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thealtoduck · 3 months

Text

Dally

Jason Todd x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut, anal sex, bottom!Reader, top!Jason, rough sex, unprotected sex, blowjob, fingering, doggy style, porn with plot, size kink, you and Jason are both kinda tipsy, Jason is aftercare king, you and Jason are unkowingly filmed, angst ending…

N/n = Nickname

The Socialite and The Vigilante | Masterlist

Summary: You and Jason get tipsy at an event and go back to your place…

(A/n: No. 1 Hoe Anthem)

——

One of the mayoral candidates, Mr Stone, had invited the Gotham Elite for what he called ”a celebration of Gotham’s greatest”. But from what you’d heard his campaign was running low on funds and he wanted to sweet talk all the people with deep pockets.

Whatever the reason may be you were now stuck there amongst the crowd of ”Gotham’s greatest”. You’d preferred to not go but according to your mother it’d be improper to ditch such an event and in her own words ”You have to go cause I don’t want to, I can’t stand that man”.

So you sacrificed yourself to spend the evening at the party… plus Jason had been forced to go along with his family and you promised you’d keep him company.

You watched as Jason entered in the company of his family, he was dressed in a black suit, giving him a dark and luxurious look. He and his family were greeted by Mr Stone.

While Bruce spoke to Mr Stone, Jason looked around the crowd of black suits and evening dresses until his eyes met yours and a soft smile appeared on his face. Once Mr Stone left them to enjoy the party Jason made his way to you.

You were stood in a corner looking at nice sculpture when Jason approached you. ”No tie?” he asked noticing you substituted a tie with a thin sliver chain necklace. ”Never been the biggest fan of ties, Jay, you know that” you stated in a your more upper class tone that tended to come out at these types of events.

”Well, you look great” Jason said grazing his hand against yours slightly. ”You too” you said adjusting his hair slightly. ”I’ll go get us some drinks” Jason said, soon coming back with two glasses of champagne, handing you one.

He then lowered his hand in his pocket bringing out a hip flask, pouring some of the contents in his own glass before offering ”Whiskey?”. Making you let out a small laugh before holding your glass out to him, saying ”If you insist”.

You and Jason mostly kept to yourselves through the party. You listened to Mr Stone’s speech talking about how good his campaign was going but made sure to add that it does take it’s toll on him, his workers and his family. But most of all to his wallet, he had joked making light polite laughs sound out in the room.

You and Jason found a table to relax at, sipping your drinks. The event was quite the bore, the music was dull, the decorations were plain, even the champagne on it’s own felt tasteless. You were lucky Jason had brought the flask.

Soon you and Jason were joined by Mr Stone himself. ”Mr Todd, Mr St. Cloud, enjoying yourselves?” he asked, you put on a polite smile and said ”Of course, it’s quite the event you’ve put together, Mr Stone”.

”Thank you, what a shame your mother couldn’t come” Mr Stone said. ”Yeah, she really wanted to but she wasn’t feeling well, but she wishes you luck with the mayoral campaign” you lied, your mother had said nothing of the sort, you were just being polite.

”You boys are old enough to vote now, right?” Mr Stone mentioned, you and Jason shared a look, you’d both been waiting for the topic to come up. ”Yes, we are” Jason answered and you nodded. ”Well, I hope this party has helped convince you who to vote for” he suggested followed by a lighthearted chuckle.

You did your best to not roll your eyes and said with a smile ”Of course, Mr Stone, you have our support”. ”You bet, Mr Stone” Jason said in a fake cheery tone. Mr Stone then said goodbye leaving you and Jason, your expression immediately turned to disgust as Mr Stone was out of sight.

”I hate him” Jason stated, followed by you saying ”Me too”. ”Let’s get some more champagne and then get out of here” you told him, he nodded in agreement and the two of you went to the drink table. Jason emptied the last of his whiskey in to your glasses and you drank.

Once you’d both finished 2 more glasses each you made your way towards the exit, you called your chauffeur to pick the two of you up. As soon as the two of you came out on sidewalk Jason loosened his tie and you took off your suit jacket.

Soon a familiar car pulled up in front of you and you and Jason climbed in the backseat. ”You wanna come back to my place or do you need a ride elsewhere?” you offered him, Jason smiled. ”Think I’ll join you” he said placing a hand on your thigh.

You leaned in against Jason’s shoulder, as the chauffeur started driving towards your apartment building.

Luckily for you the traffic was good enough for you to be home in a short while, you and Jason stepped out of the car and you thanked your chauffeur before making your way up to your apartment on the top floor.

As you stood in the elevator, Jason’s hand once more grazed against yours, this time your fingers intertwined. When you reached the top floor, you stepped out of the elavator to your door and you unlocked it.

You and Jason entered the penthouse, taking of your shoes. You threw your suit jacket aside and led the way towards the stairs, closely followed by Jason.

You started unbuttoning your shirt as you entered your bedroom, turning to Jason who looked curious where this was going. You threw your button up aside and stepped closer to him, you unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed it off his shoulders letting it drop to the floor.

You then pushed your lips to Jason’s, while he snaked his arms around your waist as you started to hungrily make out. You then started unbuttoning Jason’s shirt revealing his athletic chest. You started lowering yourself to your knees as you placed kisses down his abs.

Until you were on your knees in front of him, you undid Jason’s belt and pulled down his pants letting them fall to his ankles. Jason had grown hard, his bulge noticable in his tight white briefs. You pulled down his underwear setting his big legth free.

His hard dick pointed to your face. When Jason looked down the sight gave him a sense of satisfaction, you half naked ready to suck his cock. You started taking Jason’s member in to your mouth, teasing the tip with your tongue.

Jason let out a small breath as you started taking more of him in to your warm mouth. You soon started moving your head back and forth on his cock. Jason’s mouth hung open as you went down on him.

”Fuck, you’re perfect” he said holding the sides of your head, using every bit of restraint to not start thrusting in to you. You worked your tougue on his dick, licking up and down his shaft.

When Jason looked down the sight alone could make him spill his load. You with his thick cock stuffed in your mouth, shining with your saliva on it. Before you could make him cum he pulled out of your mouth.

”Your turn, rich boy” Jason said teasingly, you raised an amused eye brow at him.

He then helped you up from the floor. He let his unbuttoned shirt fall to the floor and stepped out of his pants and underwear that were pooled around his ankles. He then undid your belt before pushing you backwards on to your bed.

You spread your arm out on the silk white sheets feeling as if you were laying down on a cloud. Jason then started pulling your pants down your legs. You seductively pulled off your own white briefs before throwing them at Jason, hitting him in the chest.

Now you were left wearing nothing but your silver necklace and a pair of white socks. Jason took a moment to take in the pornographic sight in front of him and then climbed on to the bed and your naked bodies tangled together as you made out lustfully.

Jason’s hand trailed all the way down your back to your butt. He didn’t waste any time bringing his finger between your cheeks and pushing it inside you making you moan while your mouth was pressed to his.

He used his fingers to work you loose and open so you’d be ready to take all off him. Once he was done he pulled out a bottle of lube from you nightstand pouring a generous amount on his huge shaft.

You positioned yourself face down - ass up wanting Jason to take you like a bitch. Jason stood on his knees in front of your awaiting hole as he rubbed the lube along his length. He teased your hole with the thick tip of his cock as you whined in to the sheets impatiently.

And who was Jason to say no to a slut in need of filling.

He started working his in to your tightness as you gasped at the intrusion. He pushed himself deeper and deeper into your warmth feeling you clench around his cock. ”That’s nice” he whispered at the feeling of you tightly around his manhood.

Jason wasn’t a small man, he was hung like a horse. You let out heavy breaths as Jason slowly sunk himself in to you, streching you out even further than he’d done with his fingers. He said praises to you, watching you beneath him as his cock entered you inch by inch.

Once he had sheathed himself inside you he waited for you to adjust to the size of him. You gripped the soft sheets of the bed as you were streched out to accept Jason’s hung cock. ”Fuck” you swore.

Soon you were ready to take all of him. Jason started moving slowly as pushed himself in and out of your tightness. His hands were placed on the globes of your ass squeezing them softly in his strong hands.

You were starting to get the feeling of bliss everytime Jason was fully stuffed inside you, making you moan as he worked your ass perfectly. ”Harder Jay” you said wanting him to take you to ecstasy.

”That’s all I needed to hear, baby” Jason said with an audible smirk as he willfully obliged and sped up his thrusts, rolling his hips like a machine. He put a hand on your back pressing you in to the matress as he took you. The sound of his thrusts starting to sound out through out the room.

You gripped the sheets as Jason thrust deeper in to you, his dick jabbing at your prostate making you let out a delighted scream of pleasure. ”That’s right, N/n, scream for everybody to hear me fucking you” he said cockily.

Jason hadn’t realised until now how much he had been longing to fuck you again after your first one night stand during the party at Wayne Manor.

Jason moved his hand to your hips pulling you to meet his harsh thruts into you. Beads of sweat started forming on his forehead. He wanted you to feel all the pleasures sex could bring.

Jason made you feel as if you were seeing all the stars in the heaven, as his hung cock was shoved deep in your heat. ”So- ugh! Big!” you said through your loud moans. A cocky smile spread on Jason’s lips. He was fucking you so good you could barely talk.

As Jason roughly pounded himself deeply in to you felt yourself getting close to orgasm. ”Jay, I’m gonna cum” you whined as Jason showed no sign of slowing down his rolling thrusts.

Your shot your load and it splashed on to the silk sheets below as Jason continued plowing his cock in to you. ”You’re so fucking good around my cock” Jason said through his rapid breaths as he fully lost control and fucked you like there was no tommorow.

”I’m gonna cum” he soon told you.

”Fill me, Jay” you begged and that was all it took for Jason to plant himself deep in you ass and let his cock explode inside you, filling you with his warm sticky seed. He breathed heavily as he let all of his orgasm spill inside you.

Once he was done he slowly pulled out of you leaving your hole gaping from his cock. His seed soon started pouring out of you, running from your used warmth down your legs. Jason looked proudly at the mess he had made of you before he walked to the bathroom.

Coming back with a wet towel and started cleaning his seed off of your body. Once he was done he threw the towel aside on the floor. You turned around and laid down on your back. Jason sat down by your side and stroked your thigh, asking sweetly ”Can I get you anything? N/n”.

”Could you get my night shirt from the closet?” you asked and Jason immediately stood up looking through your closet until he brought out a glossy white silk night shirt. ”Why is everything you own white silk?” he questioned amused as he helped you put it on.

”Why not?” you simply asked back. You took off your necklace putting it on your bedside table. You and Jason both laid down side by side on your bed. Jason was on his back and you laid your head resting against his pec.

”You were amazing” Jason said placing a kiss on your head. ”You too” you said stroking his abs lovingly.

You both soon drifted off too sleep…

——

2 days later…

You sat with your laptop on your couch checking your emails. Some adds, some social stuff, nothing too intresting. You took a sip of your coffee and as you swallowed a new mail appeared on the screen.

The sender was not listed.

You opened the mail and read ”We have something you might not want to reach the media, Mr St. Cloud” which was all it said. Then you noticed there was a video attached to the mail. You pressed the file and it loaded until a video started playing.

Your eyes widend the video showed a boy getting plowed roughly by his by another guy, but you soon realised this was your bedroom. ”Harder, Jay” your voice came from the video making you gasp in shock. Then came Jason’s voice ”That’s all I needed to hear, baby”.

Someone had hidden a camera in your room filming you and Jason that night. You slammed your laptop shut and rushed upstairs in to your room. Judging by the angle of the video the video had been taken from your bedside table.

You were confused you only had your alarm clock and a bottle of water on the table… Then you noticed it, on the side of the alarm clock was a black spot - no, not a spot a small round camera lens.

You picked up the alarm clock taking a closer look at it to it to make sure. Definetely a lens. Enraged you threw the alarm clock in to the ground making it smash on impact. You stormed out of the room bringing out your phone knowing who you needed to call.

”Hey St. Cloud” Jason answered a flirty tone in his voice.

You could only find one phrase to tell him ”Jay… we’re completely fucked”.

535 notes · View notes

thisismeracing · 7 months

Text

The one | CS55

― Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: mentions of break up and food; typos. ― Summary: Yn is doing well a few months after her break up with Carlos, and so is he. Everyone thinks that this paragraph of their lives is over, but as it happens they may be a chapter to each other, and Yn makes sure everyone knows he was her great love, the one - through her new song. ― A/n: None of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps, but the work is, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

February, 2023

February, 2024

realyn

liked by charles_leclerc, sza, and others

realyn "The One" has just come out on all streaming platforms. I hope this piece of my heart reaches yours. Tune in and dive into the feels 💐🤍

view all comments

saintsainz "for old time's sake" HELLO?????

ynsummer omg another bop!!! I wish I could write songs when I'm sad, the few breakups I had I could only cry and try not to choke on my own phlegm

⤷ fan2000 ewwww LOL

hammert1m3 charles on the likes 👀

leclowns1655 in my head they're not over yet

⤷ mercmickey you need therapy, bestie

lewishamilton great music as usual 💜

francisca.cgomes 😍😍

szadirection I love how the grid's still here supporting here even a year after she and carlos broke up 🥺

popyn WE WERE SOMETHING DON'T YOU THINK SOOO ROSÉ FLOWING WITH YOUR CHOSEN FAMILY 🎤🎤🎤🎤

ferraristrangers I have so many theories for the lyrics and the cover and kksjksdj aaaaaaaa

Old posts

March, 2018

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, ynfan, and others

realyn eat pasta, run fasta, they said 😋😂

view all comments

bieberf1 they my new fav couple now 💋

raintyresainz thank you for feeding us that last carlos pic

hurricaneyn welp now I wanna eat pasta but its like the middle of the night

⤷ alonsochamp eat pasta, sleep fasta 😙😂

carlossainz55 ❤️❤️

amarelorenault her glasses are so cool!!!!! her style is always on point

carlossainz55

liked by yourfriend, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 we tried homemade, it worked 😋

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realyn we didn't run fasta this time though :(

⤷ carlossainz55 there wasn't any race this Sunday, cariño

⤷ realyn shhhh, let me be funny

harrystylistee I want what they have!

April, 2018

realyn

liked by hulkhulkenberg, renaultf1team, and others

realyn enjoyed April with my fav spaniard, wrote a few songs for you guys - new album dropping soon!!!!! 🥳

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aussiegrid howd you like Australia, Yn?

⤷ realyn I loved it, def gonna come back soon 🥰

ynfan 💙💙💙💙💙💙

carlosfullname1 where’s your jacket from?

⤷ realyn website.com 😘

fab2000 can’t wait for the new song and espec the new album!!!!!

July, 2018

carlossainz55

liked by pierregasly, realyn, and others

carlossainz55 Yn's new album "I used to know her" is out now and you guys should run to listen to it 💙💙 she did an amazing job as usual. I'm very proud of you, cariño @ realyn

view all comments

lewishamilton congrats, Yn!

hulkhulkenberg everyone here loved the new album, well done, Yn!

renaultf1team its our garage soundtrack 😎💛

March, 2019

realyn

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and others

realyn the past few months wearing papaya have been amazing! 🧡 and yes, last concert clothes were orange bc of the team

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landonorris looks like the concert clothes gave us some luck, make sure to wear orange again next time!

⤷ realyn I love you guys but I can't be wearing orange all the time

⤷ yourmanager yes, you can

⤷ realyn shut up, I'm gonna fire your ass

⤷ yourmanager no, you won't

⤷ carlossainz55 jajajaja

tifosinha I love how lando looks like their kid 😂

spaincarlos_ not yn and carlos adopting lando lol

ynfan4 her music taste is *chef kiss* 🤌🏾

ynandsainz yn, your album still on repeat on my apple music!

mclaren 🧡🧡

December, 2019

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc, hulkhulkenberg, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Navidad! 🎄❤️

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saturnracer FELIZ NAVIDAD TAN TAN TAN PROSPERO AÑO Y FELICIDAD 🎤

szalover 😭😍 its the way she loves pasta

⤷ cowboyvettel @ realyn pasta or carlos? choose one

⤷ realyn carlos cooking pasta 😙😋😜

July, 2020

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

realyn compilation of some of the flowers Carlos gave me and pics he took 💖 Te amo, cariño 💐🌷🌹🌸🌺🌼🌻

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fonedirection God I see what youve done for others

carlossainz55 you’re my favorite flower, love 🌸💖

⤷ fernandoalo_official you guys know how to be sicklengly cute huh 🙄

piastripastry see? carlos gets flowers regularly to yn and yall out there crying over an ugly ass man who gives you the bare minimum 🫵

March, 2021

realyn

liked by carlossainz, scuderiaferrari, and others

realyn new character unlocked hehe ❤️💛🏎️

view all comments

ynfrance We want a new album, queen!!! save us!

swiftverstappen the way they went through everything togerher 🤧

⤷ russellsainz I want what they have

monegasque16 another day another yn post to make me cry in single and alone

carlossainz55 thank you for the endless support, cariño 💛 you’re my everything

tifosisunshine you’re 😭 my 😭 everything 😭

August, 2022

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, and others

carlossainz55 my kind of free-weekends 🩵

view all comments

sunnyyn yn looks so good 😍😍

yourbestie ❤️ aweee

realyn te amo! 😘

January, 2023

realyn

liked by lewishamilton, francisca.cgomes, and others

realyn happy new year 🙃

view all comments

charlsmonaco where's carlos? 😟

mylightyn I don't like this vibe…

ynwardrobe what is she reading?

lewishamilton 💙

⤷ mclatinha lew do you happen to know something we don’t?

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial, and others

carlossainz55 ¡Feliz Año Nuevo! 🎉

view all comments

brocedes2010 where's Yn??????

schumini_ at least they seem to be on the same place 🙏🏾🙏🏾

redsainz he looks so good it hurts

back to 2024 💬📩

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi! I hope you guys liked this piece! I'm set on publishing my drafts but I need time to work on them, this one was saved for a while now, and it's finally here heheh let me know your thoughts!

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©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

697 notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 1 year

Text

LOVE AND TOUR

A/N: im so excited to post this fic bc *drum roll* it's a collab with @harrysfolklore !! the post tour depression is still kicking our butts so we decided to team up for a story that features LOT! hope you guys will like it and as always, make sure to head over to her blog to check out her fic that features all social media posts for this story!

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: Y/N and Harry were once friends, but his career pulled them apart. Then in 2019 Harry decides to invite her to ONO London and so their story begins or more like continues.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

2010

The handmade banner hanging over the white board in the classroom is crooked and two balloons have popped already. The sign reads ‘Good luck, Harry!’ and every letter is a different color. The desks and chairs were pushed to the side to make room in the middle and the teacher’s desk is full of snacks and drinks the kids brought in for the little impromptu party the class decided to throw before Harry’s big day.

He is going to his big X Factor audition this weekend and though he is not convinced he will make it, everyone in school is rooting for him. If anyone deserves the success it’s Harry, the goofy, kind boy who makes everyone smile and always helps whenever he can.

The soon-to-be rockstar is mingling with his friends and classmates, music is playing in the background and the chatting is nonstop. Everyone keeps asking Harry if he’s nervous or ready or which judge he is afraid of the most. He tries his best to talk to everyone and be everywhere, though he keeps an eye on one specific girl.

Y/N has been staying in the back for most of the time, sipping on some soda, listening to her friend as he enjoys the spotlight. She’s been friends with Y/N for quite some time, they live just a street away from each other, they often bike to school together and whenever one of them is sick the other one can be expected to show up at their house with the homework.

Good friends. That’s what they are. But deep down, Y/N is definitely feeling more than just friendship towards the curly haired boy who is now set to step his foot on the road to fame.

When the party is over and everyone has headed home already, Harry and Y/N are the last ones to walk out of the school’s building.

“So, be honest, are you nervous?” she asks as they are walking home , pushing their bikes this time. Harry said he hurt his ankle at PE today so he better not get on the bike, but in reality… he is just trying to spend more time with Y/N.

“Kind of, yeah,” he admits with a chuckle.

“I’m sure you will crush it.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” she smiles at him and his heart skips a beat.

Harry has been trying to work up his courage to ask Y/N out since probably the sixth grade, but he just never got to the point. Now he tells himself that if he gets into X Factor she will see him in a different light and that’s when he should ask her out, but little does he know he doesn’t need to be in a talent show to have her like him enough to want him.

Reaching her house she wishes him good luck and even hugs him before he waves goodbye and continues his way home. Y/N stands by their front door and watches him get farther away, hoping that whatever happens that weekend won’t change their friendship.

2013

The tour bus is quiet, everyone is asleep. Everyone, except Harry.

Lying in his bunk bed, his face is illuminated by his phone as he aimlessly scrolls on his social media apps, checking out posts by fans, reading news, just killing time. He knew he shouldn’t have had a nap earlier, because now it will be way too late by the time he can fall asleep and won’t be rested enough when they arrive in the next city.

He opens up Instagram and goes through his feed, he posts a picture he took of the crowd at the show the other day and then watches the likes flood in like crazy.

Going back to his feed he goes through his friends’ posts, it’s just the usual, parties, vacations, hanging out, everyone seems to be living their life even though Harry often feels like time has stopped since he’s gotten on the road.

He can feel himself growing sleepier and he is just about to put his phone down when he comes across a post that wakes him up.

Y/N is not one to post often, she is not like most girls he knows who want to share every and any moment of their life. Last time she uploaded something was probably weeks ago. This time she was snapped in her graduation gown, her hair flowing in the movement flawlessly and he recognizes her parents’ home in the background. It totally slipped Harry’s mind that in a life he left behind graduation was happening these days.

He scrolls down to the caption and all it says is “Soon” and then a crown emoji. It’s enough for him to know she’s going to King’s College London, that’s what she always dreamed about and it seems like she hasn’t changed her mind.

Before he could think about it, he double taps on the picture liking it, completely oblivious to how fans can see his activity and they instantly start guessing about who the girl is whose graduation photo was liked by Harry Styles.

2014

The screaming intensifies wherever Harry goes on the stage, he is jumping and shaking his long hair to the music while his bandmates are singing ‘Steal My Girl’ and the girls are going crazy, the energies are insane, Harry loves performing, this is truly his element.

He’s been on the road for what feels like forever and if you asked him what day it was, he would have no idea. It’s a miracle he knows which city he is currently in.

Walking to the side of the stage he stops for a moment right before the bridge that’s his part. He lifts his mic to his lips and starts singing when the music dies down right before his lines.

“She knows, she knows, that I never let her down before…”

His voice fills up the stadium, thousands are singing together with him and he runs his gaze over the sea of people in front of him. He sees so many faces, some are even familiar, Harry tends to remember fans he sees over and over again at their concerts, but most of them are new. The song carries on and the boys start singing along with him, Harry is about to move back to the middle of the stage, but then he sees her.

He sees Y/N.

Or so he thinks. It’s hard to tell, because it’s dark and she is so far away from the stage, it could be just someone who resembles her, but something in his gut tells him it’s her.

He does a double take, losing the familiar face for a moment but then he finds her again and a shiver runs down his spine. He hasn’t seen her in years, life has been simply way too hectic to keep in touch, last time he met her was probably in 2012 when he went home for Christmas, they ran into each other in town and promised to talk soon because they were both kind of in a hurry, but they never followed up with it. Y/N went to college, Harry’s career was skyrocketing, it was impossible to stay as close as they were before X Factor and Harry always regretted not trying harder, because now he has no idea what’s happening in her life.

Niall walks up to him and pats him on the back and Harry’s focus shifts to his friend for just a moment, but it’s enough to not find her again when he looks back at the audience. Did she duck down? Walk out when she realized he was looking? Or did he just entirely imagine seeing her and it was just a mirage?

He can’t get her out of his head for the rest of the show and he finds himself looking for her over and over again, but he doesn’t see her again and his consciousness starts to convince him she wasn’t even there.

It was just a cruel trick his own mind played on him.

2019

Why does he feel like he is sending out an invitation to the Queen of England? Why is he so nervous to hit send on an email? This is nothing Earth shattering, nothing will happen if he sends it out and life will go on even if she never replies.

One Night Only is set to happen in a few weeks and Harry is now sending out his invitations to his friends and family, he wants everyone who matters to be there on such a big night. Making the list was no hard task, but then he thought of inviting Y/N as well even though they haven’t talked in so long.

The other night, Harry found himself stalking her Instagram which he is still following. She has been posting once or twice a month, tiny glimpses into her life that doesn’t include Harry anymore.

But he wants to change that.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles under his breath and then adds her to the list of people who will get the invitation and then he just hits send and it’s officially out there.

Harry is not necessarily one to get overly obsessive about something, but the next few days he finds himself checking his inbox every hour, scrolling through the new emails, looking for one particular address to show up, but he has to come to the conclusion every time that Y/N hasn’t answered.

Days go by, Harry’s enthusiasm fades and by the end of the week he is convinced she won’t be there and soon he doesn’t even have time to think about it.

One Night Only arrives to London in december. The venue fills up with excited and devoted fans, but no one is more nervous about tonight than Harry.

He is ready, his band is ready, everything is perfectly in place, but he knows he won’t feel fully calm until he is on stage, performing to the people who gave him this amazing life.

It all goes as planned, Fine Line is finally officially out there (it has been for about a week if we are being exact) and Harry couldn’t be happier. Coming off the stage he is still high on adrenaline, taking all the congratulations the crew and guests are giving him relentlessly. His smile is so wide, it’s starting to hurt his face, but it’s a pain he could happily deal with for the rest of his life.

He hugs his mum and sister, all his old friends, they do a group hug with the band and he is sure he has greeted everyone by now, but then he spots one specific figure in the back of the room.

At first he thinks he is just imagining it. That his mind is playing the same trick on him it did a few years ago when he thought he saw Y/N at one of their concerts. Blinking a couple of times he is ready to watch her disappear like a ghost, but as the seconds go by he realizes that she is truly there.

Y/N is standing across the room with a nervous smile, looking all grown up and most importantly fucking beautiful. Even though Harry has seen plenty of pictures of her from recent times, it’s still a shock to have her stand in the same room as him.

His body moves before his brain could process it. His feet start to carry him towards her and before he even realizes he is running and when he finally reaches her he wraps her in his arms, twirling her around, making both of them laugh.

“You’re here!” he breathes out, still hugging her even when he has put her down.

“I am, you invited me!” she chuckles and they finally lean back enough to look at each other.

“I know, but… you never replied, I didn’t think you’d come and… You are actually here,” he repeats.

“Sorry I didn’t reply, I wasn’t sure until the very last minute if I would come,” she admits nervously.

Harry’s invitation was all she could think about since the morning she got the email. It was more than unexpected, for a moment she even thought it was just some kind of prank, but it came from Harry's old email address, so she had to believe that it was genuine. She hesitated until probably a few days ago when she woke up one day and just knew that she had to be here tonight.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at her softly, taking in her every feature. The girl he knew is still there, but she changed a lot, she looks so much more mature and her features have definitely gotten a lot more feminine.

She looks gorgeous.

Suddenly it all comes down on him clashing, all the questions, the feelings, he wants to know everything, but he fears they don’t have enough time.

“How long are you staying?” he then asks.

“I took a couple of days off, I’m staying for three more days.”

He sighs in relief.

“Come on,” he smiles, his hand taking hers. “I want to know everything.”

“Everything?” she chuckles, ignoring the tingles wherever his hand is touching hers.

“Harry, don’t assault the poor girl! She almost didn’t come!” Gemma chimes in. Harry stops, his eyes snapping back and forth between Y/N and his sister.

“Wait, you knew she would be coming?” he asks Gemma, who is sipping on some champagne with a knowing smile. She shrugs.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” he scoffs, hands on his hips. The sight makes Y/N laugh, because she can see his sixteen year-old self in the pose so vividly, it’s insane.

“You never asked,” Gemma says and walks away. Harry turns back to Y/N.

“She messaged me if I got your invitation,” she admits.

“So you’re telling me, all I should have done is to send you a message and ask for confirmation?”

Y/N just chuckles, shrugging her shoulders innocently. Harry exhales as he shakes his head.

“Alright, now you truly have to tell me everything.”

2020

“Can you hear me?” Harry asks, as the FaceTime finally loads and Y/N’s pixelated face fills his phone’s screen. He leans back on his plush couch and he tries his best to ignore how fast his heart starts pounding in his chest when he hears her laugh.

“Yeah, I can hear you,” she answers and it seems like she just sat down somewhere too.

Struggling with the unstable connection they share how their day has been so far, though Harry has been up just for a few hours while Y/N’s is almost over. The time difference has been making it hard for them to keep in touch, but Harry has learned his lesson and he bends his schedule around these talks, because there’s no way he would waste even a moment he could spend talking to her.

ONO and the days that followed changed everything. It didn’t take long for Harry to realize that his boyish crush is still very much present and after seeing her it quickly evolved into something more mature. Seemingly, Y/N has been sharing these feelings, because it appears she enjoys spending time with Harry in any way possible just as much as he does.

It took them quite some time to catch up and it feels like they still haven’t shared everything they missed in each other’s life in the past years, but they know they have all the time they need, even if the circumstances might not always be the best. They are both trying their best.

There’s a comfortable silence in their call where both of them are just staring at each other through the screen. The unsaid things have been hanging there between them, they know it’s more than just their old friendship rekindled, but saying the words out through a FaceTime call wouldn’t be right.

“I miss you,” Harry finds himself mumbling the words, kind of to himself, but she hears the words.

“I miss you too,” she replies, biting her lip as she adjusts the phone in her hands.

“Can I… Can I see you before I go on tour?”

“That’s like… in three weeks,” she chuckles.

“I know. But I want to see you.”

“I don’t know, I have a regular, mundane job, I’m not an international rockstar who can just travel whenever it’s convenient,” she reminds him jokingly.

“Okay, then let me visit you.”

“You’re way too busy to come here.”

“I’m never too busy for you.”

She gasps at his words, the pink clouds so thick around her mind it’s almost sickening. If only she could reach out and through the screen…

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow and if you still think the same, we can… figure something out,” she smiles shyly. Harry knows he’ll feel the same tomorrow and the day after and forever. So he just smiles and nods.

They chat some more until Harry has to leave. Unwillingly, but they end the call and return to their separate lives.

Y/N stays on her couch, her phone still in her hands and Harry on her mind. Her TV is on, but it’s been muted, the screen is the only thing illuminating her in the dark room. With a tired sigh she reaches for the remote and turns the volume back on.

The news are on. She stands from the couch and starts cleaning up, not even listening to what they are talking about on the screen.

“... therefore COVID-19 has been officially declared a pandemic. WHO warns everyone to wear a mask in all public places, countries with a high number of cases are urgently discussing what other safety measures should…”

Y/N is questioning her sanity. She has been for the past week that was spent packing her suitcase, she took three covid tests in the last two days and now she is about to board a private jet at an airport that’s scarily empty. The last part shouldn’t be surprising, the whole world is under lockdown because of the pandemic, Y/N has spent her last month isolated in her apartment, right until one day Harry begged her to fly over to him.

“Y/N, please. I will settle everything, I’ll send a private jet for you, pay for it all, just please… please come here and be with me!”

There’s probably nothing she can deny from him. So here she is, escorted onto a private jet by an airport worker, they are both wearing their masks, just like everyone she has seen in the past week preparing for her travel.

Just as she settles in her seat on the jet, her phone buzzes from a text.

HARRY: Everything alright? Are you boarding already?

With a smile hidden under her mask she types her reply.

Y/N: On the plane, we’re taking off in 10.

HARRY: I can’t wait to see you.

Last time she traveled overseas was for a vacation years ago. She flew commercial then and it felt like hell, wedged between an obnoxious little boy and a middle aged woman who complained about everything. Now it’s just her and literally one single stewardess who is there to serve her. It’s a whole different experience for sure.

Luckily, the journey feels a lot shorter when she’s comfortable, she can get up anytime and eat excellent food instead of some weird frozen meal on a plastic plate. By the time the jet touches down she feels rested and most importantly excited to see Harry again. It feels like forever when they had to say goodbye in december and in all honesty, it took them way longer to reunite, but it’s all because of the pandemic. It’s late april now, they were planning to meet about a month ago originally at the end of march before his tour was set to kick off. By now he was supposed to be on the road through Europe, but instead, he has been under lockdown just like the rest of the world.

She walks through LAX as if it was zombie land, it’s so eerily empty she is expecting zombies to round the corner any minute, but it never happens. She reaches the car waiting for her, the driver loads her begs to the trunk and then they are off to Harry’s place.

It’s her first time at Harry’s LA home, and naturally it still baffles her to see where he’s gotten from his old life in Holmes Chapel, one that included her.

But his life includes her now as well, she reminds herself just as the car rolls up the long driveway. Getting out of the car she is about to grab her suitcases from the back of the car when the front door flies open and Harry sprints out. Literally.

He is running towards her with such speed, she almost gets knocked over when he finally reaches her and locks her in his arms, twirling around in the air.

“You’re here!” he breathes out, making her laugh.

“Were you not expecting me?” she teases him when he finally puts her down, but his arms remain around her.

“It’s just… I’m so happy to see you,” he smiles widely, taking her in. She hasn’t changed much since December, maybe her hair has gotten a little longer, but she looks the same.

However their feelings are nowhere near the same.

He thanks the driver and then grabs all her bags, urging her to come inside. Y/N wanders further into his home exploring it right away, already migrating towards the pool outside. Harry sets her luggage down in the hallway and walks after her, watching her stop by the sliding doors, admiring the enormous backyard. She turns around and catches him staring.

“What?” she asks, nervously laughing.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “I’m just really happy you’re here.”

2021

He’s nervous. There’s no use in denying, anyone could see it. But no one can blame him, it’s been so long since he last stood on a stage, he’s afraid he lost his groove, though the people who know him beg to differ.

Washing his teeth in his fluffy robe he is eyeing his outfit for tonight that’s hanging in the corner. He knows his fans will love it, the color pink alone would make them go feral, but the sparkly vest with no top underneath will be surely like they won the jackpot.

He spits and rinses his mouth just when there’s a soft knock on the door and just by the rhythm of it he knows who it is.

“Come in!” he calls out, wiping his mouth with a towel just when Y/N pokes her head inside, her body following a second later.

“Hey,” she smiles shyly, taking him in for a second as he moves around the room.

“Told you, you don’t have to knock when you come in,” he chuckles.

“But, what if you’re… naked or something?”

He stops and stares back at her, giving her an ‘Are you kidding me?’ look that gets her all flustered in an instant so he decides to take it even further.

“Nothing you haven’t seen, baby. In fact, you can see it right now if you wanted to.” He starts untying his robe, but she stops him laughing and taking the opportunity of having her so close now he wraps her in his arms and kisses her.

It never gets old. The feeling he gets whenever he gets to kiss her, whether it’s a good morning kiss right after he wakes up, or a tired kiss at the end of the day, a needy kiss when he just wants her more than anything or a make-up kiss after a fight, which doesn’t happen often. He can count it on one hand how many times they got into an argument since they’ve become an item in April 2020, when Y/N spent most of the lockdown with Harry. Originally, she planned to stay only for a couple of weeks, but she didn’t return home until the start of June and she was back by July.

Now it’s September 2021, so it’s been almost one and a half years since then and they are still just as in love as they were during lockdown.

“You’re nervous,” she mumbles against his lips and it’s not a question. She knows him, all of his looks, his movements, she knows what he thinks about most of the time if not always, she can read him like a book.

Harry hums and just goes in for another kiss.

“You’ll be amazing, don’t worry,” she smiles at him, patting his chest as she pulls back. “And even if you make a mistake, the pink sparkles will distract everyone,” she jokes, nodding towards his outfit.

“You’ll be out there?”

“Of course. I’ll be the one screaming the loudest.”

“As loud as last night?” The cheeky grin that stretches across his face is proof that he is not that nervous if he can make dirty jokes.

“Shut up or I’m going home,” she laughs, poking a finger into his chest teasingly. He grabs her finger and pulls her back for another kiss.

“Nope, you’re stuck here. With me,” he smirks, lips coming over hers again.

2023

The bittersweet feeling has been lingering around the crew not just all day, but probably for a week now. Everyone knew that the end was coming and now that the final show is officially here, the emotions are overflowing. Everything they are doing, they are doing it for the last time on Love On Tour. It’s the last stage, the last sound check, last time Wet Leg takes the stage before Harry and it’s the last time Y/N is sitting in his dressing room, watching him put on his outfit of the night.

She can sense that he is different than he usually is before a show, he seems antsy and his eyebrows have been furrowed probably since lunch. Y/N watches him pace the floor back and forth in his sparkly outfit, nervously fixing the wire behind his neck even though it’s exactly in the same spot it usually is.

“Do you want me to help?” she asks and Harry stops in his tracks, as if he just realized what he’s been doing. His hands fall by his side as he exhales sharply.

“Sorry, just… fidgeting.”

Y/N stands from the couch and walking over she absentmindedly fixes his fringed vest, planting her palms onto his chest gently.

“It’s okay to be sad, H,” she reminds him. Harry tends to hide his big, sad feelings, because he feels like it would bother others. He is always so considerate about dealing with everyone else’s feelings, but this time his emotions should be in focus as well.

“I don’t want to be sad, that’s the thing. It was a great experience, sadness should not be a thing when I think of Love On Tour.”

“But that’s why it’s okay to be sad. Because this amazing experience is ending and it’s natural that you’re mourning it. It lasted, what? Like almost two years? And if we count in the planning, this tour has been part of your life since 2019. That was four years ago, no one expects you to just let go of it laughing.”

Harry nods, his arms snaking around her waist as he pulls her into his embrace, needing to feel her close in this overwhelming moment. She’s been his anchor, the person he could turn to no matter what during this insanely long tour, he’s convinced he couldn’t have done it all without her.

Not even Harry can slow time down, so the moment to step onto the stage for the last time in this tour finally comes. Y/N stands with his family and friends at the side, holding Anne’s hands whenever an emotional song is played by him. He puts one thousand percent into it, just like every time on this tour and Y/N’s chest swells with pride when she realizes that it’s one hundred thousand people screaming at her lover.

Or fiancé, to be exact.

When Harry sings Falling, to his fans’ surprise, she notices him looking for her in the crowd. The song is melancholic and it was written about a time he felt at his lowest, but to look in his eyes tells it all to Y/N.

He is not there anymore, because he has her.

She’s twisting her diamond ring around her finger as tears dwell in her eyes while she sings along to the song, hoping that her expression tells him too, that she is happy to be the person who brought light into his life, because he did the same to her.

Then the time comes for Harry’s thank you speech and no eye is left dry after his words. Y/N has to swallow back her sobs when he turns to her and addresses his words straight to her.

“My love, thank you for everything, you were such a big part of this journey and I hope that our journey will continue forever.”

The fans are screaming, phones are pointed at her, recording her reaction as she just nods eagerly, one hand covering her wobbling lips.

For his final piano piece Y/N moves backstage to watch him from there and be there when he walks off the stage for the very last time in the history of Love On Tour. She is standing there with the proudest and most emotional expression on her face when Harry jumps down the steps and he smashes into her arms right away, burying his face into the crook of her neck. She can feel his tears against her skin and she gently keeps combing her hand through his hair, giving him as much time to recover as he needs.

When he finally lifts his head his eyes are glassy, but there’s a smile on his lips.

“You did amazing,” Y/N tells him, gently wiping his cheeks with her hands.

“And you did too,” he says and his words make her laugh.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did the absolute most, Y/N. You gave me your love and support and I couldn’t have done it without those.”

Her heart melts as she pushes up to her tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You’ll forever have those. You’ll forever have me.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

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hyewka · 1 year

Text

Because I’m currently pissed off ive decided to manifest it into positive energy 🙂!!! I present to you a scenario of very loud and annoying neighbour Yeonjun, like just criminally loud neighbour throughout every. single. night. Absolutely no rest ever since he moved in.

warnings: sub!yeonjun, grinding, slapping lol, dacryphilia, noona kink sorta

On good days, it’d be what you think is him producing music because at least your walls aren’t vibrating. Worst days? It would hands down be the ragers he throws practically every week as if he was still in college. Sex being a close second—to give credit, he has toned it down the past couple of weeks.

“We take your complaints very seriously, but please cut him some slack Miss. He’s still in college you know how…they get,” So…he is still in college. And to the newfound information, you guess he’s also under twenty three. It explains… a lot. “Between you and me, he’s practically scraping to get money for rent enough as it is.”

You hold back a scoff and instead try to be empathetic so you give your best attempt at a smile to the office worker. You could handle a few months of sleepless nights before he’s eventually evicted, can’t you?

So, just like that, you give up the weekly complaints you send to the landlord.

…Is what you chose to believe as you try your hardest to drown out the noise next door, pillow pressed against your ear with sheer strength before you finally give out, groaning with agony. If you can’t get anybody to listen to your complaints, then who will?

Communication.

Like a light bulb lit above your head you scramble out of your bed, not in the mood to change out of your nightgown, slipped on your slides, and you were now prepared to pay a visit to your more than lovely neighbour, Choi Yeonjun.

You knock a few times. No response.

Before you could get your tenth knock the door swings open to reveal the monster who has been tormenting you for the last few months. You hold up a polite smile, though your eyes unintentionally trail down to his exposed collarbones. A white tank top, a white tank top, a white— “Hey?”

Your eyes widen, getting flustered as you clear your throat, straightening your posture. “Um, so, hi! As you know I’m—"

“Y/N, neighbour 331.” Your brows raise impressed that he actually knew. “The one who’s been submitting complaints on me every Friday, right?”

Oh. He does not like you. Your smile falters for a second before you compose yourself and nod. “I just wanted to come to you instead of going to the landlord tomorrow morning, think it’s better if we communicate.”

He contemplates for a second before nodding, arms crossed lazily, eyes urging you to continue. “…I want to communicate that I am not very…appreciative of the noise every night. Well, I’m sure you already know—and I wish for you to turn it down a notch.”

Yeonjun gives you a tight smile, eyes turning into crescents, with his hand placed behind his door. “Sure.” —is all he says before the door’s slammed shut in your face.

Not taking into account the rudeness of what he just did, you think that was a success. So you take a second to commend yourself and pat yourself on the back, heading to your flat.

To your luck, he goes through with his word and actually keeps it down.

For one night.

You think maybe if you go knocking enough times, he'd follow through each time (which he does) and eventually learn to turn it down without you telling him to (which he doesn't).

You're faced with him again, patience holding by a thread, "Keep. It. Down." you grit out the moment his door opens, eyes with intention to kill.

"Damn. Okay. You can chill out."

And then again.

"Turn your TV down."

And...again.

"I would appreciate it if you turned it down a bit."

It was a daily thing to get up from the comfort of your bed and storm up to his door, your knuckles bruising from the abundance of times you banged on his door.

"At this point, might start thinking you're really into me." You stare at him in disbelief, mouth hung open not able to process the absolute audacity. You're even more pissed when he cheekily points out: "You're drooling."

You immediately shut your mouth before rolling your eyes to absolute oblivion. You hate his guts. Even more when you wipe at your mouth experimentally and do in fact find that he wasn't lying. "Just—just turn it down!"

You truly did not like him, nothing more nothing less. You couldn't even find him more than averagely attractive so there definitely weren't any underlying feelings. You just thought he was way too incredibly cocky for your taste, too unbothered of his surroundings; to you it looked like all that mattered to Yeonjun was himself. Which is a big turn off.

You were definitely all too aware of the numerous times his eyes would, with absolutely no shame, look you up and down, not caring to be discreet about checking you out. Each time you'd scoff, because god, does he remind you of all the reasons you hated college.

You didn't think he was at peak of childishness until the one time you saw Yeonjun arriving at his door as you struggled to key your door open with your sort-of-boyfriend slash co-worker Doyoung (which was another issue you had to deal with all around) beside you, waiting to finally finish off what you started back at his car.

"Hey, hey let me try." Doyoung offers and you let him, awkwardly making way for him to attempt to open your jammed door.

It wasn't hard to feel Yeonjun's quick glances over at you before he says nothing and disappears into the black hole that was his flat. When you came over to his door the next day, the daily reminder to keep it quiet, he does one of his cheesy fuck boy lines from a 2000s movie without fail. Except he doesn't end it there.

He asks you a question you would've snorted at if it wasn't for the fact that it wasn't very humorous to have an annoying neighbor busying themselves with your personal life.

"Was that your boyfriend? Yesterday?" His very weird attempt at keeping his voice monotone and almost nonchalant has you puzzled...not in a good way.

You resort to not answering his question. You didn't have to. "From a scale of one to ten, how valuable is that information to you? It's supposed to be zero lovely neighbour."

"Well, you—you should keep it down next time," he starts, and you're confused. No way. "Couldn't sleep with all the bed creaking."

You could've even retort back and say something like 'oh, now you know how I feel', too embarrassed to say anything before just storming to your door. You did not like Choi Yeonjun.

At all.

All of that was before being stuck in an elevator with a more than a nervous wreck plus one.

"Can you calm down? They'll be here in like, less than a few minutes." You aren't too great at comforting, clearly, as he gets a lot more jittery. "Fuck! It's been five entire minutes!” —Not true. “What if—what if we just die in here, holy shit holy shit." Yeonjun was spiraling as he tries to pace in the confined space, eyes wide with panic, biting down on his bottom lip practically breaking down right in front of your eyes.

"Hey, hey look, just sit. On the floor. Calm down, and collect yourself."

To your surprise, he stops pacing, for a second looks at you before taking a breath and slumping down to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. You decide to also sit down, albeit, the awkward distance between the two of you making it less than comfortable. It feels like a few minutes before your ears pick up little sniffles.

Oh well, shit. He was crying. You attempt to not look at him, he was clearly more than vulnerable but your eyes can't help but slowly trail to your side. The confident, cocky neighbor you've had to deal with for the past five months was indeed crying.

Your perception of Yeonjun changes in an elevator that day, just a tiny bit. When he starts to apologize through his sobs, that had quickly picked up sound, you feel something. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just—fuck—"

"What happened?" You don't care, you think you don't, but you still end up asking. And listening.

"Don't judge." he says with that slight break of his voice and you nod.

Your eyes dart back and forth, hyper focused on every feature of his face as he turns to you, venting all of his worries to someone he most likely finds annoying the same way you find him—red runny nose, fox-like eyes already turning bloodshot, the way his perfectly trimmed brows furrow every few sentences like he was thinking over what he should reveal to a stranger that hates him, or his quivering bottom lip whenever he'd take a second to take a breath—your perception of him had definitely changed. Just a tiny bit.

You have no idea what possessed you to reach your thumb out for under his eyes—to wipe. Like you knew him at all. As if he wasn't the neighbor who had been the cause of all the sleepless nights you experienced. It was something about his pouty lips, pinkish tone from all the crying, making you behave so oddly. “Thanks…” Yeonjun’s strained whisper combined with his tears bordering his waterline had got you even more entranced and holy shit— you quickly retract your hand from his face, instead focusing on bright yellow light on your floor number.

“Mhm.” It was a panic hum, like any minute now you would do a very impulsive and frankly out of character thing.

But thankfully his paranoia was proven to not be true as just a few minutes go by before the elevator doors open to reveal someone from what you assume to be the rescue service.

When you get out, Yeonjun is rather quick to go to his flat, avoiding all small talk and shutting his door behind him almost as quick as he ran to it. And as for you, all night is spent sleepless once more. And the cause being once again, Yeonjun. Except it's not his music, his movies, or sex. He keeps oddly quiet that day. No, it's the short dream you have that scares you awake.

Yeonjun. Crying. And a sex dream. Oh you were fucked up.

Not only does that dream scare you wide awake for an entire night, it also scares you from ever approaching his door again. Or when you see him down at the laundry room, or at the elevator, or—

At your door?

When you open to the persistently annoying knock, you don't expect it to be your neighbor. In his signature frat look, a backward cap hanging on his head. "Hey—"

"What do you want?" You cut him off.

"Oh, well, straight to the point, um—Was here to tell you that I'll be throwing a party in just a few hours. So it'll get loud. And I won't be able to turn it down. Sorry."

"Okay." you simply say before adding, "Thanks for giving me a heads up I guess." You attempt to give a smile before shutting your door but Yeonjun stops you with the intervention of his foot between the door and the frame.

"Also. Question.” You quirk a brow. “This is probably really weird to ask because we don't even know each other, but, are you avoiding me? I feel like you are. Was it because of my …crying?" He whispers the last part like its some sacred omen.

"Huh?"

"What happened at the elevator. Can’t you—can’t you just forget about that? I mean I have no idea if you’re avoiding me because of it, but I feel like you are and I don’t know, I just need a confirmation. It’s driving me fucking insane and, and as a man—”

God, you’d do anything to not be the victim of a macho man attempting to explain how weak it is to shed a few tears. So you reveal the reality that you are currently living in. A reality where you dreamed about fucking Choi Yeonjun, A.K.A someone you would consider a mortal enemy by this point.

“I had a sex dream.” It’s the first time you see him taken aback, blinking rapidly, clueless of what you just said. “About you.” you confirm, pursing your lips at the few seconds of silence that followed after. Presuming he has nothing to say to you look down at his foot that was the sole reason you hadn’t shut the door yet.

He scrambles, flustered when he realizes, moving his feet, an incredulous chuckle leaving his lips right after, “Um, yeah, sorry— a sex dream? About me? Huh. I always knew—” With dread, you slam the door shut before he could get another word in, the last thing you see being a smug grin on his face with the newly found information settling in and god you just want to rip your hair out— the absolute last thing you wanted to do was feed his ego. Which you had clearly served to have done.

You choose to huddle up on your couch, watching a random Netflix show to pass time on your vacation day but the show’s too uninteresting so you inevitably end up spacing out.

You’re not entirely sure why you’ve been particularly childish about the dream. Especially since you’ve had awkward sex dreams before, the one about your fuck-ass boss taking the number one spot for most traumatizing. But you’ve never actively ignored anyone or even gave it a second thought other than “Holy shit that was weird.”

So, your subconscious leads you to believe you resorted to avoidance due to the contents of your dream. Said contents being you… dominating a man. Roped up cocky Yeonjun at mercy of every feather touch, squirming in his restraints, face a teary mess with his hair plastered onto his forehead from all the sweat, a ballgag drenched with his spit just to keep him shut, salivating dumbly down under his chin, the prettiest fucked out look, putting the little shit in his place and holy shit are you touching yourself?

Like some prude, you retract your hand out from under your pants and curse yourself at seeing your fingers stick because of your substance—Yeonjun was driving you crazy. And you hated it, he was at most five years younger than you and throughout your life span, you have never felt anything for a younger man—its always been a turn off. Especially when it shows. And with Yeonjun, oh it showed.

Even now as your reverie gets broken by an unrythmic knock similar to before, leading you to be faced by Yeonjun. For the second time today.

His stance is a lot different than an hour ago, almost like that one time on the elevator. “…Hey?” You start out with raised eyebrows.

Confused by his silence you assume what this was about, “I seriously don’t mind the party, I’ll be—”

Your eyes widen in surprise when Yeonjun’s lips crash on yours, roughly taking you up a wind before the realizations sets in the moment his hand start going places it should not be going. You bite down on his lip and he pulls away instantly, groaning, wide eyed, tears already springing on his waterline from the pain. He has the audacity to look offended as he yells with childish shriek of his voice, “What the hell?!”

“Are you insane? Who gave you the right to kiss me you fucking pervert?” You yell back, still shocked at his sudden advancement, finger lingering on your lips.

He visibly deflates with a knit of his eyebrows, eyes wide, "Um? You...you just told me you had a sex dream...of me."

"So?" you whisper-shout exasperated.

"I thought—"

You cut him off. "You thought what? I'd let you barge in here like some lead in a porno and...fuck me?"

He seems to think for a few seconds before literally...nodding, making you nearly gasp. "Well, sort of...yeah? I mean, women don't tell you that they've had a wet dream about you without trying to say something non-verbally." He seems almost proud when he says that, as if he has hundreds of experience in women psych.

Holy fuck. You dreamed about fucking this kid. A dumb frat whose probably got everything handed to him just because he was moderately pretty.

But maybe he wasn't too far off, because you find yourself stupidly attracted to his slightly bruised lip from your bite earlier, his eyes still glossy, iris looking up waiting for you to say something. Holy shit.

"How old are you?" If the age gap was bigger than three years—

"Turned twenty-three last September. Why?"

Two years. Oh fuck, to hell with it all.

You ignore his question and jump straight in the cold, freezing water. "How...much are you willing to do to...fuck me?" The question came out a lot more awkward than you intended.

He huffs out a laugh incredulously waiting for you to say that was a joke, but too much time has passed and now he's seriously thinking it over for a second. "Um...a lot? I don't know. I'm just super horny right now."

If you were in your right mind, you would've rejected him. Out the door he would've been because the way he drawled super had to have been the biggest turn off. But you were also a woman at mercy to her sexual desires. And right now, your sexual desire was Yeonjun.

"Okay," you exhale. "Sure. Let's fuck. But we're doing this my way."

-----

You surprisingly don't possess any toys...other than an unused dildo. You're not sure if he'd be too into that, or if you know him enough to even propose such an idea. So... you’re left empty handed; now all you had was your word and control.

And the slight age difference seemed to help it out too. “I-I’m—holy shit— I’m gonna cum noona, noona—"

Abruptly, you move from his neck that you were just lightly sucking on, hand once palming him over his sweats, retracted. He whines from the loss of friction, opening his shut eyes to give you the nastiest look as he tries to quickly bring back his high but he clearly fails when he groans, nearly feeling his eyes get teary. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"I told you to stop calling me noona. Plus, I'm not gonna let you soil your pants the minute I get my hands on you."

Wild runs in his eyes and its unlike you’ve seen him. "Holy shit, you're so—" But it’s not intimidating. You cut him off by straddling his lap, and if you weren’t nicer you would’ve laughed at how fast his expression changed. Dumb kid.

He was totally awestricken, wetting his lips for a second until opening them again, "—fucking hot."

You strike a sharp blow across his face, the slap silencing him abruptly. His lips are slightly parted, confusion ridden in his features, his cheek quickly turning a shade of red, ears ringing—then you start grinding and his expression once again morphs into something sinfully pathetic, except this time he had those tears threatening to spill. “Don’t call me hot again. Understood?”

“It’s a fucking complim—”

You shove two fingers in his mouth to attempt of actually shutting this man up, and for a bit it serves to gag him until a lewd thought popped in your head. “Suck. Or I kick you out and you can jerk off your stupid dick alone.”

He immediately obeys, sucking on your two fingers, his saliva coating them. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was shifting his position and not attempting to buck his hips like a dumb rabid dog. He was getting off from this.

You were proven more when you start pumping your digits in his mouth, too fascinated at how he sucks in his cheeks, making eye contact, whining on your fingers. “Why’re you so frustrating? Could’ve been a good boy from the beginning.”

You rolled your hips into his more, his dick hardening you’re surprised he hasn’t complained yet. “When are we gonna fuck?” He whines when your fingers are out of his watering mouth.

Clearly, you speak too soon.

“Never if you keep being a fucking bitch. You know how much sleep I lost because of your idiotic shenanigans? Let me have my fun.”

A lot. He was insufferable the first three months, dark circles getting more deep set. Feeling anger bubble up, you move to roughly trailing wet kisses down his neck and goodness is he audible—his soft moans are truly music to your ears. “You’re loud.”

And it gets you to needily grind down on his bulge even more, your core aching. Unfortunately, he takes this as you scolding him to be quiet, and so for a second, he’s extremely quiet. “No, no, want you to be loud. Love your needy voice, such a pretty dumb boy.” you breathe, getting off on his lap.

You suck hard on a sensitive spot and he spasms, whimpering. “Noona—”

You bite down on his exposed shoulder and Yeonjun cries. “Told you to stop calling me that freak.”

“Don’t care, I wanna call you noona,” you swallow the lump in your throat because the honorific does spur you on his lap, “My noona.”

Your eyes widen, flustered hands raising to slap him again, which he doesn’t dodge. Hot cheeks so red from the two times you hit his pretty face, tears long spilling down them, is so much better than the dream—except his bratty smirk pulls you out of the fantasy. “Stop pushing it dumb frat.”

His hips buck to hump up against your pussy and you really start to think he enjoys getting slapped. “P-please, want your pussy. Been thinking about it all week.”

“All week?”

“Y-yeah, since that guy fucked you dumb, like a bitch.” If it weren’t for how distracted you were getting by his twitching dick in between your thighs, you would’ve given him another strike against his face—and maybe then he would’ve shut up for good.

“You want to fuck me like a bitch?” you slur in his ear in mock tone, “You?”

He furrows his brows, visibly getting haughty. “Yes, me. What about it?” he bites.

You whine at the cute knit of his brows, the pout that rests his pretty lips. You lean to kiss them, you’ve been thinking of doing that since the beginning—they looked so pillowy, soft, everything you could now feel as he eagerly returns the chaste mouth to mouth.

It’s quick to turn messy, spit smothered by the side of his lips when you cup his cheeks—then you let go, abruptly. Yeonjun tries to blindly chase your lips, but you’re unrelenting, working yourself on his lap. “You can’t fuck me like him Jjunie.”

“I can fuck your brains out, you—” He’s mid barking back at your statement, his ego clearly beaten down to the ground, but you do the next thing you’ve been dying to try—playing with his nipples. You graze them with your thumb when you’ve had your hands under his shirt for a good minute—a fact unnoticed by the man under you—and that gets him mewling. Mewling.

“F-fuck, don’t touch me there..”

“But I thought you could fuck my brains out?” you mock with a pout, “How come you get like this just by…”

You pinch his nipples slightly and he throws his back on the couch almost immediately, whimpering through his tightly closed lips. “Me touching your tits?”

“Don’t c-call them that.”

“Tits? But you like this don’t you?” you ask softly, studying every bit of a jerk, or a slight quiver of his bottom lip. He loved every second of this, but you needed him to tell you. You stop massaging his nips, removing your hand entirely from under his shirt, which gets his eyes to fly open, holding your wrist. “I do! I do. I like it when you play with my tits.” he says exasperated, raising your hand under his shirt again.

What a desperate whore.

You smirk, incredibly engrossed by his eagerness, and his swollen glistening lips from your brief makeout earlier. “Yeah?” you drawl, pressing on his bud just a tiny bit, and he nods. Thank god he was sensitive.

“Mhm.” he hums, still pathetically chasing your warmth. All he can think with is his dick.

“Thought about wrecking my tight, little pussy so bad all week, huh? Jerked off to the thought all week? Poor baby. Then I have to make it up to you today don’t I?” you know those words would make him act up more, getting him unbearably hard to the point its torture. And god, now your panties were uncomfortably sticking to your pussy.

“N-noona let me—let me—” Yeonjun’s crying more as the friction between your bodies gets too overwhelming for him— and gosh, does he look like such a dumb boy; none of his cocky stupid shit from earlier.

It was hot.

“Want my pussy?”

His nods are frantic, so much that you snort. “Yes, yes please. Wanted to fuck you dumb ever since you came over. You never gave me any attention, jus’ wanted to make a mess of you, cumming all over your tits—”

No way. He was a pervert from the beginning? You thought he hated your guts just as much as you did him. “Did that filthy fantasy give you a good enough reason to ruin my sleep schedule and ..and all my chances at a promotion? Huh? Because of you i can’t even dream of it—“

You were lying. Losing sleep had definitely affected your work performance but it wasn’t to the point you couldn’t aim for a little promotion. But you liked seeing his guilt pool in, crying, crying sooo pathetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know noona, I swear.”

His hiccups are enough to get you to fasten your speed on his lap, the friction working to get you off.

“Yeah. Because your undeveloped brain can’t grasp at the real worlds consequence. I hate guys like you. So immature and dumb.”

That snaps something in him clearly as he finds the tongue to retort, “If you hated me you—you wouldn’t be getting off on my cock.”

You scoff, especially at picking up on the strained moan he tries to conceal, the shudder of his body giving away the orgasm. Choi Yeonjun just came. Untouched.

You could feel it between your legs, the warmth spread disgustingly all over and you grimace. “Gross.”

He groans out of embarrassment, hiding his face with an arm. And now you’re just sitting on his wet lap, contemplating two things. Kicking him out or getting to satisfy your needs?

Unfortunately, the banging on a door pauses your movement of unbuckling his jeans and you can’t hide the roll of your eyes. “Yeonjun! Are you home?!”

Convenient timing. Not.

You don’t let your disappointment show—he came and you hadn’t. You instead turn to face him, giving him a mocking smile, “You have a party to host ...oops.” And at least end it with the illusion you had the upper hand.

But Yeonjun is not as willing to give it up. “I don’t give a shit. I host these weekly,” Oh, you know. “…Can you at the least …let me eat you out?”

#############################

a/n; lol this got longer than i intended to the point i was thinking about naming it and getting it out as an actual fic but ehhhhh ill leave it raw 🥲 wish my shitty neighbor was yeonjun but we move 😁!!!!!

#yeonjun smut #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #sub!idol #txt hard hours #yeonjun hard thoughts #yeonjun hard hours

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sunflower-lilac42 · 2 months

Text

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘁𝘂 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗲 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ; 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 ୨୧

➪ summary: in the middle of the night, y/n tries to rearrange her room and wakes her brothers in the process. yet, her brothers are stopped when she asks them to watch movies with her

➪ warnings: none

➪ word count: 0.7k

➪ file type: blurb - repupload

➪ sunny's notes: just a little blurb for tonight and then how you get the girl will be out tomorrow! also i counted, i have 20 fics left to reupload, wish me luck. this next week might be fic galore

hughes brothers masterlist || nhl masterlist || new taglist || navigation

The need to do something always hit late at night and today was no different. It was nearing 11, and all of them were in Michigan, finally being able to spend time with one another since the season started. She was staring at her room in the lake house, unable to sleep. Then she had the urge to rearrange everything and clean thoroughly. But at the same time, she was starving. That’s what she got for falling asleep for 4 hours instead of her so-called “quick nap”.

She quietly got up from her bed and went to the kitchen, grabbing the watermelon from the fridge. Every time her fork banged against the bowl she would freeze and look towards the stairs before breathing a sigh of relief and returning to what she was doing. After that, she grabbed a glass and started to put ice cubes in, flinching from how loud it was clattering against the plastic.

Walking back to her room, she peered into her brothers' rooms to see them still sleeping soundly. She placed her glass and bowl down on her nightstand before reaching for her headphones and placing them on, listening to her country playlist, Luke Combs blaring through them. She hummed to the tune as she started to reorganize her room, moving her desk to the other side of the room and her nightstand to where her desk had been.

Halfway through attempting to move her bed, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped and ripped her headphones off, “What?”

She saw her brothers standing there, Luke with his arms crossed, Quinn with a tired look on his face, and Jack with a confused look on his, “Hi.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Cleaning?”

“At 11:30 at night?”

“Yes.”

“I was sleeping.” She moved her eyes over to where Quinn was standing, now running a hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Something wrong that you can’t sleep?” Jack seemed to be the only one slightly worried, and that might’ve been because he had the same late-night tendencies as his sister.

“No. Just had the urge to do something.”

“And that was to rearrange your whole ass room?” She looked up at the taller one of the three, staring him down, “Sorry Lukey, but when I have the need to do something I’m going to do it.”

“Whatever, I’m going back to sleep.”

“Wait!” Luke stopped and turned back around, raising an eyebrow, “What?”

“Since we’re all up now, late-night movie night?”

“Only if you make the popcorn.” Quinn flops onto her newly positioned bed.

“Can you finish moving my bed then?”

“Fineeee.” Jack sighed pushing Quinn off the bed which earned him a groan.

She went downstairs and made popcorn for the four of them, dancing to the music that still played through her headphones. She made sure everyone’s bowl had the type of popcorn they liked, one with a lot of butter, one with some, one without butter at all, and one for her. She struggled to carry them all upstairs but she at last made it safely into the room and gave them each their own bowl.

“We’re watching Cars.” She declared, not allowing any of them to speak. None of them complained, it was one of the Hughes siblings' classics, along with the usual The Mighty Ducks and Toy Story.

She sat on her bed in between Jack and Quinn as Luke lay in front of them, his hand propping up his head. And that’s how they spent the rest of the night, watching their comfort movies and eating popcorn. Each time their bowl would empty, someone would go refill it as the others paused the movie and waited. When the popcorn stopped filling them up they made a trip to the closest restaurant that was open at all hours of the day and then brought it back home to continue the impromptu movie night.

While she didn’t get what she wanted to accomplish, she was glad she was able to spend the night with her brothers just like they did when they were younger.

𝗛𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗘𝗦 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ୨୧

please message me if you didn't get tagged! - this is the start of the new taglist

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @prettyjoseph @nicole01-23 @shawnshoney @auriesphantom @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43

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sadnymi · 2 months

Text

Down bad

[Lorenzo Berkshire×reader][TTPDM]

Words:2.5k

I was sitting outside the castle on a bench in the garden, enjoying the warm breeze and losing myself in the music playing through my headphones. It was one of those rare peaceful moments, and I was soaking it in. Suddenly, I felt a shadow fall over me. I looked up and saw Lorenzo Berkshire smiling down at me.

"Hey," I said, taking off my headphones.

"Hey," he replied, sitting next to me. "Nice headphones."

"Thanks," I said, a bit taken aback. Why was he talking to me?

"Where'd you get them?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

"My mom got them for my birthday," I replied, still confused. "Why are you talking to me?"

He chuckled. "They're really cool. What are you listening to?"

"A Muggle artist," I said cautiously. "I don't think you'd like it."

"Why not?" he asked, his smile widening.

"Well," I hesitated, "maybe because you and your friends have bullied me and half the half-bloods here?"

He laughed, a sound that was surprisingly pleasant. "I didn't do such a thing."

"Your friends did," I shot back.

"Well, I'm not them, am I?" he said, his face too close to mine now. "Show me what you're listening to."

I sighed but handed over one of my earbuds. He put it in and raised an eyebrow as "A man without love " by Engelbert Humperdinck started playing.

He listened for a moment, then grinned. "This is brilliant! Why would you think I wouldn't like this?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know, maybe because you lot act like Muggle things are beneath you?"

"Not all of us," he said. "Besides, if I listened to this more often, maybe I'd have a better taste in music."

I couldn't help but Smile. "Well, you're off to a good start."

"So," he said, leaning in even closer, "you gonna show me more Muggle music, or are you keeping all the good stuff to yourself?"

"Depends," I said, smirking. "Are you gonna stop your friends from bullying mine?"

He shrugged. "I'll think about it. As long as you promise to share more music with me."

"Deal," I said, smiling.

And this was the start of the disaster.

We started hanging out more often, much to the surprise of everyone around us. At first, it was just casual encounters in the garden or the library. He always found ways to sit close, his leg brushing against mine or his arm around the back of my chair. His presence was intoxicating, his charm irresistible.

It was a battle I was losing, hard.

There was the time when we were sitting by the Black Lake, the sun reflecting off the water. I was telling him a funny story about my latest Potions mishap when he reached over and started playing with a strand of my hair.

"Does your hair always smell this nice?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes couldn't help but smile. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Lorenzo."

"Not even a little bit?" he teased, leaning in closer.

"Maybe a little," I admitted, laughing. His fingers tangled in my hair were surprisingly gentle, and I found myself leaning into his touch.

And then come the night when we were sitting in the common room, I was nervously studying for our upcoming Transfiguration exam. Lorenzo, clearly not as concerned, was lounging next to me.

"Why are you so worried?" he asked, leaning over to look at my notes.

"Because I don't want to fail," I said, exasperated. "Some of us actually need to study, you know."

"Well," he said, taking a strand of my hair and twirling it around his finger, "you're smart. You'll do fine. Besides, you've got me to help you."

I looked at him skeptically. "You? Help me?"

"Hey, I'm not just a pretty face," he said, grinning. "I've got brains too, you know."

"Prove it," I challenged.

He leaned even closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "I'll have to show you then," he whispered, making my heart skip a beat.

Before his next Quidditch match, he found me, nervously twisting my scarf in my hands. He walked up and bent down to whisper in my ear.

"Wish me luck?" he asked, his breath warm against my skin.

"Good luck," I said softly, feeling a shiver run down my spine.

He smiled, then leaned in and kissed my cheek. "For good luck," he murmured before jogging off to join his team.

I sat there, stunned and blushing furiously. The girls around me whispered and giggled, I couldn't focus on anything but the spot where his lips had brushed my skin.

Our time together became more frequent, and with every passing day, he found new ways to get closer. Whether it was during study sessions in the library, where he'd absentmindedly play with my hair while I talked, or during meals in the Great Hall, where he'd steal food from my plate and grin at my protests, Lorenzo made sure he was a constant presence.

The next two months flew by in a whirlwind of flirtation and playful banter. Lorenzo and I were almost inseparable, spending every free moment together. He made me laugh, challenged me, and somehow always managed to make my heart race. I finally understood why every girl at Hogwarts was obsessed with him.

Then come that day, we were by the Black Lake. I was sitting on the edge of the dock, absorbed in a book, when suddenly a splash of water hit me.

"Lorenzo!" I yelled, looking up to see him grinning at me mischievously. "What was that for?"

"Just thought you could use a break from all that reading," he said, still smiling.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my book, trying to ignore him. But then he took off his shirt, revealing his well-toned torso. I couldn’t help but stare, my cheeks flushing, and I couldn't even remember what I was about to yell at him.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Cooling off," he replied nonchalantly, before diving into the lake.

I shook my head, trying to focus on my book, but the water kept splashing around me. Annoyed, I stood up. "Are you crazy, Lorenzo? Get out of there!"

There was no response. He was nowhere to be seen. I sighed, leaning over the edge of the dock. "Very funny, Enzo. Now come out!"

Still nothing. Panic started to set in. "Okay, not funny anymore. Get out now!"

Suddenly, he emerged from the water right in front of me, pulling me down with a strong tug. I screamed in surprise as I hit the cold water, surfacing to find him laughing.

"You're insufferable!" I yelled, splashing water at him.

"You should see your face!"

I swam towards the dock, but he caught me by the waist and pulled me back. His face was inches from mine, and his eyes were sparkling. He gently pushed my wet hair away from my face.

"You're so beautiful when you're mad," he said softly, and before I could respond, he kissed me.

I pulled away, stunned, but a smile crept onto my face. He kissed me again, and this time, I kissed him back, my arms wrapping around his neck. The world seemed to disappear, the cool water contrasting with the warmth between us.

Laughing, I pushed him under the water, but he quickly resurfaced, grabbing my leg and pulling me down with him. Under the water, he kissed me again, the sensation intensified by the surroundings.

When we surfaced, both of us laughing and gasping for air, I knew. One thing was for sure: I was down bad, very, very bad for Lorenzo Berkshire. And for a moment, I knew cosmic love.

I woke up next day with this smile on my face sleep felt impossible that night my mind replying what happened over and over again.

I was walking down the hallway, when I saw him. Lorenzo was kissing a Hufflepuff girl, right there in front of everyone. I froze, my heart sinking into my stomach. This couldn’t be happening. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare.

I walked up to them, my legs feeling like lead. The girl smiled and waved him goodbye, completely oblivious to my presence. When I stood in front of him, he looked down and smiled. "Hey, beautiful."

I raised an eyebrow, trying to process the scene I had just witnessed. "Are you fucking kidding me, Lorenzo?"

He looked genuinely confused. "Hey, what’s wrong?"

"What’s wrong?" I echoed, my voice shaking with a mix of disbelief and anger. "You were literally kissing that girl, Lorenzo!"

He shrugged, still smiling. "Yeah, and?"

"And?" I felt like I was going to explode. "What the fuck, Lorenzo?"

He looked at me, still clueless. "I don’t understand why you’re so mad."

I just stared at him, unable to believe his nonchalance. Then I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Is this some kind of joke?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Okay, Lorenzo, I’m going to ask you one thing."

"Sure," he said, leaning against the wall. "What is it?"

"What are we?" I asked, my voice trembling with the effort to stay calm.

He looked at me, genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean, what are we?"

"Damn it, Lorenzo! What are we? What's so hard about that?"I repeated, my patience wearing thin.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're friends."

"Friends?" I echoed, feeling like I had been punched in the gut. "We’re friends?"

"Yeah, sure we are," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I felt a wave of anger and disbelief wash over me. "And you go around kissing all your friends?"

He sighed again, this time with a hint of frustration. "So that’s it. You’re mad because I kissed you."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. "Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not mad because you kissed me, Lorenzo. I’m mad because not even 24 hours later, you’re kissing another girl!"

He shrugged, looking unconcerned. "It was just casual, Y/N. Me, you, even this—it’s nothing serious. We were having fun."

I felt tears gathering in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Casual?" I laughed bitterly, my voice breaking. "Casual?"

He looked at me, genuinely surprised."Y/N, you didn’t really fall in love with me, did you?"

I felt like I had been slapped. "Fuck you, Enzo. Fuck you to hell." I turned and walked away, not looking back.

Lorenzo was the charming prince, Hogwarts' golden boy, but I learned the hard way that he was indeed a Slytherin for a reason.

Unlike other Slytherins who might hex your cauldron to explode or jinx your broom to veer off course, Lorenzo wielded his charm like a weapon. With a dazzling smile and those irresistible dimples, he'd make you feel like the center of the universe, only to shatter your heart with a well-timed wink and a “Thanks, but no thanks.” Who needs dark magic when you have a face like that?

There were only two weeks left before the end of the year, and I was completely losing it. I hated him, loved him, and missed him all at once. One moment, I imagined myself killing him, and the next, I wished he'd come and apologize, begging for my forgiveness.

But what if that didn't happen? What if I couldn't have him? I might just die. It wouldn't make any difference.

I woke up every day soaking my pillow with tears. How could I let this happen? How could I be so stupid?

Meanwhile, Lorenzo continued his life with those charming, stupid smiles and beautiful eyes. He walked past me like I didn't exist. He might have looked like an angel, but he was the devil.

When the last day of school arrived, I didn't even care about which house won the cup this year. I cried the whole way home, telling my mom that I hated all the stupid romcoms we'd watched together and that I never wanted to watch them again. She realized I had it bad. She tried to comfort me and asked what happened, but I couldn't tell her—it was too embarrassing.

I even told Dad that he should've sent me to a Muggle school instead and that I hated his wizarding world. He looked confused, but then Mom explained it was the effect of getting my heart broken for the first time. She told me it would get better.

But it didn’t and I found myself crying like a baby at the gym. Fuck it, fuck him, and fuck how naive I was. The embarrassment of standing there, asking him what we were—oh god, how can I erase this from my memory?

I'd spent so many nights curled up with romcoms, thinking love was magical and perfect. Turns out, love was a lot more like getting hit by a Bludger. And there I was, at the gym, sobbing over a guy who probably couldn't spell "commitment" if his life depended on it.

Every time I saw a couple holding hands or laughing together, I'd roll my eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck. "Fuck off," I'd mutter, then promptly burst into tears. My emotional stability was like a broken wand—completely unreliable and prone to dramatic outbursts.

And the worst part? The whole "what are we" conversation. I cringed every time I thought about it. Standing there, pouring my heart out, only to get shot down. If I could cast a memory charm on myself, I would. Obliviate the whole damn thing.

But no, instead I was stuck replaying it over and over, like some sort of twisted, heart-wrenching Pensieve. My own personal horror show.

In the end, all I could do was laugh at the absurdity of it all. There I was, heartbroken and humiliated. I wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and told myself I'd be okay. Somehow, someday, I'd be okay. Even if it meant cursing every romcom ever made and swearing off charming, beautiful-eyed devils forever.

I was sitting on my bed, my legs up on the wall, and my hand furiously scribbling in my diary.

I hate it when he lies.

I hate it when he makes me laugh.

Even worse when he makes me cry.

I hate it when he's not around,

And the fact that he didn't call.

But mostly, I hate the way I don't hate him.

Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

And yeah, I didn’t write that. Katarina Stratford did. But who would know? Those egoistic evil wizards wouldn’t know about Kat or the movie my Muggle mother showed me when I was ten, making me believe every bad boy is just like Patrick Verona—pretty and just misunderstood.

I stared at the song playing on my phone. The same Engelbert Humperdinck song that played when this all started: same Engelbert Humperdinck, same man, same,I feel you cause i too woke up every day, start to break up Knowing that it's cloudy above every day I start out, then I cry my heart out.

How could I have been so foolish, thinking Lorenzo was anything other than what he appeared to be? I wanted to believe he was different, that underneath his charming facade, there was a heart that beat just for me. But I was wrong, and now I was left to pick up the pieces of my shattered dreams.

I let out a sigh, closing my diary and tossing it aside. The ceiling above seemed to blur as tears welled up in my eyes. I could still see his smile, hear his laugh, and feel his touch. And despite everything, I missed him. I missed the way he made me feel special, even if it was all a lie.

"Casual," he said. Yes, because it was casual when he said I was the prettiest girl at Hogwarts. Oh wait, not just Hogwarts, but the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Of course it was casual when he kissed my finger when I accidentally cut it while turning a page. And it was casual when he said he couldn’t spend a day without talking to me. Or when he told his friends he couldn’t meet them because he was going to the lake with "his girl." He called me his fucking girl.

Cause fuck it, I was in love. And fuck him if I can't have us.

My phone lit up. I grabbed it and rolled my eyes when I saw what it was—a notification that he added a story on his Instagram. I had turned on notifications for him back when I was crushing on him.

It was a song. Not just any song, but the same damn song. I started to think this was the doing of Engelbert Humperdinck maybe promoting for a new project.

My heart dropped as I opened it. The lyrics were: "So, if you see my girl please send her home to me. Tell her about my heart that's slowly dying."

I sat straight, my eyes widened when a message popped up on my screen with his name.

Lorenzo: Does Engelbert Humperdinck have any song about fucking it up so hard and trying to fix it?

#slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x you #lorenzo berkshire one shot #lorenzo berkshire fanfic #lorenzo berkshire smut #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire fluff #lorenzo berkshire imagine #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire #Lorenzo Berkshire x y/n

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tenswrld · 10 months

Text

true romance

popstar!haechan x upcomingartist!reader, angst, fluff

summary: haechan's the world's boyfriend — and yours too, i guess.

word count: 4.1k

listen to: true romance - pinkpantheress

a/n: first, sorry that its been so long...im trying to be better about writing but inspiration comes and goes,,i hope you will indulge in whatever this is!!! everytime i hear this song my mind goes to haechan for some reason sooo yeah >_< i have lots of drafts its just a matter of when or if i finish them LOL love yall tho & enjoy

•°. *࿐

tell me, do you view me the same or do you call me a stranger?

"leave a bit after me so no one sees."

haechan is popular — without a doubt one of the most popular artists of your time. everyone either wants to be him or be with him, to which you completely understand. everything about him screams someone who was born to be on a stage, stealing hearts and whatnot. with such a bright personality, it was almost impossible to not like him.

you've had the privilege of getting to watch haechan grow from singing songs he wrote in his bedroom on youtube to him performing them in sold out shows. you're a fan, of course, but somewhere along the way — with crazy luck — you've wiggled your way into his life and into his heart. the two of you were music artists wishing on every star for some kind of breakthrough to the industry (take a guess on who got it). naturally, it brought you together. you were there when haechan reached 5,000 subscribers, and you were still there when he was selling out shows to 50,000 people. you've stuck by his side for so long that you're sure that its where you fit best.

in the moment, however, you're not so sure anymore.

"leave a bit after me so no one sees."

the small smile on your face slowly disappears at haechan's words and hurt quickly settles into your chest. "...why? what would be so bad about that?"

haechan seems unable to grasp how upset you are at his words. he shakes his head with a small laugh. "it's not like that, y/n. but a scandal at this time wouldn't be good."

"a scandal?" you scoff slightly. "since when have you ever cared about that?"

he sighs and runs a hand through his hair that's still slightly wet from his post-performance sweat. "i just don't want to take any risks right now. especially since my album is coming out soon. you understand, right?"

"i fly all the way out here to see you, and you don't want to be seen with me?" you say with a trembling lip and a weak voice. you're hurt and you're angry, but can't seem to keep your tears at bay.

"i didn't say that."

"you might as well have," you spit back at him.

"let's talk about this later, okay? trust me, it would be a lot worse for you than it would for me." haechan picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder, making his way towards the backstage exit door.

frozen in place overwhelmed with emotion, you watch your boyfriend open the door. you think he's had a change of heart when he pauses at the door and turns back to you, but somehow he's managed to hurt you even more.

"maybe you should take these too," he says, placing the bouquet you made him back into your hold. the smell of roses and sunflowers taking over your senses as more tears well up in your eyes. you hope the flowers hide them from haechan's gaze. though, you're not so sure he'd notice anyway, as he'd already let the door close and left you behind.

•°. *࿐

'cause, baby, i don't care about the fame

people talk. as an upcoming music artist, you're aware that people talk. as the (hidden) girlfriend of a global superstar, you're more than aware that people love to talk about anything and everything that doesn't concern them.

you and haechan aren't on the same level of fame — not that it matters to you. it never mattered to you, really. even as haechan grew and grew and you remained with your significantly smaller (but still decent) following, fame was never your strongest desire.

yet, now, you're wondering that maybe if you were just a bit more famous, more popular, more well known, then you wouldn't feel as far away from haechan as you do right now. even as he sits beside you on the king bed of the luxury suite he booked for this stop of his tour, you feel further away from him then ever.

"i mean, what would people say about us, y/n? about you?"

"you keep saying that, hyuck, but you're not explaining it to me," you say, growing frustrated with him. "why is it just about me?"

he purses his lips before averting his gaze to the floor. "they'll say nasty stuff about you — that you're using me for fame, or money, or something like that."

you shake your head. "but you and i both know that's not true. we've been together for how many years now? their words shouldn't matter." you take hold of his hand and rub your thumb against his knuckles. "you could have nothing and i'd still be here."

"people don't know that," he scoffs. "they'll assume the worst about you."

maybe he's right — you're sure they will assume the worst about you regardless of your long, deep history with haechan. would he start to believe them? you think it, but you don’t ask — too afraid of the answer you might receive.

"what are you so afraid of?" you ask him softly, begging him with your mind for him to look at you.

but he doesn't, his eyes stayed trained on the ground and he can only weakly squeeze your hand that holds onto his own.

"i don't know."

•°. *࿐

tell me, why i don't play about you

every song is about you

haechan finally has a short break in between the legs of his tour and he chooses to spend every waking moment of it with you.

things between the two of you have felt rocky for a while. it makes haechan ashamed to say it, but he's been so focused on tour and his new album that he's pushed everything else to the side. he's a perfectionist and he feels like he's barely made it — he wants everything to work out perfectly and is committed to making sure that happens. he's not sure how long he's been brushing off anything non-career related, but he misses you — even if you're with him.

he flys the two of you out to a small, quaint place in kyoto where he finally gets to enjoy some peace and quiet in his life. he chooses to turn off his phone, not too keen with the idea of his manager berating him about all his responsibilities he'll have to tend to when he gets back. he's on vacation and he's here with you: the one person who's been with him through every up and down.

you're laying in his arms and haechan misses you to the point where it hurts — when was the last time he laid with you like this? the revelation urges him to pull you closer, placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head as you lay on his chest. he sighs into your hair, breathing all of you in. it's silent, for the most part, until you ask a question that rattles haechan's being.

"why do you not sing about me?" you ask it so softly that haechan almost misses it.

"what? what are you talking about?" he's genuinely confused as to what you mean. who do you think he sings about?

"i know a handful of your old old songs are about me, but you don't perform those anymore," you murmur into his chest. "ah, don't mind me, i'm just talking."

you sound embarrassed and defeated and haechan wants to cry. did you really not know? how long has he been pushing you away?

"y/n, every single song i write is about you," haechan professes. "i couldn't write about anyone else if i tried."

his words shock you, even if they shouldn't. you tilt your head up to look up at him and he looks down at you with the softest gaze.

"not that i ever would, anyway," he continues, a sad smile painting his face.

"you mean it?" you whisper to him, wanting so badly to believe him.

when haechan's resolve breaks and his eyes glaze over, you know he means it. his hold on you tightens with one hand and the other comes up to caress your cheek, swiping a tear you didn't even know had fallen.

"of course," he croaks. "you're my muse, y/n. you."

this time, you're wiping his tears away as he cries and cries into your palms. you shift the two of you so that he lies in between your legs, arms wrapped around your waist and face buried into your torso, your hands running through his hair. he's apologizing over and over and doesn't say why, but you know why. you regret ever doubting haechan's love for you — even if he was to blame.

but, just as you're certain you love him more than anything, you know that haechan loves you back all the same.

"it's always been you, y/n."

•°. *࿐

and everybody’s shouting out your name

“you look too handsome to be pouting like that, you know,” you tease lightly, approaching haechan to adjust his tie fondly.

he can’t help but smile at you as you do so, his hands easily finding their place around your waist, tugging you close. “if you tell me to stay, i will.”

you sigh and place your hands upon his chest, allowing you to push yourself up to place a soft kiss on his lips. his lips trail after yours once you pull away and he pouts at you again, eyes begging for another kiss but you push him back ever so slightly.

“you can’t miss this, hyuck, you know that. this could be really big for you!” you beam, swiping a bit of your lip gloss off of his lips. “some important people might be there.”

“but you won’t be there,” he whines. “what’s the point?”

you roll your eyes playfully. “you’ll be fine. now go, your manager has been waiting.” haechan sighs and leans down to place one more kiss on your lips.

you pull away before he can get carried away. “go! and put a good word in for me with taeyong, yeah?”

haechan rolls his eyes but smiles at you, pecking you on the cheek as he bids you farewell. “no promises.”

ੈ♡˳

it’s barely been over an hour and haechan wants to leave.

normally he’s able to tolerate these sorts of things — the bright lights, loud music, snobby people all trying to one up each other. he can get by and chat with anyone as if he’s known them for years. typically, events like these breeze by for haechan. why was he hating every second of it?

it’s lee taeyong’s end of year celebration party. of course, as his junior, haechan was invited. he’s grateful that he’s made friends with lots of other artists under his company, otherwise haechan would have been long gone within the first 45 minutes of arriving. but, haechan stays, mostly because he admires taeyong and does, in fact, bring up you and your songs — which, to his surprise, taeyong says he knows you and enjoys your music.

haechan isn’t given the chance to talk more, unfortunately, due to an excited kim jungwoo who locks an arm around haechan’s shoulder and drags him away.

“ow — hyung! i was in the middle of a conversation!” haechan grits to jungwoo, lightly shoving his arm off of him.

“my bad, it looked like you needed saving,” jungwoo chuckles. “come on, everyone’s been looking for you.”

jungwoo leads haechan to a small circle of people to which haechan knows as his small circle of friends: mark, his company's beloved canadian rapper; johnny suh, one of seoul's most popular djs; and of course there's kim jungwoo, kim doyoung, and jeong jaehyun who make up dojaejung, korea's heartthrob boy group.

"yo, where have you been?" mark greets him excitedly, lightly slapping him on the shoulder playfully.

"what do you mean 'where have i been', i saw you yesterday, mark," haechan grumbles.

"woah, someone needs a drink," johnny chuckles. doyoung is quick to hand haechan a glass of champagne.

haechan takes a large gulp, hopefully to ease whatever tension he feels in his shoulders. he's trying to enjoy the party, he really is, but all he wants to do is come home to you.

"everything okay?" doyoung asks him, concerned with the way haechan seems to be downing his drink.

the younger boy sighs. "yeah, i'm fine, sorry. just stressed out."

"oh, your album is coming out soon, right?" jungwoo remembers, nudging haechan with his elbow. "congratulations!"

the rest of the boys congratulate him and haechan can only half-heartedly reply despite being very grateful.

"i'm sure it'll be great," johnny reassures him.

"saw a lot of love songs on that track list," jungwoo teases. "got a special someone?"

haechan stills at his words and he's caught in an argument with himself. does he mention you? does he say no? is this how he wants people to find out you’re together? before he can even reply, though, jaehyun cuts in.

"speaking of, i heard that kim minjeong has had her eye on you for a while, haechan," jaehyun says. he raises his eyebrows at the younger boy and haechan gulps, the rest of his friends nudging him playfully as they coo at him.

"that's the model, right? and singer?" doyoung asks. "you should talk to her!"

haechan feels like he's going to be sick. maybe he's being dramatic — its not like they're shoving him into minjeong's face and asking him to profess his love. still, he feels like he's betraying you in some way and he realizes he has to go home.

"i can talk you up, probably," mark says. "we're normally at the studio at the same time."

“i heard that shin ryujin has been talking about you, too,” johnny pipes in. “honestly, who hasn’t been talking about you? i’m surprised you’ve done nothing about it.”

doyoung hums. “she seems like your type, donghyuck! i know some people over at —“

"no! no, don't — " haechan places his champagne glass onto a nearby table abruptly and sighs shakily. "just...don't. sorry, i-i don't feel well. i should go."

confused and concerned eyes watch haechan as he rushes towards the nearest exit. he doesn't bother saying goodbye to taeyong, but makes a mental note to send him an apologetic note tomorrow. haechan sees kim minjeong catch sight of him, and he's sure she's about to make an attempt to stop him to chat with the way she looks at him with a flirty gaze. haechan is quick to turn in the opposite direction and flees out of the nearest door.

haechan's manager comes out soon behind him, frenzied after trying to catch up to a frantic haechan. he doesn't get the chance to ask the latter if he's okay, too occupied with calling their driver upon haechan's request.

"home," he chokes out. he's out of breath and he feels dizzy — whether its from the champagne or from guilt, he's unsure.

"i want to go home."

•°. *࿐

i'm in the crowd, can you see my hand?

haechan has reached the encore of his final show of his tour, yet he still feels a pressure that he cannot explain.

its not from all of his seniors and friends that attended in support of him, he knows that. it's not from the different producers and music artists that flew to seoul for him, either. its a pressure that weighs on his chest that has made him feel unsatisfied with each stage, despite putting 150% effort in everything.

the crowd is going crazy for him after he delivers his final ment, and he takes a moment to soak in it all, in hopes it would give him some peace of mind.

then, his eyes finally spot you.

you, in the back row of some random section, sitting with your manager, with a banner with his name on it and a headband with bear ears perched on top of your head. he doesn't know if you can tell that he's staring right at you, but you start waving around the banner with excitement. haechan can't help but adore you even more than he already does.

time stops for him as he realizes that you're here. through thick and thin you've always been there — what has haechan ever done for you? he hasn't given you even a sliver of what you deserve, yet you've never left him. you stayed when he was a nobody, and even now when he's been terribly selfish, you let him be.

there are thousands of other hands waving at him, but haechan can only see yours.

"actually," haechan starts, quickly silencing the crowd. "there's one more thing i wanted to say."

from your seat, you feel your heartbeat quicken. haechan is still standing and looking into your direction and you know he sees you.

"there's someone very special to me that's here tonight."

your heart stops as you realize what he's doing and you can't help but glance at your manager in a panic. fans around you are murmuring in confusion since haechan had already given a shoutout to his guests.

"they've been by my side since i was writing silly love songs in my childhood bedroom," haechan says, a fond smile taking over his features. "i wrote those love songs about them then, and i still write every love song about them now."

the gasps and shocked noises at his confession fall upon deaf ears — to you, you and haechan are the only two people in the world.

"some of you may know her — she's an amazing music artist as well. far better than me, in my opinion, but maybe i'm a bit biased." haechan sees you laugh and can't help but chuckle too.

"my girlfriend, y/n, is here tonight, and i couldn't be more grateful. wave, y/n!" haechan calls out to you. surprisingly, the camera cuts to you as you wave shyly, hiding behind your haechan banner. even more surprising, the crowd cheers loudly for you.

"isn't she cute?" haechan asks. he's delighted when he sees and hears the rest of the stadium agree.

haechan finally feels that weight lift from off of his chest and he feels like he can breathe. he's happy — ecstatic, even — now that the world finally knows he's yours.

"y/n, you once asked me what i was afraid of, and i said i didn't know," haechan recalls gently. "but i know now." he purses his lips to prevent himself from choking up.

"you've always been so supportive of everything i've done. you've done so much for me and i'm not sure how i could ever repay you." haechan sucks in a sharp breath. "i'm afraid that i'll never truly deserve you."

the crowd coos and some fans in front of you turn around to look at you. you're a mess: tears are streaming down your face, and your hands are shaking. you hide pathetically behind your banner again as your manager wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder.

"i'm sorry for making you wait." haechan puts a hand over his heart, and you do the same. "i love you."

the camera cuts to you again and haechan glances at the monitor to get a better look at you as you mouth something back. haechan doesn't even attempt to conceal his smile or to hold back his tears. there's no use.

"i love you, too."

•°. *࿐

say what you want, this is true romance

“did you really have to mention that, hyuck?”

your boyfriend settles next to you on the couch, arm draping over your shoulder, as you scroll through his recent interview with vogue korea.

you pout at him and he's unable to stop the smile that takes over his face. he pinches your cheek and you quickly swat his hand away.

"what? what did i say?" he rests his chin on your shoulder to read the article for himself.

"i mean, does the public really have to know about me crying on our first date?" you complained. you continued scrolling and laughed as you read. "in what context would you ever have to tell vogue about our matching crayon shin-chan pajama pants?"

haechan laughs and presses a kiss to your shoulder. "honestly, i don't remember half of what i said during this interview. or any of what they asked me." he tugs you a little closer to him so that you're leaning against him, laying the two of you down. "all i know is that i'm pretty sure i started talking about you so much that they just called it a day."

"you're that obsessed with me, huh?" you teased.

haechan scoffs, wrapping both of his arms around you tightly. "obviously."

he watches you open instagram and sees you check the likes on your new post. he gasps dramatically, loosening one arm around you to snatch his phone from his pocket. "you posted?! where was my post notification?" he whines cutely.

he's a little too quick to find your account and he then quadruple clicks the picture to give it a like. "babe, why are your comments off? i was about to get really out of pocket," haechan whines again.

"okay, first, don't do that, please. save some of your dignity," you scold him. "but its because people are mean," you admit softly.

haechan's eyebrows furrow together and his tone stiffens. "who? what did they say?"

you sigh. "no one specific, don't worry. some people are just not too keen about us. your predictions were right, i guess," you attempt to joke, but it only makes haechan upset.

"here, come here," haechan beckons you up with him as he sits up. you're still under one of his arms, which he locks around your neck as he tugs you into his side. you're caught off guard, but lean into him anyway, arms wrapped around his torso. haechan lifts his phone up and takes selfies of the two of you, cheeks pressed together as you both smile uncontrollably.

you're both giggling like two high schoolers fresh into a relationship and you've never felt more happy and in love in your life. haechan presses wet kisses against your cheek before you eventually push his face away. still, he steals one more kiss from you — this time on your lips — and you let him.

"okay, i'm posting all of these," haechan declares casually, leaning back against the couch.

your eyes widen and you reach for his phone in an attempt to stop him, but haechan has already dodged you and raised his hand up. "hyuck, don't."

"why not? i'm in love with you, people just have to deal with it," he shrugs. "anyone who has a problem with us can get blocked."

you fall onto haechan's chest and he gladly wraps you up in his arms again. "you're stupid, but i love you."

"good, because i just posted it."

you peer up at haechan's phone and you see that he was true to his word. all of the selfies you just took piled into one singular post to which haechan captioned 'my heart'. you watch as he scrolls through the comments and blocks anyone with anything bad to say.

"wow, you weren't kidding," you say, amused.

"'course not. these people need to learn true romance." he leans down to kiss you one more time, this time letting the kiss linger. he pulls away but rests his forehead against yours, staring at you with eyes full of love. "i love you, too, by the way."

ੈ♡˳

haechan is popular — without a doubt, he's one of the most sought after guys in the industry. he's confident, charismatic, and he's bright. he's everyone's dream guy, it's no secret.

but, above all, he's yours, and you're his as well. he has devoted his heart and life to you and its not a secret to anyone anymore.

this time around, haechan wraps you up in his scarf to protect you from the cold before the two of you leave.

"i already have a scarf on, hyuck, just keep yours," you mumble from underneath the thick fabric.

haechan doesn't hear you (not just because he literally can't) because he's too focused on zipping up your jacket and tugging your beanie over your ears.

"okay," he says as he intertwines a hand in yours. he clutches the bouquet you made for him proudly in his other arm while he carries your bag and his own over his shoulder. "let's go home!"

its bittersweet as you realize how familiar yet different the situation is. you clutch haechan's hand tighter as he tugs you towards the backstage exit door, outside where the press and his fans are waiting.

he doesn't hide you anymore. no, instead haechan shows you off proudly and wholeheartedly as if it was what he was meant to do.

#bitch im back #nct 127 #nct dream #nct #nct fluff #nct angst #haechan x reader #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #donghyuck x reader #haechan fluff #haechan angst #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck angst #haechan oneshots #nct haechan

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: A series of mishaps has you and Eddie (and Grandma and Harris) in the same place at the same time, leading Eddie to let his guard down a bit. That is, until a secret is spilled.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, injuries (nothing bloody or gory), mostly set in a hospital, mentions of Eddie's dad, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 6k

Chapter 3/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“Har-Bear?” Eddie calls out from the bedroom, pinning his nametag to his shirt. “You tie your sneakers yet?” His son had insisted that he didn’t need help with the laces, that he could do it on his own, but he’d be late for work if he waited any longer.

“Not…yet!” the tiny voice yells back, and Eddie can sense the frustration in his voice. “I think they’re broken.”

“Broken, huh?” Eddie laughs to himself as he walks out to the living room, where Harris is sitting in front of the door. Sure enough, his shoelaces remain untied, and tears roll down his cheeks. “C’mere, bud. It’s okay. I can tie ‘em for you this time.”

Harris shakes his head, brown curls bouncing on his scalp. He mumbles something unintelligible, and when Eddie bends down to help him, he pushes his hands away.

“Harris, enough!” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, taking the laces and tying them quickly. “You know that you have school and Daddy has work.”

“B-b-but I’m the only one!” Harris wails, kicking his shoes off defiantly. Eddie picks them up with one hand and scoops up his son in the other, tipping towards the couch and hooking his pinky around Harris’s little backpack. He doesn’t have any time to waste; shoes will have to be put on at school.

Maybe Ms. Sweetheart will have better luck with him, Eddie thinks wryly, wrangling a screaming Harris down the stairwell.

“The only one what?” Eddie asks once the crying starts to subside.

“I’m the only–sniff–one at school who–hic–can’t tie my shoes!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose as he places a shoe-less Harris in his carseat. “I’m sure there are other kids who are still learning how to tie their shoes.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, straining against the seatbelt. “All the other kids tie their own shoes, but Ms. Sweetheart or Mr. Will have to tie mine.”

Eddie’s heart sinks as he thinks of his son being the outcast as the freak, the rest of his friends flying past him as he gets left behind. “Tell ya what,” he says finally, mustering up a smile, “I’ll teach you, and you’ll be able to tie them in no time.”

His offer placates Harris, who spends the rest of the time singing along to the radio. Eddie wishes it could always be like this; happy and carefree, just driving and listening to his favorite metal station with his mini-me. Maybe one day it’ll happen, but the fleeting sense of hope disappears as quickly as it comes. His time with Harris might be limited if he doesn’t get his shit together.

The job was a start; he was lucky that the hours coincided with school drop-off and pick-up so he didn’t have to reach out to Wayne. He’d been working at Rock Records for about a week, and while it was a far cry from the stardom he’d once dreamed of, it was paying the bills and still allowed him to spend his time around music. And when his manager–a twenty-year-old named Ash who used her phone line to talk to friends rather than answer store calls–heard that he plays guitar, she’d all but insisted that he give lessons. If he could get Wayne to watch Harris a few days after school, that would be even more money in his pocket.

But, first, he actually has to start talking to his uncle again.

He pulls into the preschool parking lot, killing the engine and hopping out to help Harris from his carseat. When he opens Harris’s door, he immediately deflates.

“Harris, where is your jacket?” Eddie asks, heaving an exasperated sigh.

The little boy just shrugs. “I dunno. At home?” It’s not his fault; the chilly early October air just began settling in, and he’s not accustomed to including his jacket into his morning routine. A look of realization creases his brows, another tantrum on the horizon. “Now I won’t be able to go out for recess!”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says reassuringly, shrugging off his own denim, patch-riddled jacket, “you can take mine.” It’s comically oversized on Harris’s tiny body, but the smile on his face is enough to distract Eddie from the chill settling on his own arms.

“Daddy, now I’m just like you!” Harris sticks out his tongue and makes the ‘rock-and-roll’ symbol with his pointer and pinky fingers, scrunching his big brown eyes shut.

Eddie laughs, taking his son’s hand as they cross the parking lot. The way he copies him is adorable, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he pictures Harris actually following in his footsteps.

As soon as he enters the school, Harris lets go of his father’s hand and bounds into the classroom, the jacket dragging on the ground like a regal cloak. “Ms. Sweetheart, look at my jacket!” he proudly announces, twirling around on one leg. “It’s my daddy’s!”

You smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you shake your head teasingly. “Harris, is daddy wearing your jacket?”

“Nooooo,” he says, jutting out his chin and giggling. “It’s too small, silly!”

Eddie shuffles in behind him; after a month of drop-offs, he’s realized that he’s never going to win the battle of getting Harris to walk beside him in the hallway. “Don’t forget your backpack, little dude,” he reminds him, handing him his bag and motioning towards the row of cubbies.

Nodding, Harris hangs it up on the hook, along with Eddie’s jacket. He starts to run towards the toy area, stopping when he hears you call out, “Harris…”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He flashes that innocent smile, slowing his pace to a walk.

You shake your head knowingly, grabbing the clipboard with the sign-in sheet from your desk. Wordlessly, you give it to Eddie, who takes it with a sigh. This is how it goes most mornings: he drops off Harris, scribbles his signature, and stalks off without so much as a “good morning.” It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the barrage of insults and snide comments that he seemed to prefer to greet you with.

He drops the clipboard on top of the cubbies with a clatter, turning to the door, but the sound of a child shrieking stops him in his tracks before he can leave.

“Harris, no!”

Eddie’s stomach turns at the way the little girl angrily shouts his son’s name. Harris is frozen in place, holding a weird contraption that Eddie doesn’t recognize. The boy’s lower lip trembles, and all Eddie wants to do is pick him up and yell at the other kid for making him cry, but you get to the scene first.

“Abby, Harris, what happened?” you ask, crouching down to their eye-level. There’s no accusations, just a soothing tone to de-escalate the situation.

“He took my Bop-It!” Abby pouts, stamping her foot in frustration. “He stole it from me!”

Eddie feels his fists clench involuntarily at the word stole. Harris would never steal. He was a good kid, and having the Munson name didn’t automatically make him a thief. He tries to send a telepathic message to Harris, willing him to stand up for himself, but it doesn’t work.

You eye the toy in Harris’s hand–the Bop-It in question, you assume–and meet his shy gaze. “Did you take Abby’s toy?” Again, your voice is free of judgment, and Eddie allows himself to relax ever-so slightly when you don’t automatically take the girl’s side.

“I just wanted to see it real quick!” Harris mumbles, shoulders slumping. “I was gonna give it back.”

“What should you do when someone has something that you want to see?” you prompt him gently, feeling Eddie’s eyes scrutinizing you, analyzing your every move you make to see how you’re treating his son.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, eyes wide and misty.

“You have to ask them and then wait for them to say yes,” you say, and he nods as you swivel to face Abby Carver. “Abby, if someone forgets to ask to see your toy, you can remind them nicely. With an inside voice.”

“But he didn’t even say sorry for stealing!” she whines.

“It was an accident,” Harris rebuts, scrunching up his nose, “an’ I didn’t steal it!”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you turn back to him to end the argument before it can really start. Hell hath no fury like a preschooler scorned. “Saying ‘sorry’ is important, even when we accidentally make someone feel sad or mad,” you tell him.

“‘M sorry, Abby,” he says, handing her back the Bop-It. You can’t help but notice the way that he tucks his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, just like Eddie does when he’s anxious.

“It’s okay, Harris,” Abby says flatly, eager to flounce off to her friends and show them her toy, as Harris quietly joins some of the other boys to play with building blocks.

You press on your knees and stand up, finally allowing yourself to glance over at Eddie. He gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment; so subtle that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. You’re not exactly sure what it means–thanks or good job or simply I’ll be back for pick-up–but he’s out the door before you can think about it further.

You really should have seen it coming. Should’ve listened to the proverbial alarm bells ringing when you’d heard the shower running. But you were exhausted from a long day at work; the Bop-It situation having kicked off a series of arguments between various groups of kids. At one point, you and Will had given up on storytime and basically played referee, just trying to keep the peace between tiny feuding humans.

You’re scraping the last bits of unfinished mashed potatoes into the garbage when you hear the crash. There’s a clatter of bottles and the pop pop pop of the shower curtain ripping off of its rings. Your blood runs cold and you nearly drop the plate you’re holding, palms suddenly slick with sweat.

“Grandma?” Your voice catches in your throat, a hoarse whisper, and you clear it and try again as you fly towards the bathroom. “Grandma?!”

There’s no answer; between the steady pounding of the shower and her own declining hearing, you expected just as much. You push open the door that she thankfully left unlocked to find her laying in the tub, tears mixing with the stream of water. She cradles her left wrist in her right hand, mumbling inaudibly to herself between heaving sobs.

“Grandma, what happened?” you ask, leaning over to finagle the knob to the “OFF” position.

She looks up as if she’s just realized you’re standing there, too disoriented and focused on the pain to take in any of her surroundings. “I fell.”

You reach for the powder blue towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pluck it off of its hook. “Here,” you say, draping it over her shoulders, “let me cover you and I’ll help you up.” It seems absurd to worry about modesty, given the urgency of the situation, but you can tell based on her sheepish demeanor that the small part of her that still feels shame is pinging in her brain. You tuck your hands under her arms, lifting with your knees and hoisting her to her feet. “Grab the bar,” you instruct her, nodding your head towards the silver safety bar lining the shower wall.

“Can I dry you off?” She gives a small nod, letting go to hold her swelling wrist. “Keep holding onto the bar. I don’t want you to slip and fall again.”

“But it hurts,” she whimpers, and you know this will be a losing battle. Even if she does agree to grab onto it again, she’ll almost certainly forget, and you'll have to start the whole process over. Instead, you carefully run the towel over her, watching as the cloth soaks up droplets and trying not to think about how backwards this all seems. There was a time where she was the one drying you off, lifting you out of your little bath seat in the kitchen sink and cooing at her beloved baby granddaughter, hope and joy filling her eyes. A time where life seemed limitless, and maybe she’d started to slow down, but she’d sworn that she’d always remember this moment. She couldn’t even imagine forgetting you.

Grabbing the pile of clothes from their spot on the tiled floor, you find her shirt and offer it to her. “I can help you put it on,” you tell her, toeing the line of preventing another fall and respecting her dignity.

Grandma’s lips curl into a frown and she shakes her head. “Those are dirty,” she protests.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to grasp onto the last bit of patience you have left. The words, You didn’t even go anywhere today rests on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down, force a smile, and say, “Okay. Let’s get you to your bed so you can sit down, and we’ll pick out new ones.”

She reluctantly agrees to this, and you slowly walk her to the bedroom and grab the first of everything you can find. A fuschia t-shirt and green sweatpants might not be her best look, but you’re not trying to style her for a runway show. After sliding her fluffy pink slippers over her feet, you help her up and guide her to the door, where she stops in her tracks.

“Can’t wear these outside,” she says simply, pointing to the slippers.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, grabbing your keys from the small table tucked in the corner. “You can wear them outside this time.”

She doesn’t budge. “No, I need my other ones.” Her gaze lands on the pair of white Reeboks resting on the shoe rack. She starts to lean over to take them, but she’s still unsteady on her feet, and you wrap your arm around her torso before she can wobble.

“Just…just sit,” you mutter, feeling anger rise in your chest like a thundercloud. It wasn’t her fault that she was being stubborn, but it didn’t quell the burning frustration. You toss her rejected footwear to the side, silently reminding yourself to pick it up later, and shimmy her feet into the sneakers. You tie the laces into a double knot, pulling nice and tight, determined to keep it from unraveling.

Eddie’s day at work wasn’t much better than yours. After dropping Harris off at school, his first customer had been a middle-aged woman who claimed that a record had been scratched when she’d bought it a few weeks ago, insisting that Eddie had sold it to her that way. Which could have been the case, except he’d only started the job earlier that week.

All he wants now is a nice cold beer, but he has to wait until Harris goes to sleep. Years of watching his own father guzzle down Johnnie Walker until he fell into a drunken stupor led him to promise never to drink in front of his son.

“Bedtime, buddy!” he announces. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be excited; the second Harris dozes off, he’s going to crack open that Coors Light and watch the most mind-numbing show on TV.

Harris throws his head back in exasperation. “But Daaaaadyyyy, I’m not even tired!” His whine pierces Eddie’s eardrum, making him grimace.

“It’s 7:30, and it’s a school night,” he tells him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “But tomorrow is Friday, so you can stay up a little later then.” He walks over to the tiny dresser pushed up against the wall, pulling out the bottom drawer and taking out a pair of dinosaur-print pajamas. “C’mon, let’s go. Pajamas, pee, and brush those teeth.”

“I’m…not…tired!” Harris screams at the top of his lungs. His cheeks flush beet-red, and spit gathers at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie clenches his fist around the pajamas, feeling his fingernails dig into the soft cotton. He inhales for three, then exhales for three, feeling the oxygen flow through his lungs. “Harris,” he manages through gritted teeth, “I’m going to count to five. And when I’m done, I want you doing your bedtime routine, or you’ll go to bed early tomorrow.” He takes one more deep breath, getting to two before Harris angrily snatches the pajamas from his grip and stomps off to the bathroom.

The boy only brushes his teeth for a grand total of ten seconds, but Eddie doesn’t have the stamina to argue about oral hygiene tonight. Tucking Harris into bed, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, but he’s met with the back of his head.

Logically, he knows that there will come a time where Harris won’t want a kiss good night, won’t need his dad to help him into bed. Eddie just hadn’t planned on it being tonight.

“I hate you.” Harris’s voice is muffled from his lips being smushed into the pillow, but Eddie received the message loud and clear. It reverberates in his brain like an echo in a tunnel: I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Eddie backs out of the room slowly, flicking off the light and closing the door. He forgoes the shitty TV and sits in silence as he sips on his beer, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue before he swallows.

The venom in Harris’s voice was unmistakable. Eddie knew all too well how it felt to hate a parent. That raw anger swelled within him each time his father got them thrown out of another apartment, or conveniently forgot to pick up groceries (but always managed to remember his booze and drugs), or put his hands on Eddie.

My son hates me, Eddie thinks, taking a last swig of his drink and absentmindedly wiping the foam from his lips. I’m a shit dad, and my son hates me.

He’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts, leaving the sound of squeaking bed springs unnoticed until a loud thud followed immediately by the sound of Harris’s distraught wail snaps him to attention.

“Daddy!” Harris cries out, and Eddie’s sprinting to the bedroom before he can even finish the second syllable.

“What happened?” His voice is louder than he intends from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it only makes Harris cry harder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he says, softening his tone as he flicks on the light. His eyes widen when he sees the way his son’s arm is twisted.

“I couldn’t—sniffle—sleep, s-so I—sniffle—t-tried to j-jump my awake out,” Harris explains through hiccuping sobs. “An’ I h-hurted—sniffle—my arm.”

“C’mere, sshh, ‘s okay.” Eddie reassures him as he scoops him up, carefully avoiding his injury. “We gotta get you to the hospital so the doctors can fix it.”

Harris’s lower lip trembles again. “Are th-they gonna g-give me a sh-shot?”

“Nah, they’ll just have to do an x-ray,” he says, grimacing when he thinks of how much it’ll cost, even after Medicaid kicks in. “But those don’t hurt.”

Harris gives a tiny nod, still ambivalent as he nestles his head into the crook of his father’s neck. His curls tickle Eddie, who presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead and murmurs, “Daddy’s here, okay? I got you.” He feels Harris’s uninjured hand grab onto him a bit tighter as he brings him to the car.

“Can we go home now?”

You breathe out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in the chair and bouncing your leg anxiously. Hawkins General Hospital wasn’t crowded, and you and Grandma were taken to a room fairly quickly, but it still isn’t fast enough for an elderly woman who has no idea why she’s here.

“We have to wait a little longer for the doctor to see us,” you explain for the fourth time in as many minutes. “They have to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” Your answer seems to placate her, at least until she asks again within the next sixty seconds, as she hums her acknowledgment.

There’a a soft knock on the door, and a perky blonde nurse pokes her head in the room as soon as you give her permission to enter. “Hi, I’m Chrissy; I’ll be your nurse,” she says, looking at your grandmother. “What brings you in to see us tonight?”

“I’m just here with her,” Grandma shrugs, pointing to you.

“She slipped and fell in the shower,” you explain patiently. “I know she hurt her wrist, but I’m not sure if she hit her head, and she has Alzheimer’s…” You glance at her uneasily. “She doesn’t even remember falling.”

Chrissy nods understandingly, offering a sympathetic smile as she makes a note on her chart. “I can take you in for an x-ray of your wrist, and then we’ll run some tests to rule out a head injury as best as we can, okay, Mrs…” Her gaze shifts back to the chart before she brings her attention back to you. “Do you teach at Hawkins Preschool, by any chance?”

“Guilty as charged,” you give the best semblance of a laugh you can muster.

“I recognized your last name,” she says as she helps Grandma off of the examination table. “My daughter is in your class. Abigail Carver? She absolutely adores you.”

The compliment buzzes in your chest as your smile becomes more genuine. “Well, thank you. That means a lot. And she’s a great kid, too.” Except when she’s screeching at her friends, you think, but you keep that tidbit to yourself.

“I work nights, so my husband handles the school stuff,” Chrissy explains. “But I’m glad we finally got to meet, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

She hooks her arm through Grandma’s, who promptly shakes her off. “Let go of me!” the older woman snarls, shuffling back towards you. She may not know exactly who you are, but there’s at least a level of familiarity that brings her some comfort.

“I’ll walk with you,” you offer, and Chrissy agrees gratefully as the three of you gradually make your way down the starch-white hallway.

Unbeknownst to you, in a room just across the hall, Harris Munson is showing his dad how he can hop up and down on one leg without losing his balance.

Jesus H. Christ; does this kid ever run out of energy? Eddie silently wonders, but he plasters a smile on his face. “That’s really cool, Har-Bear. Just, uh, sit down before you hurt yourself even more.”

Harris is about to pout when a nurse enters the room. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, Eddie surmises, with brown hair that’s streaked gray and pulled back in a low bun.

“Harris Munson?” she asks shortly, and Eddie points to the little jumping bean standing next to him. “Come with me to the x-ray room.” She doesn’t offer her name, but Eddie catches a glimpse of the badge on her scrubs pocket that reads “Anna.”

Anna has Harris place his arm on the table, gingerly moving it to take x-rays from different angles. Standing in the doorway, Eddie winces at the tiny yelps his son lets out with each minimal adjustment. “You’re hurting him,” he manages through a bone-dry throat.

“If there is a break or sprain, we need to ensure that we find it,” she explains impatiently, retreating back to the room where she snaps a few more images before bringing them back to the room.

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sleepy now.” Harris punctuates his statement with a yawn, laying back on the examination table and dozing off just moments later.

Eddie takes his jacket–the same one that Harris wore at school that day–and places it over the boy’s sleeping body in a makeshift blanket. By the time the radiologist comes in to deliver the results, Eddie’s struggling to keep his own eyes open.

“How’re we doing in here?” she says, watching as Harris stirs, stretches his little legs, and promptly falls asleep again. “Is it past someone’s bedtime?”

“His and mine,” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes and sitting up straighter. There’s a pinch in his lower back from slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and he grimaces as he tries to massage the sore spot.

“Well, you’ll be out of here soon. It looks like Harris did break his wrist, so we’ll need to get a cast on it, but we can discharge him as soon as it’s done.”

“Brilliant.” Eddie presses on his knees as he stands up to gently shake his son awake. “Hey, bud. It’s time to wake up so you can get a super cool cast.”

“Mmph,” Harris grunts, throwing his good arm over his eyes dramatically.

Eddie just laughs, not catching the concerned look on the doctor’s face as she flips through Harris’s chart. “C’mon, I’ll carry you, but you gotta help me out here.” Harris begrudgingly complies, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist and holding onto him as tightly as he can.

“It’ll only take about fifteen minutes,” the doctor explains, rubbing Harris’s back for good measure. “You can drop him off in this room, Mr. Munson. One of our nurses needs to speak with you.”

He doesn’t like the look on her face; the one that simultaneously gives away nothing and too much. Her lips press together in a thin smile, one that’s obviously forced, as an orthopedic technician guides Eddie into the next room.

The unfriendly nurse from earlier, Anna, is waiting for him outside the door.

“Mr. Munson, could I speak to you privately?” Eddie nods wordlessly, traipsing behind her back to the room where Harris had just been sleeping.

“Mr. Munson,” Anna begins, and Eddie swears he’ll punch a hole through the hospital’s wall if she keeps speaking in that condescending tone, “as you know, ensuring the safety and wellbeing of our patients, particularly our pediatric ones, is our top priority here at Hawkins General.” She pauses, as though he’s supposed to have some response to that, but he remains silent. “Given the nature of your son’s injury, coupled with the report that a nurse smelled alcohol on your breath when you entered our facility, we have to report this incident to Child Protective Services.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head; his fists clench involuntarily, and he has to remind himself to steady his breathing. In for three, out for three. “There–there must be some mistake,” he stammers. “I had one beer after Harris went to bed–well, he was supposed to be in bed–and I was well under the legal limit when I brought him here.”

Anna cocks her head, and rage surges through Eddie’s bloodstream at her subtle gesture of disbelief. He didn’t even drink when his son was awake, let alone drive drunk. And the thought of him hurting Harris, whether under the influence of alcohol or not, was enough to turn his stomach. For fuck’s sake, he felt guilty if he accidentally stepped on the kid’s toes.

“Be that as it may,” the nurse continues, and Eddie swears she’s trying to suppress an eyeroll, “I also see that there was a previous report from 1992–”

“When he was born?” Eddie sputters. “That–that had nothing to do with me. His mom…”

Anna glances back down at Harris’s chart and frowns. “It looks like both you and Harris’s mother were listed in that report.” She looks up at Eddie again. “This is out of our hands now. CPS will take over from here and determine the next steps to take.” With that, she walks away, leaving Eddie leaning against the door with tears in his eyes.

All he can think about are the custody papers Wayne gave him. The way he’d angrily torn them up, taking them as a threat, rather than an offer to help. The way he’d blamed Wayne for his life going to shit.

I hate you, Harris had said earlier that evening.

Maybe Wayne was right. Maybe Harris was better off without his dad around to fuck up everything in his path.

You’re waiting at the front desk for Grandma’s discharge papers when you hear an excited voice call out your name; rather, his nickname for you.

“Ms. Sweetheart!”

You turn around to see Harris Munson running towards you, sporting a bright orange cast on his wrist. “What happened to you?” you ask with a smile–a genuine one, this time. That little boy always manages to cheer you up.

“I was trying to jump my awake out and I breaked my wrist,” he says. “So then my daddy taked me here and I got this cast. See?” He holds out his arm two inches from your eyes, as though the neon color wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

“That is the coolest cast I’ve ever seen,” you tell him. “I broke my leg once, and I just got a boring white one.” You pout your lips exaggeratedly, making Harris laugh. “I bet all the kids in school will wanna sign it tomorrow.”

Harris breaks out into a giant grin. “They can sign it?”

“Sure can!”

He thinks for a moment and asks, “Will you sign my cast, Ms. Sweetheart?” He looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, and you feel yourself start to melt.

Before you can answer him, your Grandma speaks up. “I’m leaving,” she declares, already trying to take off the sling that the nurse gave her for her sprained wrist.

“I just need to sign you out, Grandma,” you explain. “And remember, you need to keep the sling on so your wrist can heal.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” she hisses. “I hate you.”

Your face heats up, embarrassed at her outburst and at the fact that it happened in front of a student and his parent. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, though you’re unsure if you’re apologizing more to Eddie or to Harris. “She has Alzheimer’s…she doesn’t know…”

You expect Eddie to laugh at your misfortune, but when your eyes flicker to his face, you only see sympathy.

“‘S okay,” he says softly, putting a ringed hand on Harris’s shoulder. “I feel like swearing, too, after the night we’ve had.”

You offer a weak smile, still processing the unfamiliar kindness that he’s showing. “Thanks,” you manage, just as the receptionist hands you the discharge paperwork. “I’ll see you both at school tomorrow?”

“And you can sign my cast!” Harris exclaims, flashing a toothy grin. “Promise?”

“Promise.” You ruffle his hair, leading Grandma out to the car before she can conjure up another slew of swear words.

Eddie wakes up the next morning still exhausted. He rolls over, catching a glimpse of Harris still sleeping soundly in his racecar bed. He’s tempted to let him sleep in a bit, maybe take the day off from school, but he knows how badly he wants Ms. Sweetheart to sign his cast.

Ms. Sweetheart.

He’d been thinking about you all night. The way your calm, confident demeanor had faltered when your grandma cursed at you and said she hated you. The way you caved in a bit, as though her words had punctured you.

You hadn’t reacted like that when Eddie called you a bitch; you’d simply carried on as though the words meant nothing to you.

Because they did mean nothing to you. Because he meant nothing to you. He was just another drop in the douchebag bucket, and once you’d gotten over the initial sting of rejection, you’d moved on. And so had he.

Right?

He tries to shake these thoughts from his mind as he gets Harris ready for school, but it’s nearly impossible when all the kid can talk about is how he saw Ms. Sweetheart at the hospital and how she’s going to sign his cast today.

“She’s the bestest teacher I’ve ever had,” Harris tells Eddie, shoving a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

“She’s the only teacher you’ve ever had, buddy,” Eddie reminds him, but Harris remains unfazed.

Sure enough, you’re waiting outside the classroom door, black Sharpie in hand. Harris’s eyes light up when he spots you.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered,” you say, uncapping the marker and crouching down to his level. Both Eddie and Harris watch intently as you write your signature, complete with a little heart.

Ms. Sweetheart ♡

“Go ahead and unpack,” you tell Harris. “Once you finish your morning routine, we can have your friends sign it, too.”

“Okay!” He starts to run, but crawls to a stop. “Gotta use my walking feet in the classroom.”

You give him a thumbs-up, turning back to hand Eddie the sign-in sheet.

“I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. “I’ve been trying to get that kid to slow down since he learned how to run. Swear to God, he skipped right over the ‘walking’ stage and went straight to sprinting.”

You laugh at his remark, taking the clipboard back from him. “Try the walking feet trick. I’ll let you borrow it, free of charge.”

“Much appreciated.” He starts to leave, but stops before he can fully turn his back to you. “How’s your grandma, by the way?”

His kind gesture catches you off-guard, but you recover quickly. “Already giving me a hard time about the sling, but that’s the home health aid’s problem until I get back.”

Eddie steps forward, awkwardly resting his hand on your upper arm for just a second. He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, or why, but it felt like the right move. “Well, uh, good luck. With the whole ‘sling’ fiasco.”

“I’ll need it.”

He smiles, and you easily return it. It’s an olive branch, one that you eagerly reach out and take. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you.

Eddie’s walking back down the hallway, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of his overburdened shoulders, when he hears it:

“...reported to CPS. Apparently, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

No. No. There’s no way that they could be talking about him.

He rounds the corner towards the school lobby to see Carol Perkins talking to Steve Harrington, her hushed whisper not soft enough to prevent other people from hearing.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Yup,” Carol nods. “Something about when he was born? Like, how bad of a parent do you have to be to get reported to CPS as soon as your kid is born?”

Eddie feels the bile rise in his throat. His suspicions are further confirmed when she adds, “And get this–he was drinking when he brought Harris to the hospital. That’s why I’ll never let Frankie play at his house.”

There’s no way he can just walk past them and act like he hadn’t heard anything, so he decides to wait until they finish their conversation. They made him sound like some sort of neglectful alcoholic who disregards his son’s safety. They made him sound like his dad.

As Steve and Carol say their goodbyes, Eddie takes one last glance back towards the classroom. You’re cheerfully greeting an adoring student, ruffling her hair like you did to Harris at the hospital last night.

Eddie sucks in a quick breath. You were there last night. You were also in the orthopedic wing, as evidenced by your grandma’s injury. You had been humiliated in front of him for the second time; the first was when Eddie hadn’t called you after the one-night stand. And now you wanted revenge.

No wonder you were so friendly this morning. This whole time, you were just waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to have his moment of weakness. Now he knows better than to trust you. He won’t make that mistake again.

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ghostofwriting · 6 months

Text

Kildare Split Part Three: Bleach

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Chapter 3: Bleach

Note: Hi! I love you all so much, thank you for reading and being absolutely wonderful. Here is Chapter Three, it covers the smau basically up until Rafe blocks Topper. Still no answers on that 💋

Warnings: none, not edited, angst, swearing, sadness, julio.

Word Count: 5,343

Synopsis: Everyone has noticed that there's been a shift in how Kildare Split acts around each other. Rafe and Y/N used to be so close, they were always pictured together, and always shared stories of each other and for the last few years, there has been nothing from them. A behind-the-scenes look at what went down between everyone's favourite band.

Chapter Three: Bleach

That didn’t go how he planned it. He hurt her inconceivable amounts and it’s not going to be easy to get her to forgive him. He needs to work for it, he knows that. Hearing her say that she meant nothing to him when she meant the world to him hurts more than he could have ever imagined. He’s so mad at himself for ever saying those same things to her. He doesn’t deserve her. He knows that too. He’s always been selfish when it comes to her though, he needs her back. He needs to figure out how to talk to her first.

“Let me get this straight, you told her to listen to your album for what?”

“To understand what I’m feeling.”

“Rafe, the girl doesn’t need to understand what you’re feeling, she needs you to apologize to her.” His dad’s voice comes through the speaker. He was getting ready for bed when Ward called.

“The album is like an apology.” He tells his dad like it’s obvious.

“Unless you have a song in that thing that says ‘Y/N I’m sorry,’ for 3 minutes straight, she’s not going to hear it as an apology. She’s going to take it as an excuse.”

“I’m just so ashamed, I don’t know how to approach it.” he stares at the phone screen, a picture of his dad and Wheezie stares back at him.

“I miss you, dad.”

“I miss you too, son. You’ll be home soon and we’ll go golfing, how about that?” Rafe smiles softly.

His relationship with his dad hasn't always been this good. When he chose music over a ‘real’ career, his dad almost disowned him. Y/N had been the one to talk Ward out of it. Giving him a plan that if they didn’t make it in two years, she would drag him back by his ear and make him take over the company. They had to work their asses off but it happened, and Ward had accepted it. It had been a long road, they spent a lot of time not speaking to each other, communicating through Sarah. Ward hadn’t been to a single show before their first album was released. He remembers seeing Ward walk in next to Sarah and feeling his five-year-old self again, prepared to put on the best show for his dad to finally be proud of him. And he was, at the end of the night he hugged Rafe and told him everything he had ever wanted to hear from him. That he was proud of everything he had accomplished, that he was meant to perform, and that he loved him.

And he owed it all to her. It always goes back to her.

“That sounds great, Dad.”

“Have you talked to Sofia about this, you know girls, she might have some insight you don’t.”

“I don’t think Sofia’s up to giving me advice about Y/N.

“Rafe, this is only to get her back as your friend, correct? You and Sof are good?” Ward asks, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, of course. Sof and I are great.” Denial. Always in denial, Rafe Cameron.

“Okay well, I wish you luck with all of that. Get some rest. I’ll be out in a couple of weeks.”

“Bye Dad, love you,” Ward tells him he loves him too and hangs up.

+++

Kiara of all people tells her to listen to his album. As if everyone else who’s telling her isn’t enough.

“Hold on, I thought I got you in the divorce?” Kie laughs at her joke.

“You did, but I think you should listen to what he has to say.”

“Kie, he hasn’t even apologized in person, why should I?” She’s playing with the thread that’s hanging off of the comforter.

“Because he’s always been better at explaining himself in song.” She says matter of factly.

“This is unbelievable.” Kie groans on the other side of the phone.

“Look, he’s a piece of shit and he was horrible to you. I know that, but god can he write.”

“I know he can. I work with him.”

“Y/N.”

“Kie.” She mocks

“Just listen.” She’s shaking her head and rolling her eyes, glad that Kie can’t see her.

“Okay, whatever, I don't want to talk about this anymore. What happened between you and jayj?”

“Ha! Nope.” She whines, wanting to know the drama between her two friends.

Sarah walks in with Penny in her arms. They had gone for a walk, Y/N citing vocal rest to skip going out in the rain.

“Vocal rest but you’re talking on the phone?” Sarah calls her out.

“My baby!” Sarah drops the small dog on the hotel bed, Penny running into Y/N’s arms.

“Thanks, Sarah.” She pouts at her.

“So what are we talking about?”

“Trying to get Y/N to listen to ‘Angel.’” Kie’s voice cuts through the speaker.

“Absolutely no use. She won’t.” Sarah says. She nods along agreeing with Sarah.

It’s not that she can’t listen to the album. She doesn’t want to. Why should she care about whatever he said in the album when he can’t tell her directly? The last time they talked he didn’t say sorry, albeit she didn’t let him say sorry with her whole speech she had been internalizing for three years. Even still, if he had just opened with ‘sorry’ she might have been more inclined to listen to his stupid album. She already knew it was about her, what more could she possibly learn?

So why can’t she get the thought of listening to it out of her head? She’s alone now, her dog next to her, sleeping tucked between her pillow and her neck. Sarah went back to her room a few hours ago and Y/N’s been trying to go to sleep to no avail.

So she plays the stupid album that she told Rafe to shove up his ass.

By the end of the album, she’s angry again. It’s great. Of course, it is. It’s him and he’s amazingly talented. Everything he touches turns to gold and she despises him for it. The chord progressions the tempos, the synths. Everything is amazing. Even the stupid lyrics that she wishes she could hate. How dare he be so talented and make her hate him just a fraction less?

The lyrics bother her. ‘I bought a house to live in but you’re the home I’m missin'?’ His fault. ‘I watched the weeks fly by, I’m not myself when you’re not there.’ His fault. Again. ‘I’m not a sentimental guy, I need you in my life.’ Well Rafe Cameron, why do you think she’s not in your life? It’s like he’s trying to hide the fact that he completely obliterated her heart and is pretending that she just walked out on him.

Fuck you, Rafe. You don’t get to pretend.

+++

She hears Topper in the lobby of the hotel. He’s most likely the first one down here, waiting for the rest of them to wake up so they can take the car to the arena.

She stands off to the side, their manager Ash, handing out their backstage badges. She sees Topper take two from Ash out of the corner of her eye.

He extends the badge out to her for her to take and offers her a smile.

“Thanks.” She tells him.

“I know this is probably a long time coming and not the best place to have this conversation but I’m sorry.” She looks at him eyes wide, she tries to hide her shock, a small frown still visible on her face.

“Thanks.” She says again, not knowing how to respond to him.

“I know I’ve been a shitty friend. I didn’t know how to act when everything went down. I knew about Sofia and I felt like I betrayed you. You were so hurt and I didn’t deserve your friendship. I let you isolate yourself and I’m sorry. I should have done better.”

She feels her eyes welling up. She won’t let herself cry. Not where anyone could see them.

“Yeah, you have been shitty.”

“Is it too late for you to forgive me?” She shakes her head, launching herself into his arms. Strangely it feels like coming home. She is finally hugging her best friend again. The guy who used to want to fight anyone who even looked at her wrong.

“I missed you.” she breathes into his shoulder.

“I missed you too, I’m sorry.” She lets go of him sniffling. She sees unshed tears in his eyes too.

“It’s going to take some time for me to trust you, but I’ll work on it.”

“I will get on my knees, beg, and cry if you need me to.” She laughs

“I’ll let you know.”

As soon as the other two arrive, their badges are given to them and they all walk towards the car. She usually opts for sitting in the front ever since everything happened between them. She thinks that this time she can sit next to Topper.

“Hey, Ash?” She calls for her manager's attention, “Mind if you sit in the front this time?” Ash looks at her surprised but nods her head anyway.

“Of course, go.” She motions for Y/N to step into the car, Rafe and Barry look at her questioningly from the very back. She smiles at Topper and sits directly next to him, he offers her one of his airpods and she takes it. He’s listening to something she’s never heard and she doesn’t mind at all. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel like the loneliest person in the car.

Rafe burns holes into the backs of both their heads. What the fuck is going on?

+++

“So are you going down there for your anniversary?” He hears Sarah ask. She and Y/N are getting their lunch.

“Ya, it works out perfectly with the tour ending just in time,” Y/N responds,

“So are you expecting a ring?” His ears perk up at the question, willing everyone around him to shut up so he can hear her answer clearly.

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” Y/N has a teasing tone to her voice and he feels like throwing up. He gets up from the table where he’s eating with Barry and Topper. His fork clanged against the plate as he stood up and stormed off. He can’t eat with the bile already rising in his throat. What’s wrong with him?

+++

He notices as Topper and Y/N fool around during their private soundcheck. They’re playing off each other, Y/N messing with his guitar as he sings into her microphone. He notices that it’s a little awkward but it’s better than it has been in years. He gives Barry another questioning look and Barry just shrugs. He makes a note to ask Topper what happened.

“I can’t hear myself in my left ear, I just hear Barry’s excessive screeching,” Y/N speaks into her microphone at one of the sound techs.

“Oh, I’m sorry we can’t all be professionally trained singers, princess.” Y/N scoffs.

“You’re in a band Barry, maybe learn how to sing.”

“Why are you being such a bitch right now?”

“Hey!” Topper yells turning towards Barry, “cut that shit out.” Barry makes a face at Topper but drops it.

“What the fuck is going on with you two?” Rafe asks, done with waiting to ask Topper after soundcheck.

“Just have her back, man.”

“Since when?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Since he apologized, maybe you should learn how to do that.” She purses her lips and instead of being annoyed, he can’t stop thinking about how cute she looks.

“I tried to apologize and all you did was yell at me for 10 minutes.”

“You didn’t try to apologize, Rafe! You tried to get me to listen to your album.”

“If you would have just heard me out.”

“What? I would know that you’re so apathetic it’s pathetic but you need me now? Or how about that you’re down on your hands and knees Beggin' me please, baby.”

“You listened.” He feels a sense of relief overtake him which is quickly washed away by her tone.

“Under duress.”

“What did you think?”

“I think it’s bold to sing songs about me when your girlfriend is ready to marry you.” He wants to deny that any of the songs are about her. It doesn’t work like that. Everyone knows. Instead of denying it or calling her conceited for thinking it’s about her, another question rises up and out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“Are you?”

“What?” She asks, confused. He wants to keep his mouth shut. Why does he need to know anything, why does he want to hurt his feelings so badly?

“Ready to marry him?” Oh, he’s so stupid.

“Yeah.” There is no hesitation in her answer and his heart breaks a little.

“Great.” He says shortly.

“Great.” She turns away from him and back to her microphone, talking to the tech until he gets the volume in her left ear right. He storms off the stage shoving his guitar into Topper’s chest, narrowly missing Topper’s guitar.

+++

“What’s your problem?” They’re waiting to be called to the stage for their second soundcheck with the fans.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have been insufferable all day, more than usual. I can usually ignore you, I’ve been doing it for a really long time but you’re all pouting and grumbling. What’s wrong with you?”

“How could you forgive Topper and not me?”

“I haven’t forgiven Topper, but he apologized for everything, it’s more than you have ever done.”

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out.

“Rafe. Stop.” She goes to walk away but he grabs her arm, stopping her.

“What? You beg me to apologize and now you don’t want to hear it?”

“I didn’t want to beg you for it, I wanted you to apologize because it’s the right thing to do.”

“I know that I haven’t been a good friend to you. I’ve been so absent from our friendship. I let people get in the way of us and I self-sabotaged and pushed you away.”

“Rafe please.”

“I think that I pushed you away because I couldn’t be with you but I couldn’t be your friend.”

She holds her breath, waiting for what he says next.

“I couldn’t be just your friend because I was in love with you.”

“And I’m stupid okay? I’m the biggest idiot in the entire world for saying the things that I said to you.” He pauses to gauge her reaction. She’s looking directly at him, her gaze not faltering.

“You were never just someone I fucked. You weren’t some girl or someone who didn’t mean anything to me. You are the girl, you mean everything to me. You always have. And I am sorry. I am so sorry that I ever said those things.”

“Why did you?”

“I was terrified. It’s an excuse I know. The way I treated you should have never happened but- I just- I was so scared to ruin our careers and take away what we had been working for since we were practically babies. The work that you put into the band and I was just being so careless with it, I could have ruined everything. I didn’t know how to deal with that and being in love with you and high all the time. I couldn’t do it.”

“You got clean right after.”

“I knew that sabotaging us was the first step to me ruining everything else and I needed to make the sacrifice worth it so I got clean.”

“I’m a sacrifice. You sacrificed our friendship to keep the band but if you had just talked to me we could have decided together. We could have made something work.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” They hear the five-minute to curtain call announcement and Y/N sighs.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” He asks her, hopeful.

“I don’t know. You hurt me more than anyone ever has.” She shrugs.

“fuck, b- Y/N I’m so sorry. You have to believe me.” She nods.

“I think I do. I need time. I need to get used to the idea of letting you back into my life before I do.”

“Okay, yeah. What can I do?” He feels hopeful for the first time since he started trying to get her to talk to him.

“Just give me space for now. I’ll let you know.” She walks past him towards Topper. That’s a good start, he thinks.

+++

“Baby!” She yells as she gets off stage, running into Julio’s arms. His flight had been delayed so she didn’t get to see him before the show.

His arms wrap around her waist as he lifts her off the ground, spinning her around.

“When did you get here?” She asks him, kissing his lips before he answers.

“Just as you started the second song.” He pulls away to answer but buries his head in her neck, kissing her.

“Thank you for coming. I missed you so much.” She tells him, still not letting go.

“Always.” He pecks her lips again as the rest of the band comes up behind her.

“Hey, guys.” Julio greets them the best he can with a Y/N-sized necklace still hanging off him.

“Hey, man!” Topper taps him on the shoulder as he passes by him. Barry mumbles a ‘hey’ and Rafe just nods, his jaw tight.

+++

Julio had only been here for one night and already he knew everything that Rafe had told Y/N, Which is how he found himself sitting alone with the man in the green room.

“Y/N told me what you told her last night.” He really doesn’t want to have to explain to Y/N why her boyfriend is on the floor bleeding but if he throws the first punch, Rafe is only defending himself.

“Yeah?” He looks up from his phone and at Julio.

“Look, you hurt her. A lot. To the point where she thought she had no one because of you. She cried herself to sleep every day because of how alone she felt.” Rafe’s stomach churns at his words.

“I’m going to make it up to her.” He puts his phone down next to him.

“And you better mean it. Don’t lead her on. Be honest with her. Do not hurt her again.”

“I won’t.” He assures him.

“Good.” He thinks the conversation is over but Julio speaks up again.

“Rafe, I know how you feel about her. You need to back off. I love her. And she loves me. I will be here until she no longer wants me. Please don’t get in the way of that.”

“I’m engaged.”

“That doesn’t change the way you look at her. Your heart isn’t in it. Respect my relationship and I will respect you.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. I just want my friend back.” It’s not like she would take him back anyway. Even if he wanted to.

“Okay.” Cleo and Pope walk in to save him from the awkward silence.

“I’m going to head out.” He picks up his phone and stands up from where he was sitting on the couch.

“Nice talking to you,” Julio calls.

“Yeah, you too.” He all but runs out of the room on a mission to find Sarah.

+++

Sarah Cameron is not one to spread rumours. She’s very much the type to wait for confirmation. She blames the circumstances and constant stress she’s under juggling her brother’s stupid feelings with Y/N’s and vice versa.

There has been way too much talk about marriage, Sofia finally arrived and all she can talk about is wedding dresses and the caterer and the first dance and Sarah is exhausted. And of course, Rafe is panicking about things he really shouldn’t be worried about like ‘Oh is Y/N getting married? Sarah, she said that she was ready.’ and Y/N herself teased that she wanted the ring and she wouldn’t say no if Julio proposed. So what is Sarah supposed to think when she hears Y/N squeal from her dressing room as she screams “Yes! Of course, I’ll marry you.” Sarah is tired.

She should have known there wasn’t an actual proposal when it happened in the dressing room of all places. She knows Julio, he’s a romantic guy, thinking back on it, there’s no way he would have proposed like that. Again, Sarah’s tired and she’s not thinking and she needs to tell someone and the first person she sees. Barry. Bad idea.

“Julio just proposed to Y/N and she said yes.” The information spills out of her mouth, it takes Barry a moment to process what she said but once he gets it he’s laughing.

“Shit. That’s going to kill him.” Fuck. Rafe. She hadn’t even thought of her brother’s reaction. She wants to be the one to tell him but he’s out with his trainer. She has to make sure no one tells him before she does.

“Topper!” She runs down the hall towards him.

“What’s up, why are you like sweating?” She waves him off.

“When does Rafe get back?”

“An hour still.”

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Y/N just got engaged and I need to be the one to break the news to him.”

“Holy shit. Good for her. Where is she?” Sarah shakes her head at him.

“That’s not the point, I need you to find out where Rafe is training so I can find him.”

“He’s probably running laps outside or at a nearby park.”

“Do you have his location?”

“No, security list.”

“Oh my god! I hate that you’re all famous sometimes.” She says through gritted teeth.

“I need to find John B. Make sure Rafe doesn’t find out!” She says running off down the hall again.

“Find out what?” Sofia’s voice comes from behind him.

“Jesus, Sofia, be louder next time.”

“Sorry. What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. Y/N just got engaged and Sarah doesn’t want anyone to know yet.’

“Fun! Congratulations to them, that’s so exciting!” He sees her pull out her phone and walk in the direction of the busses.

“See you, Top!”

“On the bus?” He asks her.

“Yeah.” She gives him a toothy grin.

Shit. Topper thinks. She’s going to tell Rafe.

+++

Kyle had just made him run way too much. Keeping up his stamina was important to perform every night. This time though Kyle really wanted to kill him.

“You hate me, man.” He says opening up his phone. Kyle laughs.

“You did great.” He tells him as they start their walk back to the arena.

He has a few notifications from Instagram from friends back home sending him reels and Wheezie tagging him in stories. He swipes out of Instagram and goes on to his Twitter quickly checking to see if the lineup for the show had started already, trying to see which way they took back to the arena without being seen.

Something catches his eye as he scrolls past it, he scrolls back up trying to find the pink icon.

‘@KSUpdates: 💍💍💍’ He reads through the other tweets wondering what that’s all about, were they promoting something he forgot about? He keeps scrolling until he sees someone say that Y/N’s engaged. He stops where he is, Kyle looking at him questioningly.

“You okay?” His head is spinning, his heart is racing faster than when he was working out, and he feels like throwing up. No, he’s not okay.

“I need to go.” He starts booking it to the arena, Kyle trailing behind him.

He has three unanswered texts from Sarah, a call from Topper, and one from Kelce by the time he makes it back to the arena. He says bye to Kyle and rushes to the bathroom. He’s going to throw up, he feels lightheaded.

He didn’t realize how not okay he was with losing her forever right until this moment. He couldn’t face it for the longest time. He loves Sofia. He does. She has been important to him, his growth, and his life, she’s been an amazing partner. But that’s all she’s been. A friend. Because he couldn’t give her his heart. Not when Y/N was out there already walking around with it. She had never given it back. She owned it, owned him. He knew that now. With every fibre in his being, he knew that he was still in love with her. And she was marrying someone else. He was losing her.

His breathing feels laboured. He feels the room continue spinning, he slides down the bathroom wall trying to keep the panic attack at bay. How could he be so stupid? How could it take him so long to realize that he couldn’t live without her no matter how hard he tried? It would always be her.

He hears his phone ringing again but ignores it. He needs to get his breathing under control before he can talk to anyone. They can’t know he’s losing it.

He needs to do something. He needs to get his shit under control and talk to Y/N. He hasn’t had a panic attack in so long. He’s not used to dealing with it. He needs to find Barry first.

+++

She’s in one of her moods again, every time Julio leaves she gets sad and it takes her a day or two to get back into the swing of things. It’s been a week since she had asked Rafe for space. She thinks that she’ll be able to work towards forgiving him or at least putting the past behind her. After talking to Cleo, Sarah, and Julio, they had all given her the same advice. Do what she believes is the best next step for her.

She notices Sarah hovering over Rafe like a mother hen, checking in on him, asking him if he’s okay every two seconds. She doesn’t know what happened but Topper had told her he went missing for the entire day until their show. And she’s pretty sure he showed up high. She’s scared for him. He’s been clean for so long that getting into drugs again now could shock his system. He’s not her responsibility anymore but she cares if he lives or dies.

That same day that Rafe went missing, everyone was congratulating her for being engaged. The updates account had hinted at her being engaged too, she doesn’t know where they got that information, she not only had to tweet, she had to tell the entire team that no, she was not engaged.

It had been a stupid misunderstanding that Sarah had apologized for a significant amount. Cleo had asked Julio how he would propose so Julio had set the scene for her and gotten down on one knee and Y/N had played along. Stupid and dumb.

She’s reading a contract for a new magazine shoot she’s doing when Rafe comes up to her.

“Hey.” He seems anxious. He can’t seem to stand still and his hair’s a mess.

“Hi, you good?” She asks him.

“No.” She gives him her full attention now. Wondering what he’s about to say to her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m selfish.” She doesn’t like the tone he says it in. Like he knows he’s about to tell her something he shouldn’t.

“Whatever you’re about to say don’t.” She goes back to her contract, staring at it blankly.

“When I thought you were engaged-”

“Rafe. Enough.”

“I had never felt so heartbroken in my life.” She’s shaking her head at him, trying to get him to stop.

“And I thought, I have to stop this now. I have to do whatever I can to stop it before it goes too far and I have to ruin your wedding. Because I would. Because I’m selfish.” She doesn’t know what to say to that so she says the first thing that comes to mind.

“It’s too late.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” There’s desperation in his voice, his eyes glassy.

“You’re engaged!” She yells, getting up and in his face.

“No, I love you.”

“I love Julio.”

“I love you.”

“Stop!” She turns her back to him and tries to find her breath.

“None of that changes how I feel. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to figure myself out.” She feels him behind her, looming over her shoulder.

“Why are you telling me any of this?”

“I can’t lose you. And that’s what’s happening because I’m an idiot. But I can’t lose you and I’m going to fight for you.” She turns around to face him, taking a step back, creating distance between them.

“There’s no fighting for me. We’re done. We’ve been over for so long. For three years I only spoke to you on stage or in interviews! There’s no us.”

“Tell me you don’t love me.”

“Rafe.” Her voice is firm but he doesn’t care.

“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone and you won’t ever have to see me again.”

“Not possible. The band.” She doesn’t know why she needs to make sure the band is safe in this moment, so much has happened between them to keep it alive, it can’t be at risk now.

“Outside of that then. Tell me.” She stays quiet, shaking her head once more.

“Please.” She snaps.

“I was in love with you for years! Since I was 13 years old you have lit up my goddamn world and when you finally gave me that chance, when you started looking at me like we could be something you ripped it all away. You hurt me so much and now? Now is when you want to come back and tell me everything I’ve been hoping for for years. Now when you’re getting married and I’m in a happy relationship?” She finishes, her chest heaving anger leaving her body in droves.

“You’re not in a happy relationship.”

“Rafe.” Her tone is warning him to not continue.

“Come on! He doesn’t understand you the way I do! Doesn’t understand the life we live, and the sacrifices we have made to be where we are. He’s not good enough for you.”

“And you are?”

“No.” She throws her hands up, “but, I understand you. I know who you are at your core, baby.”

“Stop.” She’s sure she’s shooting daggers at him now.

“Why?”

“You don’t get to call me that.”

“No, why are you with him?” He’s close to her again, she can feel his breath hitting her face.

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because I love him!” Rafe’s face falls. She exhales. “I love him.”

“No, you don’t.” She stays quiet.

“You can’t.” He backs up a little, his head shaking, eyes sad.

“Rafe,” she says softly, stepping closer to him. She reaches out but pulls her arm away quickly.

“It’s too late.” She repeats her words from earlier.

“But I love you.” She doesn’t want to hurt him but she knows she has to put an end to this.

“I don’t love you.”

“I’m so stupid. Oh my god, how did I ever let you go? I’m an idiot th-“ she cuts him off putting a hand on his arm.

“Hey hey, stop. It’s okay. We’ll get through this.”

“How?” Tears are threatening to spill over now. His eyes are red. She doesn’t know if it’s from holding back tears or from smoking.

“By being friends.” His blue eyes pierce into hers.

“I’ll try.”

“Okay.” There are a lot of things left unsaid between them. She hugs him for the first time in years and he puts his face in the crook of her neck. She feels him crying. His tears soaking her neck.

“I love you.” She does too. Not in the way that he wants. Not anymore.

“I know.”

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