without saying, "dont go too hard on him."

"yea, go easy on 'em," another one chimes in, to your amusement. "he was a virgin for like-"

"okay we're leaving!"

i guess reader wasnt too jealous here. but this was lowkey so fun to write 😭😭 -nony

#sapnap #anon #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #dteam #sapnap x y/n #sapnap fluff #asks #sapnap x streamer reader #sapnap x reader fluff #bf!sapnap

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daichiduskdrop · 1 year

Text

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Chapter 24

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: none!

Words: 3280

Taglist:@thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashion @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragons-flare @fangirl125reader @roseidol @frieschan @popcatx0 @liz67900 @exfolitae

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

You and the packalpha rested for a few good minutes. Listening to Namjoon's heartbeat settled you, and you felt content and comforted, the man's hands gently running up and down your back.

The peacefulness was soon taken away, though, with Taehyung walking over. The alpha couldn't help but coo at how soft you looked, gently wrapped up against his packmate.

„When do we have to leave hyung-?” He asked, his fingers combing through your hair gently. After the many years of constant stress they had gone through, the pack cherished deeply the calm and slow mornings.

While it wasn't a truly usual thing for them, with you now around for the alphas to take care of, the packmembers wanted to keep it like this forever.

Resting with you in their den, waking up late to have a lazy breakfast only to go back to the comforting cuddles they shared right after—it was like heaven for the touch starved alphas.

Namjoon sighed, sitting up with you still tightly latched onto his chest, his arms hugging you just as close back.

He fished out his phone from his jean pocket, the small, foldable device showing that it was just about 6:47.

„We should be in the car at 7:15 at the latest.” The alpha said, his voice quite rough. He was tired, even after the unusually long sleep.

Sighing, the younger alpha stood back up—he wanted to go with his younger packmate to see the new coffee bar.

Even if he wasn't a true fan of the bavarage, Jungkook wouldn't stop talking about the atmosphere the shop had, and he had just about enough, wanting to check it out himself.

But since neither of them was ready yet and the youngest practically just rolled out of bed, more tired and sleepy after having you to warm up during the night, they would have to go a different day.

That was okay. He wanted to take you with him anyway. The alpha wished to see all the different pastries you liked and remember all your drink preferences. It was important for them.

Mumbling out an okay, Tae shuffled up the stairs to his room, having to dress up for seeing his managers, and they would probably have to record a few things today too.

„Sweetheart, let's go get ready now, okay?” Namjoon whispered gently in your ear, his voice softer and quieter to not startle you.

He wouldn't be surprised if you were asleep, considering how your eyes have been closed for a few minutes. Your lips popped open as you breathed in his scent, resting against his chest and collarbone.

You whined softly, but after he helped you sit back up straight, you just yawned before you made your way upstairs again. You still had to shower and get ready.

With the packmembers slowly walking around the house, tiredly placing their wallets and keys in their bags and pockets, making sure to bring all the required documents, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

You had just walked downstairs; your hair was a little bit damp, even though you tried to blow-dry it. The clothes you wore were simple. Taehyung came around to help you choose after he saw you struggle from walking past the room.

With his words calm and gentle, the alpha helped you choose an outfit stylish and simple enough, making sure you would look put together and would make a great impression.

A grey oversized cardigan with a white lower collar turtleneck underneath and a simple pair of loose-fitting black knit ribbed trousers satisfied the fashionista.

Telling you that he would be downstairs in a beat, you thanked him softly, a warm hug was shared between the two of you. And so you walked downstairs when you heard the doorbell.

And suddenly, no one was really around.

It wasn't your place to open the doors, as you were only just being courted, and you weren't sure if it was nice of you to act as if you truly lived here, even though you had practically started to move into the house.

Still, you shuffled over to the doors, the faintest smell coming through, noting the stranger.

You went to reach for the handle, only to have yourself pulled back by gentle and warm hands taking hold of yours. Bending down to look you in the eyes, the man sighed out.

„Sunny, don't open the doors for strangers on your own like that, baby; it could be dangerous. You don't know who is behind them!” Hobi stressed, his hands wrapping around your cheeks.

A soft hum left you as you grasped tighter on his fingers. „We will talk about it later, okay?” He said gently, sighing before pulling you behind himself as he unlocked the doors.

It was no one else but a pair of police officers. They wore their dark navy blue uniforms, smiling politely at Hoseok when he appeared.

„Good morning, we are a part of the police department; are you from a pack legally protected by Kim Namjoon?” The older man asked, his eyebrows bushy and a seemingly tired look in his eyes.

The younger officer seemed a bit more alert, and just from their smells, you could tell the older was a beta while the younger was an alpha.

To be honest, you never knew a beta could even be a police officer, but you never looked too deeply into the topic either.

„Yes, sir, I'm Jung Hoseok; my pack name is Kim Hoseok.” Hobi answered truthfully, not having to worry about much.

„Alright, thank you. Is your packalpha currently around?” He continued, obviously remembering the usual speech regarding such issues.

The alpha once again nodded, telling them that he would go get him. Pulling you next to himself, Hobi gently placed you onto the sofa, his lips brushing up against your forehead.

„Wait here, sunny bub. Alpha will be right back. Don't worry about anything; everything is going to be okay.” He whispered, gently smiling at you. You nodded a little bit, trusting the man.

Calling out for his younger packmate, Hoseok brought the man over soon. You didn't hear much of the conversation after he led him to the entrance; the packalpha was just finishing brushing his teeth.

With the pack members lingering all around the house, it didn't take long until someone noticed you sitting on the couch. It was Jimin who came over first; the alpha was too excited to give up on any chances for cuddles.

„Princess? What's up?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You reached up for the man, making him chuckle softly.

„Aigoo...of course, come here, princess.” He whispered softly. Only now did he notice the two unknown scents in the house, his head shooting up from gently resting over yours, the man's arms wrapping around you tighter.

The two police officers soon emerged again, only casting you two a quick glance, Namjoon leading them towards the dining table with Hoseok in suit.

„That's the omega?” The younger person asked, motioning towards you. Jimin, seemingly in response, only held you tighter, a small scowl appearing.

He didn't have to be worried or anything like that; the policemen wouldn't mean any actual disrespect or harm, but they were still strangers.

„Yes, my pack is currently courting her, so I can only imagine you understand the severity of the situation.” Namjoon answered, his voice levelled and calm, seemingly going into his normal packalpha mode.

„Of course.” The only response received was the light sound of chairs screeching as they took a seat. You couldn't hear everything, with the alpha holding you and turning on the TV as if to cancel the noise.

It was easy to get on his part, not wanting you to stress or worry about this. Your classmates were fine after all, and even if they wouldn't be, he could only imagine how you were after putting up with their behaviour for the past years.

„Thank you, Mr. Kim. My name is Xiao Lin, and this is my junior, Nae Dong-Yu. We are from the pack affairs department and would like to discuss the incident that occurred recently involving your pack and a group of two individuals.

Please understand that the purpose of this conversation is to gather information and ensure a comprehensive understanding of the events. You have the right to remain silent, but we encourage your full cooperation to establish the facts. Do you understand?”

Namjoon was calm. He didn't go through more serious legal situations too often, but even just establishing and maintaining the pack was quite the work.

Every year, all the documents were required to be updated for any sudden changes, regarding pretty much anything.

Those were always quite a worry to return in time, but with Yoongi's and Jin's help, they always managed.

„Yes, Officer Xiao. I understand, and I am willing to cooperate fully.” The packalpha answered, keeping in mind not to let his scent cloud up in worry. You would notice, and he didn't want you to stress.

„We appreciate your cooperation. To begin, please provide us with your account of the incident. We have been informed that the altercation took place as a response to alleged bullying towards your courted omega. Can you provide us with a detailed description of the events?”

„Of course. Yesterday, during a phone call with my older packmate, my omega revealed to the pack and me that she has been subjected to repeated bullying and harassment by the two individuals involved in this incident. The bullying had reached an intolerable level, causing significant distress to our omega, and she has almost entered an omega drop. Concerned for her wellbeing, myself and five others felt compelled to take action to prevent further harm.”

„Thank you for sharing your perspective. Can you clarify the specific actions that were taken by you and the other individuals?” The younger man asked, the conversation being recorded on a small dictaphone. They would have to file a report later.

„We confronted the two individuals and attempted to reason with them, asking them to cease their bullying behaviour. However, the situation quickly escalated into a physical confrontation, as they became aggressive and refused to back down. In an effort to protect our omega from further harm, we used proportional force to subdue the attackers and ensure her safety.”

„I see. Could you elaborate on your understanding of the legal aspects related to self-defence in this situation?”

„As far as I know, under Korean law, individuals are allowed to take necessary precautions to protect themselves or their packmates from imminent harm. In this case, our response was motivated by the intention to prevent further harm and ensure the safety of our courted omega. We did not initiate the confrontation but rather responded to the aggression directed towards us and her.”

„Okay, thank you for sharing your perspective on the matter. We will also gather statements from the other individuals involved to gain a comprehensive understanding of the incident. Our primary goal is to ascertain the facts and ensure a fair investigation. Is there anything else you would like to add or clarify at this stage?”

„No, Officer. I believe I have provided an accurate representation of the events. If there is any additional information required, I am more than willing to cooperate further.”

„We appreciate your cooperation and will consider the information you have provided. Please be assured that an impartial investigation will be conducted to establish a clear understanding of the incident. If we require any further assistance from you or your pack's omega, we will contact you.”

„Thank you, sirs. I appreciate your attention to this matter and look forward to a fair resolution.”

While you didn't get to hear everything, from the tones of voices, you understood that the matter was mostly resolved calmly.

The policemen didn't stay for much longer, only checking over the documents provided by the packalpha. They asked for your name too, and after you shyly handed them your ID to look over, the men soon left.

Sighing out, Namjoon closed the doors again, looking at his expensive watch. It was much later than when he wanted to leave. Calling out for all the pack members to truly start going to the car, he knew already that they were about to be pretty late.

„Come on, my princess. Let's go now.” Jimin whispered softly to you, switching off the TV. He picked you up in his arms, smiling widely at the drowsy look you still adored.

Placing you on the ground at the entrance, a few of the alphas were also lacing up their boots. Kneeling on one knee before you, Jimin reached for the new pair they had bought you yesterday, your soft gasp making him smile widely.

„Oppa, you don't have to buy me a-" You didn't get to finish the sentence; the man was already softly shushing you, his eyes shooting up to meet yours for a millisecond.

„Alpha loves to spoil his most precious, okay?” He said calmly, his hand holding your smaller one for a little moment before he got back to lacing up the fluffy beige and brown boots.

To be truthful, when you looked down at them, you thought you might have just fallen in love; they reminded you of soft, fluffy paws. They felt nice; the fabric was soft and warm, much better than the shoes you had before.

After helping you pull on a pufferjacket from Dior, the soft off white simple but sleek, Jimin made quick work getting ready himself.

The other alphas didn't waste much time; Yoongi, the one waiting at the open doors, softly commanded you to come along. When you hesitated, looking back at the alpha, the older man could only smile gently.

„It's okay, Kitty; he will come to the car soon; don't worry. Let's go now. Hold my hand, sweet baby.” He pulled you along, his hand tightly grasping yours.

It was snowing again; the snow from the previous days had now frozen over during the short period; no snowflakes had broken.

And so, making sure you wouldn't fall on the slippery ice, the second eldest held your hand tight and secure. Truly, he only wanted to hold you to himself for a little bit longer, and with how cold it was, the air felt like daggers on any of his exposed skin.

It must feel twice as bad for you, he concluded, and he therefore decided that keeping you comfortable and warm for the day would be his goal.

Pulling the doors for the two of you open, Hobi smiled softly at you. „You can sit here, sunshine; I saved the warmest sp-” His gentle voice was interrupted by a loud gasp, followed by a series of questions.

You slipped a bit when you went to step up into the vehicle. Yoongi was now gone as he went to the other side.

Luckily, warm hands grasped you at your waist, lifting you up into the vehicle as your legs went limp. „Careful there, precious. Are you okay?”

„Oh my gosh, sunny!” Hoseok proclaimed loudly, his hands going right to your cheeks and his eyes looking all over your body, checking if you were hurt.

You smiled softly, giggling a little bit. „It's okay, thank you, Minnie.” You said softly, Hobi was already pulling you closer to himself as he buckled you in.

The alpha felt his heart flutter a little at the sweet nickname you used for him. He liked how it sounded coming from your soft lips, much better than from anyone else's.

Not resisting the urge, he stepped up and leaned over to you, his lips brushing against your temple in a sweet peck. Your cheeks flared up, and he smiled wider at it.

Climbing to the back of the car, he took a seat himself. With Yoongi combing your hair back with his fingers gently, you all sat back, Jin starting the car, the vehicle rumbling. It was already almost 8, and they were meant to be at Hybe by 7:40.

The packalpha had already messaged their managers, letting them know that they were running a little bit late. He was prepared to receive an earful, though.

„What should we listen to today, pup?” He asked, the Spotify app once again opened. Turning in his seat to look at you, Namjoon couldn't help but coo loudly at how you looked.

Bundled up in the oversized puffer jacket, your chin was tucked away in the collar, but that wasn't everything. A thicker, cosy-looking black blanket was draped over you, and Namjoon recognised it well enough.

It was Yoongi's; the alpha was always sleeping with it. He asked him about it, noticing how much of a comfort object it was for him, but even then he didn't reveal why he brought it so close to his heart.

It was only a few years later that Namjoon realised the true reason. As a part of the spring festival, Yoongi's family allowed their pack to stay at their house for a prolonged weekend.

It was quite meaningful; the family wasn't always supportive of the alpha's decisions, and so it brought a sense of final acceptance.

One evening, Jungkook and Taehyung found a thick photo album, giggling and snorting at the different captured moments loudly in the living room.

He noticed, coming over to see what was so funny after they hadn't stopped laughing after over 15 minutes—only to discover them sitting on the floor, the many albums sprawled out around them.

Namjoon scolded them that night, disappointed a little that they would penetrate their older packmate's privacy so easily like that, but couldn't help but notice a picture himself.

It was an older photo, taken when Yoongi and his older brother were still quite young. But what the younger boy held, Namjoon recognised right away.

A still-wrapped-up, dark, fluffy blanket, his older brother looking over his shoulder while the yoong boy sat next to the birthday cake, the candles lit up, showing the number 9.

It was a gift from his brother, and once Yoongi moved from his family's pack later on in his life, he brought it with himself.

While the man didn't have that good of a relationship with his family, Namjoon understood that even without his words, he showed love well through his sweet actions.

And seeing you, tightly bundled up within the soft fabric, the alpha's hand holding yours while he looked at his phone, his thumb gently running over your knuckles from time to time, the packalpha realised how much closer than he originally thought you were to their hearts, his eyes soft for you.

„n-not sure...” You mumbled. You knew a lot of music you enjoyed, but after all, they were musicians themselves, and that meant they probably would value your opinions a lot and take them seriously.

„It's okay, peaches. How about we play the radio instead? That way, you don't have to worry about choosing cub." The eldest said, his eyes not leaving the road for a second.

You nodded hesitatingly, not sure. The radio stations you knew were all mostly very energetic, obviously meant to keep any tired drivers alert, but you never truly liked those.

„Okay oppa.” You whispered, your fingers tightening over Yoongi's. The alpha was quick to notice, looking up from the screen at you.

Cooing loudly at you, he couldn't help himself, leaning over, his lips brushing up against your forehead. He let his rest against yours for a second, both of you breathing in the scents you each carried.

„Doing so well, kitty. You're doing so well for your alphas, my baby kitten.” He whispered softly near your ear, his lips brushing against your forehead again, the gummy smile he adored warming you up from inside.

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