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peachypinkygloss · 9 months

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dior girl ✰ park jimin

Park Jimin is one of a kind. When he wants something, he gets it, no matter how hard it can be. He's not scared to get his hands dirty. If he had any morals, maybe he'd consider his obsession with you getting out of hands. But this man has absolutely no morals.

୨୧ pairing: designer!jimin x model/fem!reader

୨୧ genre: strangers to lovers, age gap (21 & 38), smut, slight angst

୨୧ word count: 8.1k

୨୧ warnings: unrealistic depiction of the fashion industry, alcohol consumption & mention of drugs use, manipulation & corruption, jimin isn't a good person (especially not to oc lol <3), violent sexual thoughts, jimin's a sadist (my fav headcannon :D), heavy dom/sub dynamics, hard dom!jimin, unprotected vaginal & anal sex, anal play (use of a buttplug), my new headcannon: jimin likes giving anal, dacryphilia, praising & degradation, oral sex (m), face fucking, aftercare ig because yes jimin's a sadist but he still has a heart.

a.n.: yup so idk if you guys were expecting that... but i did say none of the characters were ethical lmfao so 🤷🏻‍♀️ i really, really hope you like the first part, i've worked hard on it even though it's not super long. so please, reblog and tell me what you thought about it! <3 as always, don't like, don't read.

[dior girl moodboard] ["older" masterlist]

His studio is his sanctuary. It's the only place in the world he can spend hours in without even noticing the moon setting or the sun rising. In his studio it feels like the time doesn't exist or that it's just a futile detail that doesn't have much importance.

When he's creating a piece, nothing around him matters. The only things he's willing to give attention to are the placements of the needles on the fabric, the little lines that form the pattern of the clothing, and the way his scissors cut through the satin material of the dress he's designing.

He's thought about this design for so long and he finally got the opportunity to make it. He's thought about the colours of the dress and also of the seam, about the length of the hem and the sleeves, how deep the neckline should be and if lace would be suitable.

He doesn't even recall how many sketches he's made of the dress. At some point it was consuming his entire mind, this dress the only design he could draw and think of.

Now that he's finally creating it, he has the feeling that it's going to be the best piece he's ever made. He already sees everyone talking about it, saying how much of a genius Park Jimin is. It's going to be the design of the year — of the century.

He still misses something, though, and it might be the most important part of the design. He needs a model, the perfect body to wear his piece and present it to the fashion world.

It can't be anybody, it must be someone who's confident, who always has their head up and who radiates elegance and sports a unique beauty.

Jimin still hasn't found this person. He constantly searches for them, but never finds them or when he thinks that he has, he discovers flaws he cannot unseen.

All the Dior models are great, but not enough. They don't spark anything in Jimin when he watches them strode down the catwalk. He's checked upon the apprentices and the newer models the company has hired, but he saw no one extraordinary.

Until today.

He hears steps against the wooden floor of his studio, entering the place without knocking. "Ah, there he is!" A manly voice exclaims, Jimin immediately recognizes it as his friend's, Sungwoon. "I have someone to introduce you."

Jimin raises his gaze up from his working table and looks at Sungwoon who's accompanied by a beautiful, young woman. He's then suddenly interested, contrary to usual where he doesn't really care about the many girls Sungwoon brings, claiming each one as the new phenomenon of the fashion industry.

When Jimin turns around, he eyes you up and down, barely glimpsing in Sungwoon's way. It's all it takes, one simple glance and he knows you're the one he needs — the one he wants and has to ruin.

Sungwoon introduces you both and when your name is pronounced by the man, sounding so charming and delicate, he's certain you're the model he had been waiting for since a long time.

You seem shy, arms locked behind your back, but you stand up straight and have a polite smile drawn on your face.

"I thought maybe you'd like to get to know each other, right?" Sungwoon raises his eyebrows in Jimin's direction. "Everyone's fond of her," he smiles and pats your back, encouraging you to speak up.

"Thanks," you smile back at Sungwoon before glancing back at Jimin who still hasn't looked away from you. "I've been a big fan of your work since I was a little kid, Mr. Park. You've inspired me to become a model."

The way you say his name has his cock twitching in his pants, filthy thoughts of him spanking your butt while you cry his name invading his mind.

He can sense your vulnerability, your willingness to submit. Who would he be to deny you that? Him, who is so eager to dominate the ones he's attracted to, to break but also repair them.

He knows it when someone's fragile, hiding their weaknesses under fake confidence. He doesn't know you, but he recognizes the pattern almost instantly. What can be broken can also be repaired and you're asking him to break you.

"I'm glad to hear that," Jimin says politely, a slight smile tugging on his lips. He's not the type to smile — stretch the corner of his mouth upward to imitate the person in front of him, he finds it useless. But for you, he'll do it, just so you trust him because you're so desperate to give yourself to the opposite sex.

"Park, you were wondering who'd be part of the fall show this year," Sungwoon begins, looking at you like you're the most irradiant ruby in the world. "Well, you have her in front of you." You giggle softly at the man's words, nodding your head at him and then looking at Jimin as if waiting for some praises.

Jimin faintly smiles, seeing your eyes glimmering and he curses himself for not finding you first. You'd have been his by now, his to praise, to kiss, to fuck, to destroy. But he swears, if he happens to break you, he'll gratefully keep you safe close to him.

๑♡՞

T H E N

"Careful," Jimin softly says as he catches you up from falling on the floor. You let out a high pitched laugh, as if all of this is a big joke, and push him back with a hand on his chest.

"I'm fine," you answer, shrugging him off with a flip of your hand. You stagger from left to right, leaning against the wall when you almost fall a second time. You laugh it off again, halting your steps.

Jimin looks at you with a cringe expression, eyeing the people behind, sporting worried looks on their faces.

You all went out after the show; models, designers, directors, stylists... everyone. It wasn't your plan to get drunk, Jimin knows that because you're not supposed to drink alcohol since you're on a very strict diet. A glass from time to time isn't so bad, but your consumption clearly surpassed just one glass tonight.

It's not really your fault, though. Technically yes, since you're the one who swallowed all of the glasses of wine, but you had a little help.

A little help from Jimin himself.

When you weren't looking, he poured more alcohol in your glass and to his satisfaction you've noticed nothing and gulped everything. Sure, you got a bit suspicious, wondering how you had only drank so little when you remembered swallowing more than that.

But Jimin assured you it was only your first glass, so you drank, and drank, and drank... Until you were more than tipsy.

You've received nasty looks from your colleagues, especially the other models who weren't drinking a single drop of wine, and yet, still weren't awarded with the status of the 'face of Dior'. How ironic that the drunkest girl in the room was the face of Dior and the little protégée of Mr. Park.

Years and years of training, countless sleepless nights, meals that are as nutritious as birds seed... All of the efforts in the world to have your biggest dream stolen by a model who is in the industry for less than six months.

Their rage is understandable, but Jimin couldn't care less. In fact, everything is going as planned and he can't fuck things up now. No, because if he does, all of the things he has done until now will be completely irrelevant.

"I'll... I'll bring her to our room, you can go out without us," Jimin announces, watching you sit down on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

"Will she be okay?" A stylist asks.

"Of course. I'll take care of her."

He waits for everyone to be gone before he gets you up from the floor and leads you both to your hotel room. When you're in the room, he sits you down on the bed.

You don't say anything as he takes off his jacket and loosens his tie. He crouches down in front of you to remove your heels and he does the same with his shoes, leaving them at the entry.

When he comes back, he sees you quietly crying, the features of your face contorting into a sad expression. You've slightly sobered up, harshly coming back to reality, realizing how much you've embarrassed yourself tonight.

"What did I do?" You ask, looking up at him with teary eyes. "I fucked up, didn't I?"

Jimin sits down beside you, lifting your head up with his index under your chin and his thumb over it. "There's nothing that can't be repaired," he states in a soft voice, so low it sounds like a sweet whisper — a secret, a confession only you can hear. "Right?"

You sniff, wiping your tears away. You nod your head in agreement, slightly reassured, hoping Jimin will fix your mistakes. Your foolish mistakes, done by the carefree of a twenty-one year old.

"Shh, baby, shh," he softly murmurs, cradling your head in his hands and gently laying your face against his chest. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tighter and tighter til suffocation.

He strokes your hair delicately, placing a sweet and warm kiss on the top of your head.

Someone as vulnerable as you contains a lot of emotions. He has to deal with them, which doesn't bother him at all. He wants you the way you are; sad and pitiful.

"Everything's going to be fine," he promises, but it's not entirely the truth. Not everything will be fine, though it'll be in the end, he thinks — he hopes.

You eventually pull away from his embrace, just enough to look at him. It seems like you're searching for something or maybe waiting for something, your eyes desperately staring at Jimin as if his simple presence will make all of your problems fly away.

You throw yourself at him and kiss him on the lips, fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He reciprocates it, knowing you like your kisses sloppy and messy, wanting Jimin everywhere on you to remind you that he's always there.

You bring him closer, crumpling the material of his white shirt between your fists, moaning and whining as your teeth clash together at how roughly you kiss each other.

Jimin breaks your exchange first, both catching your breaths. His eyes observe you quietly as you look at him like you're still waiting for something.

"Did you do what I told you to?" He questions you, referring to your conversation of a few days when you came to his studio to try on his dress.

You were a bit stressed out, putting on the clothing like you were scared you'd rip it. He still remembers the way the satin was sliding up your body, hugging your waist and ass perfectly. He was baffled at how incredibly well it suited you as if he had made it exactly for you.

And maybe it was made for you, after all.

Because when he saw his creation on you, he knew you had to wear it for the runway. It has to be you, he'll accept no one else.

Jimin will make you walk the runway wearing his dress — the last time you'll ever step on the catwalk. After that, he'll keep you away from the rest of the world. He'll refuse anyone to see you because you're going to be his.

His forever.

"Yes," you nod your head, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Tell me what you did," Jimin softly demands, holding your chin in his hand, mouths inches away from each other.

You're too shy to say it out loud and that's why he wants you to tell him. Also to be sure you did everything correctly, but mainly because he wants to see you embarrassed.

"I prepared myself for you..." You begin, holding eye contact even though you feel your face heating up just thinking about all the things you've done per his request. "I... I used lube both on me and... the toy," you continue in a shy tone, so low Jimin wouldn't hear you if he wasn't so close.

"Where on you, sweetheart?" He interrupts, wanting each detail, each little thing you normally wouldn't have done if it wasn't for him. And all while thinking of him.

You swallow, "On my ass, Jimin," you answer in a whisper. "I stretched it out for you, using the toy like you told me," you finally admit.

"Good girl," Jimin purrs. "Let me see it then."

You proceed to strip off of your dress, now used to be nude in front of him, and slide your panties down your thighs, discarding them away on the floor.

You get back up on the mattress and position yourself on all fours close to the edge of the bed. Jimin stands up and goes behind you to have a closer look at your ass.

His veiny hands pull your cheeks apart, revealing your rim to his insatiable, sadistic eyes. You glance over your shoulder, curious of what he has in mind and what he has prepared for you.

You softly gasp when he spits and lets the globe of spit drip down between your asscheeks, rolling over your puckered hole. You clench around nothing, relieved to have his attention, to finally feel his hands on you instead of the usual touch of yours.

He sees that your ass is a bit looser than the last time he saw it, but it still clearly needs more preparation to welcome his girthy cock — though it's not like he cares that much if you're prepped enough or not.

He passes his thumb over your tight muscle, circling it and smearing his saliva over it. He wants to fuck it so bad, destroy it and do unbelievably violent things to you. Should he tonight? Should he show you his dark and evil side?

He's choked you before — smacked your ass hard til you felt your skin stings, overstimulated you to the point your orgasms were just spasms passing through your body, fucked your throat while you were drooling all over yourself, and tied your legs and wrists together to restrict your movements.

So fucking your ass can't be that bad, but the thing is Jimin wants it to be bad. He then wonders what would happen if the line is ever crossed. Would you endure it, would you defend yourself? Would you shut the fuck up and take it like you're asked to?

But you trust him so much — with all your pathetic being — and he thinks you'd let him cross any lines he desires to. He probably already has crossed multiple lines, and being the poor, sad girl that you are, you said nothing.

You truly are extraordinary.

He gives a slight slap to one of your asscheeks, groping both of them after, feeling how soft and tender your flesh is. "You did good, sweetheart," he comments in a honeyed voice that has you mewling, sounding so smooth and sweet. "How about we play with it a little?"

He lifts up a brow at you and you nod sheepishly, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Yes..."

"Great," he says in a low tone, running his hands one last time over your ass before going to take something from his suitcase.

"What is it?" You question, your curious eyes landing on the small object he's holding.

Jimin brings the object to you, something made of metal, the end having the shape of a cone and a pink gem placed on the top. "A gift for my princess," he replies, opening the bottle of lube he brought as well.

He applies some lube around your tight hole and on the butt plug, and carefully pushes the head of the toy in your ass. You gasp softly, feeling it slowly stretch you out, sinking in gradually as Jimin holds your cheeks apart.

"Mmh, feels good, Sir," you moan, arching your back and pushing your butt closer to Jimin.

When the plug is all the way in, the pink gem peeking out between your two globes of flesh, he smacks your other cheek, making it jiggle from the harsh hit.

"Is that so, dirty girl?" He wonders, gripping your hips and colliding his hips with your butt, sensing his big bulge pulsing under his pants. "You like it when your little ass gets stretched out?"

"I like everything you do to me," you say with a content sigh, pussy clenching around nothing as your ass gets used to the small butt plug.

Jimin genuinely thinks he can't find better than you. You were so shy in the beginning, looking like a lost puppy wherever you went. You just needed someone bigger and older to show you the way — though you were too dumb, and still are, to realize he was leading you to the wrong path.

It's not like you seem to mind, anyway.

After all, you both got what you wanted; you, male attention, someone to rely on and be protected by, and him, a woman to break and keep with him forever.

He lets go of your hips to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather material out of the gold loop with the luxury Dior logo on it. He lets the two ends of the belt hang off, not bothering to remove it completely, and tucks the fly of his pants down.

He finally frees his cock from the confines of his boxers, springing up and slapping against his stomach, the bit of pre-cum escaping from his tip dampening his shirt.

"You're so good to me, princess," he praises as he wraps a hand around the base of his engorged cock, aching and begging to be nestled in your cute little pussy.

His head pushes at your entrance, never fully entering, only teasing your hole and stimulating all of your sensitive nerves. He watches how his cock stretches your cunt, your walls expending to receive his bulbous tip and then closing down when he pulls out.

"Sir, please, want more," you beg him, pushing your ass on him to have his dick back in you. You let out a little whimper when Jimin holds your hips in place, stopping you from wiggling your butt side to side against his thick cock.

He hums and slaps your ass harshly, your skin stinging after. "Want my cock in your needy little pussy, baby? Is that what you're crying for?" He asks, teasing even more by swiping the head of his penis between your pussy lips, a string of your arousal sticking to his angry tip.

"Yes," you say back quickly and desperately, arching your back, literally presenting yourself to Jimin. "Been so good, don't I deserve it, Sir?" You softly murmur, still looking over your shoulder to see his gaze fixated on your quivering pussy, cock head sliding up and down over your sex.

"You do..." He responds distractedly, licking his plump lips, his fingers touching the pink gem peeking out from your ass. You're always so good and obedient for him, he even wonders if you ever did something that genuinely pissed him off before.

When he really sinks in, his head passing the barrier of your sweet pussy, he groans deeply, feeling your walls deliciously enveloping his hard cock tightly.

You moan in unison as he bottoms out in you, his balls touching your wet and warm pussy. He bends his back over yours, running his hand up your spine, feeling all the little bumps of it until he reaches your head and shoves it against the mattress.

You whine when he starts pounding into you, his girth stretching you out so well, leaving you panting and moaning loudly. His other hand holds your hip against his dick, fingers digging into your skin, leaving permanent marks on your body — as well as on your mind and your soul.

He already sets a hard and rapid pace — fucking is never soft or loving with Jimin, it's violent, long, and agonizing. It's a way to be himself, the real and dark version of himself he hides in public and releases when he gets intimate with you.

You surprisingly got accustomed to it, embracing it as if it was your destiny, the reason for your existence; to be his personal slut, the little toy he likes to play rough with. And you've accepted it, like you had no other choice but to be fucked into oblivion by Jimin whenever he feels like it.

"You like that, baby? Huh?" He growls, as if you're the disgusting one for liking the way he treats you, ravished and delighted to have his girthy cock sliding against your velvety walls. "You like it when I fuck you hard like this?" He repeats and grips your hair, pushing your head against the bed covers with more strength.

You babble out something, voice caught in your throat, too out of breath to formulate a simple sentence. You then only nod, your cheek squished against the mattress, Jimin's hand still pushing down on your head.

His mouth hangs open to let out heavy breaths and his eyes are focused on your face, watching the little translucent pearls fall on your face and on the covers. Your pussy swallows all of his girth, clenching so tightly it has him groaning and saying profanities under his breath.

It's sick how it makes his cock so fucking hard, leaking so much pre-cum in you and twitching avidly by seeing you struggle to breathe. You crumple the bed sheets between your little fists, doing everything in your power to keep your ass up for Jimin and not slump down on the bed from the hard thrusts he's inflicting on you.

He snaps his hips against your ass and the entirety of his length is covered in your wetness, a white ring made of your cream circling the base of his cock.

His hand holding your head descends to your neck, enclosing it with his fingers, the coldness of his silver rings contrasting with the hotness of your sweaty skin. He squeezes a little, just a bit so you know who's in control, so you never forget Jimin controls you — that he controls your life and thoughts.

With a grip on your hair, he brings your torso up, arched back against his chest. The material of his shirt sticks to your skin, coated in a thin layer of sweat. He continues to pound into you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy rapidly, as he holds you by the throat, lewdly licking a long stripe along the side of your face.

You shudder in desire, hair standing up on your delicate arms. "You're my little whore, aren't you, baby?" His mouth is right beside your ear as he whispers dirty things to you, his lips touching your hair, damp at the nape of your neck. "So fucking compliant... You want to please me so bad like the slut that you are," he mouths the words against your hair, cock pulsing hard in your cunt.

His free hand that doesn't have a hold around your throat slides down your body, passing over your belly and reaching your puffy clit. The sharp zipper of his pants graces the flesh just under your ass, irritating your skin and making it itchy.

You clench around him when his digits find your sensitive bud, circling it sensually and slowly, the complete opposite of his hip thrusts.

"Yes, want to please you, Jimin," you gasp, bucking your hips at the feeling of his rough fingertips on your pussy. He grunts when you address him by his name, loving how it sounds on your tongue, so sweet and timid.

He remembers the first time you moaned his name; you were sprawled across his expensive leather couch, blindfolded and hands attached together with his black tie. Intense for your first time with him, but it was also the last time he's ever been that gentle with you.

It was when his cold fingertips graced the skin of your stomach that you let out a squeak followed by his name, said in the quietest moan. He had then stopped his movements and looked at your face, an expression of distress painted over your features.

He had realized how frail and weak you actually were, needing your most important sense to be at ease. That's why he had blindfolded you, to show you how dependent you are of him, how impossible it is for you to live without him to guide you.

He pushes your jaw to the side so your lips can meet his in a feverish kiss, wet tongues mingling together, drool dripping down from the corners of your mouth. He continues to ram his cock in your now soppy and messy pussy, the sound of skin against skin resonating in the hotel room.

He traps your bottom lip between his teeth, making you whimper and close your walls around his girth once again. Your little hands grip the material of his trousers, keeping him close and holding on to something because the hard cadence of his hip thrusts push you forward, breasts bouncing up on your chest.

"Fuck," he curses and he suddenly stops, steadying his hips against your butt. You let out a whiny moan as Jimin lets go of your face and hips.

You're sad to have your pleasure ripped away from you so hastily, but you don't have the time to complain, Jimin slipping out of your cunt and pushing you down violently on the mattress.

You turn around on your back to see him unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it on the floor, revealing to you his beautiful chest and defined abs. He gets rid of his pants and socks after, finally removing his boxers, the only things remaining on him being his rings and the watch crowning his right wrist.

His cock glistens in your juices, more pre-cum leaking from his swollen tip and twitching avidly against his stomach. Even though him fucking you while being all dressed and you completely bare is a way to humiliate and degrade you, he also likes to be naked sometimes.

He loves skin to skin contact, how your bodies stick together because of all the sweat coating you. It's addicting, it's rougher and it creates more friction — more pain.

He doesn't mind being naked too because he knows how to dominate you either way. He doesn't find it embarrassing, on the contrary, it makes him scarier and hungrier. While you shiver without your clothes on, curled up on yourself, Jimin is imposing, his cock thick and girthy enough to split you in half.

He crawls back to you, hovering over you like a predator had caught his prey, boring his eyes into yours. You look at him in awe, always waiting patiently. You feel his cock against your thigh, thick and veiny, your hole pathetically quivering — missing his size stretching out your pussy.

He sneaks a hand between your legs and reaches the little pink gem, ready to get it out. "Take a deep breath sweetheart," Jimin instructs and you inhale deeply.

He doesn't waste a second, pulling out the butt plug out of your ass. You scrunch your eyes shut at the pain, exhaling when it's done. He carefully sets it on the nightstand, coming back to you after.

He bends your legs over your stomach and looks at your ass, just begging him to fuck it, shining with lube and arousal that leaks from your pussy. His erect cock is just so close to it and Jimin could slide right in with one movement of his hips.

He lets go of one of your legs to grip his engorged erection, a little gasp escaping your lips when he presses the head of his cock at your tight hole, threatening to sink in.

"Sir," you sigh, not sure if you're ready for that. It always burns no matter how good you prepped before and he knows that. That's why he's so tempted, that he's staring so obsessively at your rim.

Will it hurt you? Will you grip his biceps in an attempt to dissuade him? He wants to see those tears falling from your eyes again, he wants to lick them and tastes your pain. He feels more blood rush to his penis at the mere thought of hurting you.

Give him all of your pain, he'll fucking take it whole and cherish it. He wants it — he needs it. Accuse him for having a sick and twisted mind, accuse him for everything you've ever been hurt by because he'll gladly take the blame.

"I know you can take it," he says in a low tone, glancing up at your face as he applies just a bit more pressure to your ass hole. "Can you, baby?" Jimin asks, waiting for you to admit how much you want it, how badly you want him to destroy you.

"Yes..." You whisper back, a long shiver running up your spine as his eyes pierce through you.

"Yes, what? Tell me, sweetheart," he demands, and it's as if he doesn't care about your response whatsoever because the next thing he does makes you yelp in pain.

His tip has entered you, the burning sensation forcing you to scrunch your eyes shut, your instinct thinking it'll protect you.

"Yes, I- I can..." you stutter and as expected, you dig your nails in the flesh of his biceps — only fair to hurt him in return. "I can take your cock in my ass..."

You take a sharp breath, eyes slowly opening, all watery and painful. Jimin groans at that, stuffing more of himself in your hole. "Good girl," he praises, voice raspy, ending with a deep grunt.

He stretches you out completely, his dick in no comparison to the toys you've used to prepare yourself. You open your mouth as he pushes himself in gradually, tears streaming down your face when you blink.

The tears roll down the side of your face and Jimin can't help but be turned on, leaning in to kiss your face and collect some of your tears, tasting the saltiness of them on his tongue.

"Jimin...!" You look at him with the saddest and most hurtful gaze, tears rolling down your face. "It burns," you add in a quiet voice, now scratching his back, leaving long red trails on his skin.

"I know, baby, I know," he softly murmurs in your ear, a husky moan leaving his mouth when he's completely nestled in you, balls touching your ass. "You're so tight, fuck," he sucks air through his teeth, not moving until he estimates he's waited long enough.

He gives warm and wet kisses to your neck, descending to your collarbones and groping your breasts, slowly starting to move his hips. You lock your legs behind his back, wanting him as close to you as possible despite the pain he's inflicting on you.

He loves knowing it hurts you because it makes it more pleasurable to him somehow. The pain will go away soon anyway, that's why he doesn't bother to stop or slow down. You have to get used to the feeling first.

He wouldn't go too far to hurt you. The choking, the hair pulling, the smacks... He keeps it for the bedroom, but he won't lie that there's a part of him that wants to ruin your life, ruin everything you've accomplished so far just so he can see those sad eyes of yours and hear you ask him for help out of desperation.

It's not even sexual, he just wants to break you, that's all he desires. Though your life is something he wants to destroy, it's more of a way to have you dependant on him after. If your career is no longer successful, your solution is Jimin because he's the only person in your life capable of taking care of you both emotionally and physically.

His teeth chew on the tender skin of your neck while his hand travels all over your body, many veins popping out along his strong arm. The cool sensation of his rings on your stomach makes you shiver, his finger gently circling your clit to make the pain more bearable.

His cock slides in your hole back and forth, your ass slowly but surely taking the size of girth. Many curses leave Jimin's mouth, your ass probably the best he's ever fucked. You feel so good around him, you're tight, but you loosen easily, making it so, so pleasurable for him.

His hand that was roaming over your body comes to close around your throat and he turns his head to your side, lips brushing over your temple. "Yeah, just like that, baby," he mutters under his breath, his nose pressing down on your hair as he murmurs the words to you. "Just like that..."

A choked moan is all you can respond, eyes rolling back in your skull as Jimin splits your ass open, fucking his thick cock into you. His hot breath hits the side of your face, his chest heaving rapidly while you claw at his back, white scratches appearing on his skin.

He sweetly kisses your temple as he pounds into you, not tightening his hand around your throat, just holding you in place — always letting you know that he is always in control.

Your tits slightly bounce up and down on your chest, little whines coming out of you each time Jimin bottoms out. It starts feeling good for you — really good — and you think that this pleasure is totally worth a bit of pain at the beginning.

You grip the hair at the nape of his neck and bring him in for a kiss. He accepts it, kissing you back as if he wants to possess your whole mouth, biting and licking your lips. You moan into his mouth, twisting his hair between your fist and sinking your nails into the flesh of his back.

He backs away from you a little, his plump lips glistening in both of your saliva, and places his two palms on your boobs. He feels your perky nipples under his hands, just loving how plushy your breasts are, fitting perfectly in his palms.

He keeps thrusting in you as he gropes your tits and you bring your hands over his, looking into each other's eyes. He lowly groans, holding eye-contact with you.

You feel his veins under your palms, your pussy clenching around nothing but air while you run your hands all over his arms. You enjoy the sensations of his pulsing veins under your small fingers as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, staring into Jimin's dark eyes.

"Jimin..." You moan his name, throwing your head back and closing your eyes, just enjoying the feeling of his hard cock entering and exiting your tight hole. Jimin takes the opportunity to smooch your neck again as you expose it to him, his full lips delicately pressing down on your throat. "I love it," you sigh pleasantly.

He hums, the sound coming deep from his throat. He wants to hurt you, yes, but he likes it even more when you love the pain. He just knew you were exactly like him when he first saw you. He had the feeling that you needed someone like him, someone that'd push you to your limits and make you discover a new type of pleasure.

And he was right because there's not one time where you told him to stop.

"My dirty girl," he purrs in response, bringing his lips up to your jaw. He slowly rolls your nipples between his fingertips, pinching and pulling on them. "You're stupid, but so, so good for me, baby," he groans in your ear, gritting his teeth as he feels his balls tightening.

He slowly halts his hips movements, letting out heavy breaths as he eventually pulls out of you. You gasp when he does so, already missing his cock stretching out your ass.

You're both trying to catch your breaths, Jimin raising himself up from you and getting out of the bed. His erection stands tall against his stomach, bouncing up as he walks to the front of the bed.

You watch him getting away until he orders you to follow him. "Come here," he says softly and you don't make him wait. "On your knees," Jimin commands when you're facing him, sinking down to your knees after.

He places a hand behind your head and the other around the base of his dick, guiding the head of his cock toward your lips as he pushes down on your head.

"Here, baby," he instructs in a low voice. "Take it in your mouth." You part your lips to welcome Jimin's length, his bulbous tip shining in pre-cum and your juices under the light of the hotel room.

He immediately moans when he enters the warmth of your mouth, his heavy cock sliding on your wet tongue. He doesn't let you have much control, pushing his dick in your mouth until your nose touches his pubic hair.

You relax your jaw for Jimin, allowing him to stuff your mouth full of his cock. He looks down at you, watching the way your lips wrap around him tightly, your eyes starting to water. He still holds the back of your head with one hand, guiding you over his stiff erection and you moan obscenely around Jimin, drool dripping down on your chin.

He begins to fuck your mouth, forcing you to take the whole thing each time he bottoms out. He moves his hips back and forth, obsessed with the way his girth appears and reappears between your lips as he uses your mouth as he pleases.

"Shit," he hisses when you hollow your cheeks, making it more pleasurable for him. "You're a fucking cockslut, aren't you, baby?" He says breathily, his eyes not once leaving his cock penetrating your mouth over and over again.

You whine around him, surely agreeing with what he said. It sends deliciously vibrations through his entire body, the sounds of your moans and hearing you gag around him is so arousing to him. He wants to hear more so he literally uses your mouth like a toy, snapping his hips against you, his balls slapping your chin.

He lets out a deep moan, your cheeks now damp and eyelashes all wet because of your tears, eyes stinging as Jimin fucks your throat like a mad man.

"Stroke your clit," he manages to say between two heavy breaths. "You can get off by yourself, right? I know you're soaking wet just by letting me use that pretty mouth of yours," he mocks you, but he knows he's right. Whatever he does, your cunt is always dripping wet.

You whimper again, doing what he told you to and sneaking a hand between your thighs to play with your pussy. You part your legs wider as you circle your clit with your finger, Jimin's hooded eyes lazily watching you playing with yourself.

Your right hand is laying on his thigh while the other is operating between your legs, pleasuring yourself to the sounds of Jimin's moans and the feeling of his stiff cock weighing down on your tongue.

You do your best to breathe through your nose, swallowing around his length and flattening your tongue underneath him. Your juices drip down your inner thighs, your finger flickering over your sensitive bud smoothly because of your arousal.

The whole room is smelling like sex, an odour that Jimin can't ignore, loving it so much. Your lips glide so easily over his hard cock, completely covered in your spit and still some of your wetness, tasting yourself on him.

"Ah, fuck," he curses, his head rolling back on his shoulders, eyes still strained down on you. He feels the familiar burning sensation at the pit of his stomach, indicating he's really close to his orgasm. He stops thrusting in you. "Go on the bed, baby."

You're taken aback, but you follow his order, pulling him out of your mouth and laying your back down on the mattress close to the edge. You beautifully moan when Jimin penetrates your pussy a second time, bending your legs over your stomach.

"Oh, god," you cry softly, being pounded onto the bed by him right away, tits moving up and down on your chest.

His hands are positioned on each side of your shoulders, snapping his hips against yours so harshly you feel your skin stinging. You keep doing circle motions on your clit, now faster and impatient to reach your high.

You let out a high-pitched moan when Jimin suddenly steadies his hips over yours, dropping down to his elbows as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. "Holy fuck," he grunts, gripping the bed sheets tightly in fists beside your head as his cock twitches in your pussy.

"Yes, yes," you quietly exclaim, your clitoral orgasm passing through you, making you arch your back and buck your hips.

Your hole clenches repeatedly around him and he finally comes undone into you, shooting long, thick ropes of cum deep into you. He empties himself in your wet cunt, cumming just after you.

When he slips out of you, more spurts out of his tip, landing on your pussy, covering it in his creamy cum. You moan at the warm sensation, always loving how it feels both in and on you. Some of his seeds dribble out of you, dripping down to your ass.

He stays above you for some time, catching his breath and looking at the mess he made on you. He stares up at your face, seeing how fucked up you look, hair in a nest and eyes reddened.

Later, Jimin is in the shower, washing his hair and his body, passing a soft cloth soaked in soap over his chest. He lets the water fall over his head, wetting his black locks. He stays maybe a bit longer than normally, staring at the tiled wall.

He thinks about you, about all the things he's planned. He revised everything in his head, imagining you walk on the podium wearing his design, people looking at his piece with admiration in their eyes.

He thinks about all of that that will go down for you after the show, getting fired, losing your career and your fans. Many articles talking about your excessive use of alcohol and drugs, saying how tired and sad you look beside Jimin.

You won't last long, you're too weak anyway. A downfall like this is unconquerable, nobody recovers from that, and surely not a model who will be thrown out of the industry as soon as you turn twenty-five.

Jimin knows the industry, he's been in it for years now. He's aware of how cruel it is, how difficult and harsh it can be on fragile little girls like you.

But that's why he's here, to take care of you once nobody will want you anymore. That's the goal, after all; you to be finally his — solely and completely his.

"Jimin?"

Your voice reaches him, turning his head in your direction, seeing you hesitantly entering the shower with him. He opens his arms, inviting you to come closer and you do, hugging him and laying your head down on his wet chest.

"I love you, sweetheart," he softly murmurs against your hair. "I'll never leave you, you know that, right?"

You nod your head, looking up at him and meeting his gaze. "I love you, too."

๑♡՞

A F T E R

The runway went incredibly well. Celebrities and journalists were all gathered for the fall show, totally amazed by every design and the models that were wearing them.

But there was one specific piece that everyone was willing to say was the best.

Jimin was satisfied to see that his name stood out among everyone else's, being called more times than Dior itself. He predicted it; it was the creation that every guest remembered, the dress that the fans were only talking about.

He'd take all the credit, he was the one who imagined it and then sewed it after all, but he has to admit that you had contributed to the fame a lot.

Being the beloved face of Dior only made people talk more about it and that was what Jimin needed.

But everything has an end, doesn't it?

When Jimin comes back to his apartment, the place is silent except for the TV playing, as he thought it would be. You're looking through the window, watching the city living at night while it's raining. You're sitting on the sofa, not even acknowledging his presence as he enters, getting rid of his shoes.

You're not much of a talker since you've been fired from Dior a few days ago just after the fall show. He understands your wish of remaining silent, needing a bit of space to process everything that has happened the past weeks in your small head.

It was going to happen soon enough anyway. You've been to your photoshoots completely drunk, sometimes just going in with a hangover, but of course it didn't help your case at all.

Jimin was guilty for letting you drink alcohol so soon in the morning. No need to deny it, he was even the one for dropping you off at work like that. Well, he had to do it if he wanted people to notice how far you've fallen.

He doesn't feel bad, though. Your career wasn't going to last with Jimin's sabotage or not. He did you a favour, you should be thankful.

You can't handle being a model. If you could, none of that would have happened. You wouldn't have gained weight, you would have been suspicious of the amount of calories Jimin was feeding you. The bottle of wine wouldn't have been so tempting and smoking weed wouldn't have ever occurred to you as a good idea.

Some people can, others can't and you're one of them. You shouldn't be ashamed of it, sometimes things just don't work out like we would have wanted them to.

"Did you see the article they wrote about me?" You ask, already knowing he's walking up to you without looking. "You surely did, I bet that's all they're talking about..."

He sits down beside you and you eventually turn around, facing him. You care so much about what others think of you. It must be so tiring having such a low self-esteem. He can only imagine it; seeing you look through the window like a sad puppy, your life finally making sense when Jimin comes home.

"I did, but nothing of that matters to me," he answers, the most honest he's ever been. And even if he had to lie, it's not like you wouldn't have believed him. You always trust whatever he says.

You don't reply, your head still filled with many thoughts.

"Hey, come here," he softly tells you, patting his thigh. You straddle his lap, setting your hands on his shoulders. He cups your chin, forcing you to look at him as you keep avoiding his gaze. "Whatever they say, whatever their name is, nothing will ever be more important than you."

Because who is he if he lets some article affect the way he sees you? He's known you since the beginning of your career and he stayed til the end of it.

He knows you better than everyone else. He was with you during your highs and lows and he'll still be there for the next ones. There's nothing in the world that could make him leave you. After everything he's done to have you, there's no way he'll go away.

How cowardly of him if he does. He can't leave when he's promised he'd heal you — close all of your past wounds and create other ones.

He may be selfish, but there's one thing that he isn't and it's a fucking liar. He sticks to his words, and when he says he'll never leave you, that means he'll never, never abandon you — he'll never leave your side, not even once. He can't risk it.

๑♡՞

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avatar-anna · 6 months

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Champagne Problems

so...this is super long, the longest fic i've written in a hot minute. like 18.k words long. i wasn't going to post it until part two was underway, but i'm kind of excited to share it. here is the aftermath of champagne problems...

Part Two

*.*

"Don Perignon, you bought it, no crowd of friends applauded, your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems."

Your fingers moved across the keys of the grand piano as you mumbled softly to yourself, only loud enough that the voice recorder on your phone would pick up on it. This wasn't your typical method of songwriting, you weren't even sure there was a song to actually write; but the melody had been haunting you for days, pressing against your mind until you finally sat down and played it.

It wasn't often you thought of the events that occurred a year and a half ago. You usually did everything in your power not to think about that night, knowing that nothing ever good came out of dwelling on that particular wrinkle of your past. You only looked forward, sometimes hoping that if you didn't think about what happened, your memories of the worst night of your life would eventually disappear from your mind altogether.

But there was something about this melody that brought that night to the forefront of your memory. You'd played it over and over on the piano for a few minutes, waiting for the words to come. Your mind kept circling back to the past, and after trying to avoid it, you finally let emotion win out. No one was in the studio with you anyway, it would be safe to unlock that particular box. Just for a few minutes.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked up in the head," you said to yourself, the last part coming out as an afterthought. You laughed a little to yourself, remembering the disapproving stares and the whispers behind your back that people always thought went unnoticed by you. "But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shed."

Despite knowing that leaving your would-be fiance was the right choice for you, breaking up with him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It still hurt to remember that night, to recall the look of absolute devastation on his face when you stopped him from reaching into his pocket for the little velvet box you knew was in there. He didn't deserve to be wrecked so thoroughly, especially by someone like you. He had been sweet and kind and gentlemanly. He treated you like a princess and defended you to his family when they didn't approve. He was everything a man should've been to you and more.

And all you could do in return was prove his family right.

You stopped murmuring lyrics for a moment, letting that last thought float through the empty room on somber notes. You thought about your ex now, wondering where he was now and hoping he was well. You hoped he was in love and happy, that he'd forgotten all about you. He deserved all the best things that love could grant a person. You wanted that for him. You wanted someone who had the capacity for the kind of love he wanted to give.

Repeating the last few lines again, the next few thoughts came pouring out of you, the words carrying a bittersweet taste to them.

"Your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my Champagne problems."

The song tapered off soon after that, and you realized there was nothing left in you to say. You felt lighter afterwards, as if pushing some of those long-forgotten memories out of you and onto the grand piano eased the weight you'd been carrying around on your shoulders for the last eighteen months. Quickly stopping the recording, you set a reminder on your phone to listen to it tomorrow and write down everything you'd said. The recording itself was lengthy, long pauses stretching between lyrics as you worked through your memories and attempted to vocalize them. Hopefully something was there to actually mold into verses and a chorus, if not, it was a rather odd but surprisingly satisfying therapy session.

Gathering your things into the bag at your feet, you stood up from the piano, stretching your arms above your head. It was easy to get lost in a good melody, but your poor body always paid the price if you spent too much time bent over a guitar or piano.

It was as you stretched that you realized someone was at the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching as you shouldered your bag and slipped your shoes back on your socked feet. He didn't say anything as you walked over to him, just stepped out of the way so you could walk out of the studio. Harry normally wasn't this quiet, in fact, he could be quite the chatterbox if the mood struck him. But his silence told you he'd probably heard more of your session than you would've liked. Because one thing Harry liked to do in all his chattering was pepper you with questions about yourself, which was annoying since you were constantly trying to have him not get to know you.

"Coffee?" was all he said as you walked toward the elevator at the end of the hall. The sleeve of his patterned sweater brushed against your arm, and you resisted the urge to lean into him. He always wore the coziest clothes when in the studio, and it made you want to walk just a little bit closer to his side, for no other reason than the feel of soft material on your arm and not the person wearing them.

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

Harry qucikly pressed the button when you reached the elevator, and you couldn't help but laugh a little. In the time you'd spent not getting to know him, you discovered that he was the kind of person that just had to press the elevator buttons. It didn't matter how many people he was with, it was like he took joy in something as simple as getting to press a button and watch it light up beneath his finger. He'd actually speed-walked to get ahead of you a couple times just so he could press the down button. It was kind of annoying, and perhaps a little childish, but you'd surprisingly grown to find it endearing. A quirk of Harry's that just made him who he was.

The ride down the elevator was quiet, and it wasn't until you were out on the street that he finally spoke. "I'm thinking about getting a pet."

You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable questions about the song you'd been recording, and when they didn't come, your shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, though you were sure Harry noticed. "Really?"

"Yeah. All my friends are disgustingly in love," Harry said with a playful shudder. "I'm feeling like a third wheel most days, so I thought I would seek companionship of the furry variety. Wait, that came out wrong. I didn't mean—"

You chuckled at his stuttering, at the flush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks. "I know what you mean," you said, sparing him any more embarrassment. "So what are you thinking then? Dog? Cat? Hamster?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing," he said, quickly recovering from his chagrin. "I'm not sure I have the time necessary to devote to training a puppy, but I'm also worried about getting a cat and it absolutely hating me, and..."

You listened as Harry explained in great detail the pros and cons of each kind of domestic animal one could have. He spoke animatedly with his hands, looking at you with those big green eyes of his, as if to make sure you were following his train of thought.

You never planned on befriending Harry, and even now you weren't sure that whatever was going on between you was considered a friendship. You'd always been the type to keep to yourself, especially after what happened with your ex. You'd not only lost him after the break up, but friends too, friends who thought that what you did to your ex was despicable and reprehensible and not worth keeping a friendship over, picking sides when you hadn't realized there were any. It hurt to lose so many people in one fell swoop, and you decided soon after that you were better off alone. Except for your brothers of course, but all of you kept so busy that it was hard to keep track of one another on a good day.

Outside of them, you realized it was hard to hurt someone when there was no one around you to hurt.

But Harry was different. You'd seen him around the building where you worked on your songs—in the hallways, waiting for the elevator (after pushing the button, of course), at the vending machine, on your way out of the studio or while he was entering it to start his session. The first thing you noticed was that he was never alone. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The first thing you really noticed was his smile, how it lit up his entire face and showcased the most adorable dimples you'd ever seen. But since you refused to admit that, the first thing you noticed was that he was never alone.

Harry was always coming and going with one or two or sometimes three people around him. He was always engaged in some kind of conversation, his head always turned as he listened aptly to what his friend was saying. It seemed so odd to you that he was hardly ever by himself. It was like a foreign language to you, and you imagined your constant solitude felt the same to him.

"Anytime you want to weigh in here would be great."

"If you want a pet, get one," you said simply.

Harry rolled his eyes as he held open the door to the coffee shop a couple blocks down the street from the building where you both worked, as if he was expecting anything other than your usual direct way of speaking. "If you don't keep this conversation going, then I'm going to have to ask about that incredibly depressing song you were working on, so please, indulge me in the great pet debate of twenty-eighteen."

For the most part, Harry was a pretty easy going guy. He had no problem carrying a conversation, and knew when not to pry. As the months went by, though, he knew how to get you to talk, how to find trap doors in the fortified walls you kept around yourself before you even knew they were there. It would be frustrating if his questions didn't always come with an endearing smile.

So you shrugged, eager to steer clear of any topics regarding your past. "I don't know, I'm a little biased. I've always been a dog person. Buddy's my best friend."

"First of all, I'm offended by the fact that I am not your best friend, and second, since when do you have a dog?"

The conversation paused while you and Harry went up to the counter to order you coffees. Both of you went there enough that the staff knew what you liked—dirty chai for you and an americano for him. It also meant you didn't have to deal with the barista having a mini-freak out at the realization that Harry Styles was in their coffee house. People tended to interrupt your conversations with Harry regularly—on the street, in line for coffee, at the table—but he never seemed bothered by it. He always smiled and indulged in a couple minutes of conversation and the occasional picture before waving goodbye. He always apologized to you afterward, but after the first couple times it happened, you waved him off. None of it was actually his fault, and seeing him interact with his fans became something you actually enjoyed watching. And it was perhaps a very small reminder as to why you preferred to just write songs for other artists, not perform them. You didn't need that kind of attention. For Harry, he seemed to come alive like a flower in bloom.

You? You would probably just wilt.

When you and Harry sat down with your drinks, he raised his brows for you to continue. Wrapping your hands around your cup, you shrugged again. "I've had Buddy for about a year now."

"What kind of dog?"

"Mostly pitbull, I think. I found him in an alley behind a restaurant once, and I know what shelters do to pitbulls, so I adopted him."

You'd come to think of the whole thing as Buddy finding you.

"And you named him Buddy?"

"Yeah, I don't know, after Buddy Holly I guess." You'd grown up listening to classic rock because your brothers did, and the name just kind of made sense to you. And he was just so cute, he was your little buddy. Big buddy now, you supposed. You thought he deserved the cutest name for the cutest boy in your life.

The rest of your time in the coffee house was filled with chatter, mostly from Harry. He talked a little more about the Great Pet Debate, then about the project he and his team was working on. An album, though they were only just getting started seeing as Harry just came back from tour. He tried peppering you with the occasional question, knowing if he asked too many you'd clam up and shut down. It was almost like Harry knew that you were fighting getting to know him, but that it wasn't just him, it was everyone. He was patient with you for some reason, though, seemingly content to chip away at the brick walls around you. Even if all he had was a spoon.

"So...What were you working on at the studio?" Harry finally asked.

You knew it was coming, so answering didn't seem so daunting. "I'm not really sure. The melody had been in my head for days, and I finally decided to play around with it."

"A perfect non-answer from Y/n L/n, everyone," Harry said, though you knew he was joking. His eyes were crinkled with mirth as he hid behind his cup, his brows raising to give you a knowing look.

Nothing about your past was easy to talk about, so you just didn't. After your breakup, you didn't even tell your brothers the finer details, not wanting to relive it or face all their questions. It all brought you an overwhelming sense of shame and despair. But maybe there had been something cathartic about your session today and it left you feeling lighter and open because you found yourself sharing more with Harry.

"It...reminded of me and my ex, so I kind of just let it all out. I'm not even sure what I was doing constituted as songwriting, but," you looked down at your mug. "The melody dredged up some old memories, I guess."

"It sounded painful," Harry said, his voice taking on a soft, sincere tone.

You knew he meant well, but the sympathy made you skittish. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Right, of course," Harry said, catching on to your mood change. "Well, um, my friends and I are having a little get-together of sorts this Saturday. You should come."

"A party?"

"No. A get-together. Very different," Harry corrected.

It made sense, the last time Harry tried to invite you to a party his friend was throwing, you politely declined, claiming they weren't really your thing. They weren't, but it was more that having friends wasn't really your thing.

You wanted to say no again, but when you met Harry's eyes, something in you hesitated. His expression was open, earnest, like he would genuinely be upset if you said you wouldn't come. You didn't quite understand why he wanted to spend time with you so much. Maybe you felt a little bad for always pushing him away, or maybe you were actually warming up to him.

"I, um...that might be fun," you said, not sure if it was nerves or excitement swimming in your belly.

The way Harry's face lit up made saying you would come worth it.

After a few more minutes at the coffee house, you and Harry went your separate ways, but not before he made you promise to join you on one of your morning walks with Buddy Holly. Something must've been in the air today, because you found yourself nodding before heading down the street away from him.

On your way home, you got a phone call from your oldest brother Evan. "Hey, Evan. How's life treating you in the Big Apple?"

"Just fine. It'd be a lot better if I got to see my kid sister more often. Are you still coming for Thanksgiving?"

Of your three brothers, Evan was the one who checked up on you the most. Perhaps that was the nature of being the oldest of four, but he had always been the most responsible, the one to keep you and your other brothers in line. Well, mostly your other brothers. But Evan had always looked out for you. He was the only one you told at length about your breakup. You'd confided in him all your life, and he was coincidentally the only one of your brothers you could count on not to go and beat up on your ex or his family.

"Flight's booked and everything," you told him. "Not sure if I can swing a trip to the lake house, though."

Despite your less than ideal upbringing, you and your brothers had all done pretty well for yourselves. No thanks to your parents, seeing as you all shared a dad who never liked to be with the same woman twice. But you and your brothers all stuck together through thick and thin, supporting and celebrating and sticking together despite the differing parentage between the four of you. And now you were all scattered, your brothers Andrew and Hayden were professional athletes and Evan was a bigshot lawyer. Once you moved out of your hometown, you really only saw your brothers for holidays. And the occasional surprise visit from Andrew, though that hadn't happened in a while.

"That's okay," Evan said. "Next time."

"Next time," you agreed. Then, "How's the family?"

"Good. Sammy's gotten so big. And Laura's already showing."

You grinned as you imagined Evan's family. He deserved a happy ending with a loving family after raising you and the idiots you called brothers. "Another team member for the family football game."

"Speaking of the family football game," Evan said, and you mentally cursed yourself. "Laura's been dying to know if she should set an extra spot at the table."

Immediately, your mind went to Harry, but you quickly whisked that thought away. "Nope. Unless Hayden's got a new girlfriend."

"Really? No one?"

You narrowed your eyes even though Evan couldn't see your expression. "Why are you fishing? Gossip is Andy's thing."

"What? I'm not fishing!" Evan spluttered, but you just scoffed and waited. Evan might've been a shark in the courtroom, but he'd always been terrible at lying to you. "Fine. Laura was reading one of her gossip magazines, and you know I don't pay attention to those, but you know, I might have seen someone who looks an awful lot like you pictured alongside a former boy band member."

Well, shit. You knew that was a reality of being Harry's acquaintance, but you'd always done your best to not pay any attention to it. So far it had done a good job, but now it was coming to bite you in the ass.

"It's nothing, Evan. He's an artist. I'm a songwriter. We work in the same building," you said.

"Fine! Fine," Evan said, and you could just picture him holding his hands up in surrender the way he'd done since you were a teenager. "I just thought I'd ask now and try to soften the blow. I'll just leave you to the wolves."

"Damn you, Evan," you muttered. Evan was the easy brother. It was Andrew and Hayden you had to look out for. They would interrogate you relentlessly, or worse, squeeze the life out of you until you caved. Sighing deeply through your nose, you said, "I will ask if Harry has plans for that weekend. And that is it."

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'll talk to you later."

"You love me!" Evan called just before hanging up.

The call ended just as you pulled up to your apartment. You sat back with a huff, marveling at the strings your brother managed to pull from thousands of miles away. But deep down, you knew Evan was just looking out for you. After everything that happened eighteen months ago, he'd been keeping a close eye. As close an eye as he could all the way from New York. But that was how things worked between you and your brothers. You all looked out for each other, and your older brothers acted as personal security guards to any and everyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. It was both endearing and very annoying.

Very annoying. Now you had to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. Evan was so going to get it.

*.*

On Saturday, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror longer than you normally would've. Harry had used the term "get-together" as a means to ease your nerves, but now that the dreaded day had come, you realized you weren't sure what that meant in terms of dress code. Was this thing laid-back? What if casual still meant dressy to Harry and his friends? Harry usually walked around the studio in jeans and faded t-shirts, but he was still a celebrity. He could see this as an opportunity to dress up.

You looked at all the clothes spread out in your room. You'd changed an embarrassing amount of times now, but nothing seemed fitting for the occasion. I could always text him, you thought, biting your nail as you surveyed the tornado of clothes around you. Harry had given you your number earlier this week so he could text you his address. You hadn't wanted to, as it would open the flood gates for conversation outside the studio, but you eventually gave it up when he stared blankly at you after offering your email as an alternative.

Before you could think too long about it, you picked up your phone and sent a quick text. Before you even had a chance to set it down, Harry sent a reply.

Harry S: We're just chilling at my house. Dress as comfortably as you'd like :))

Well, that wasn't helpful at all, you thought, but didn't say to Harry. You went back to rummaging through your pile of clothes, creating a spot for Buddy when he ambled into your bedroom from the kitchen. In the end, you settled on something simple: jeans, platform shoes, and a colorful fleece jacket over a plain shirt. It felt silly to have wasted so much time on your wardrobe when all you were doing was going to see Harry. And his friends. And that was...intimidating.

The anxiety of meeting Harry's friends, of meeting anyone new, crept through you. You didn't want to go and face the inevitability of disappointing them. Your track record with friends was pretty abysmal. But you found yourself kissing Buddy's head and promising you wouldn't be gone long, and then you were getting in your car and plugging in the address Harry had given you.

The music playing in your car calmed you some. Etta James' voice was both familiar and comfortable, welcome feelings as you pulled up to Harry's house. House was a bit of an understatement, though. Maybe a villa, or an estate. The LA version of those sprawling castles that were all over Europe. Your shoulders were tense as you cruised up the long driveway, though your anxiety eased a bit when you saw that had seen about as much life and mileage parked up front as yours did.

Music was playing inside the house, you could hear the trill of soft guitar and the low hum of a male voice from outside, and you worried if anyone would be able to hear you as you knocked on the door. Thankfully, you only stood on Harry's doorstep for a minute or two, then Harry's familiar grin greeted you.

"You made it!" Harry said, pulling you over the threshold and in for a quick side hug. He looked down at you for a moment, his cheeks flushed and green eyes bright, perhaps from drinking. He shook his head a little before pulling you further into the house. "Come in, come in, everyone is just through here."

Harry led you further into his home, giving you a chance to look around. Despite the grandeur of the outside, Harry's house was actually quite cozy and inviting. Everything was in warm tones, and potted plants and bookshelves piled high with a mix of books and records with titles you couldn't read from this distance. His house looked actually lived in, which couldn't be said for some of the other celebrity homes you'd been in. It didn't happen often as you preferred to work alone, but you occasionally dabbled in writing sessions with other artists. Their homes looked much more modern, and much more cold, than Harry's did.

"My home in London is much smaller," Harry said, noticing your craned neck. Then he shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "But I liked the look of this place. It reminded me of a house I go to in Italy most summers."

"It's beautiful," you said. "I've always wanted to go to Italy."

"You've never been?"

You shook your head, admiring the arch leading into an open kitchen. "I was supposed to go for—"

For my birthday, you couldn't bring yourself to say. Gavin had planned a summer trip to Italy for your birthday, but that never happened. You surprised yourself by revealing that much, and by the way Harry's eyes lit up, you'd taken him by surprise too.

But he didn't press you to finish your thought. He just smiled and led you further into the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

Harry talked while he fixed up your drink. He'd tried to persuade you to take a shot of tequila with him, his eyebrows wiggling up and down, a look on his face that you'd seen one too many times on your brothers when they were trying to stir up trouble. You declined with a laugh, opting for a glass of wine instead. Maybe a boring choice, Harry definitely thought so as he teased by saying, "Booooring!" but you needed to be sharp, and tequila tended to have the opposite effect, so red wine it was.

"Everyone's through here. I hope you like games because Kid brought a new one over and everyone has become quite invested."

Games? Is that what Harry Styles did on his evenings off? Play board games with his friends? Before you could ask, Harry led you into his living room, where everyone was in fact sitting around a rather spacious coffee table, a board game and playing cards spread out around it. It was a small group of about five or six. For some reason you expected more people, even though Harry said otherwise. They were all talking amongst themselves, talking strategy, you presumed, as you recognized the game as one of those territory-winning ones.

All the talking stopped, however, when Harry introduced you to the group.

You felt their eyes on you, judging, picking you apart where you stood. You began to curl in on yourself, wilting at the attention. Involuntarily, you took a step back, but Harry's hand was on your lower back, warm and comforting against you. You should've pulled away, but you didn't, thankful for at least some kind of familiarity among all the new.

It had been so long since you'd had to meet new people in a non-professional setting. You'd met with producers and artists and other industry people all the time, but there was always a wall of professionalism between you and them. You knew how to navigate that space with ease, but here, where people were sitting on pillows and holding playing cards, where you stood as the outlier among what was clearly a tight-knit group, you felt very much like a fish out of water. A fish in space.

"H—Hello," you managed to say, giving everyone a small wave.

One person got up. A young woman with short brown hair, winged eyeliner marking the corners of her eyes. Her smile was surprisingly warm, but what had your eyes widening even more was when she pulled you in for a hug, squeezing tight.

"I'm Sylvia," she said. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?"

You probably shouldn't have said that, but you weren't expecting such a warm welcome.

"Harry talks about you constantly. I swear sometimes he purposely keeps you from us."

"That is not—That is not true," Harry said, speaking to you for a moment. He sounded serious, but his eyes were filled with amusement as if he was used to Sylvia's teasing.

Everyone else introduced themselves, and you tried to keep a smile on your face as you committed their names to memory. They were all part of Harry's "team" except for Sylvia—writers, producers, musicians. "And you?" you asked her as she pulled you down to sit next to her. Sylvia had insisted you be on her team while you learned how to play. She seemed nice, eager to get to know you, but you didn't trust it. Not yet.

"I'm a full-time mom most days, and a part-time life coach to this one," Sylvia joked. She seemed too young to be a mother, but you supposed they came in all shapes and sizes. "But I'm Harry's nutritionist. And friend when he's not being a pain in the ass."

There was a wry grin on the young woman's face that told you she was fond of Harry, and fond of teasing him, if said grin grew when Harry said, "Hey," was anything to go by. It eased your mind a bit, her kindness and obvious fondness for Harry. She spoke animatedly as she caught you up on the rules of the game and gossip from her yoga class. "They're all in love with that one, of course. Can't take him anywhere," she said with a nod in Harry's direction.

When you agreed to join Harry tonight, you figured you would spend your time with him. But Sylvia kept you occupied most of the evening, and he and his friends were rather invested in the game. You were content to watch, enjoying the playful bickering and shouts of surprise and celebration. It was interesting to see how they all interacted with each other. Harry and his friends sat and drank around his coffee table while you nursed your drink, observing with the sweet feeling of nostalgia swimming through your veins.

"Y/n?"

You jumped in your spot on the floor, your wine sloshing around in your glass a little. Thankfully, nothing poured out. You would've been mortified if you'd spilled red wine all over Harry's most likely exorbitantly expensive carpet.

Eyes flicking to a man with short blond hair, you said, "Sorry?"

Kid, you were pretty sure his name was, asked his question again. "Did you first start writing here in LA?"

"Uh...no. Nashville, actually," you said. "I lived in Nashville for a while before moving out here. But I...grew up in a small town just outside."

"You never told me that," Harry said, sounding both intrigued and a little hurt that you'd never shared that with him before.

Emboldened by your near-empty glass, you said, "You never asked."

That earned a few chuckles and a raised brow from Harry as if he'd just accepted a challenge you hadn't meant to create. But you read that look in his eyes with ease. Any look was quite easy to read from Harry. He was expressive, an open book. He was going to take this as an opportunity to ask you all the questions he'd been witholding.

Throwing back the rest of your wine, you avoided his eye and ignored the excited flip in your belly.

*.*

If it wasn't for your dog, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to keep up with Harry Styles and his impossibly long gait.

He'd kept to his word, insisting that he join you on one of your walks with Buddy Holly. It wasn't until a few days after you went to his house for the first time, but one morning before you usually headed into the studio, he texted and asked if he could join you for your morning walk with your dog. It took some convincing, which really only meant a series of uninterrupted texts until you finally relented.

Buddy took to Harry immediately, of course, though that wasn't a surprise, seeing as your dog was friendly with everyone. But it meant a lot to you that he seemed to like Harry so much. Buddy was a rescue, and you couldn't imagine the awful things he'd been through before you'd given him a proper home.

Now he walked on the sidewalk excitedly, pulling you on his leash as his stubby tail waved around wildly. Harry walked beside you, his curly hair pulled back with a little black claw clip, some of it sticking up in a cute tuft. As he walked beside you, you took the opportunity to study him. There was a little scruff on his cheeks and jaw, creeping down the nape of his neck. His jaw was strong and angular, his cheekbones sharp. Harry really was beautiful. You understood why so many people went so crazy for him.

"See anything you like?"

Warmth flushed your cheeks as you quickly looked ahead, even if the damage was already done. Harry rarely, if ever, caught you staring at him, mostly because it didn't happen often. But in the last few weeks, you'd found yourself admiring him more and more. The movements he made with his hand as he told a story, the mischievous glint in his eye when he made you laugh, the way his arms moved beneath his shirt, how his lips curled around a smile. You cataloged each mannerism, each vocal inflection, and after just a few weeks following that night at his house with his friends, you felt like you knew him quite well.

Shrugging, you feigned nonchalance as your eyes darted back to Buddy, who had stopped to sniff a tree.

You could feel Harry's gaze on you, but you tried not to squirm. His gaze pricked your skin, making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't have been feeling. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating, and you didn't like how much you were warming up to him.

Used to your wordless answers, Harry moved on. "You're making me rethink my decision to get a cat."

"You decided, then?"

"I think I'm more of cat person," Harry said. "Well that, and I think I've found the one, but I'm worried about all the traveling."

"It can stay with me," you said, eyes widening when you did. But it was true, you realized. You were close enough to Harry to promise that kind of thing.

"Well, in that case," Harry said, and you finally looked over to him.

His grin was wide as he looked down at you, and though you couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you knew they were more than likely squinted with mirth. You liked that smile, you realized. It was uninhibited, full of warmth and good intentions. You wanted to trust it, to give in to the friendship Harry was offering.

But you couldn't. Harry didn't deserve the abysmal companionship you offered in return, and you felt bad for leading him along when you knew you'd eventually fuck things up. You always did.

Your phone buzzing thankfully pulled you away from your thoughts. Looking at it, you saw a text from your brother, Hayden. You think Laura will be cool with a few football players in her house for Thanksgiving? it said, and you shook your head as you typed a quick reply, a small grin spreading across your face.

Hayden was only going to be in town the day of Thanksgiving, as he had a game the day after. You didn't think he would make it at all, seeing how full his schedule usually was, but he managed to squeeze it in. Apparently his game wasn't too far from Evan's house. As long as he, and his teammates now, didn't drink too much, they would be just fine.

You: I don't think so. Laura might put y'all to work around the house though.

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

Hayden: Because I can sit you next to one of my teammates.

Hayden: I take that back. Forget I said that. No teammate of mine is going near my sister.

Rolling your eyes, you stuffed your phone in your back pocket. Harry was looking at you with a curious gaze, and you scrambled to explain yourself. "My brother," you said. "Apparently he's inviting some of his football buddies to Thanksgiving this year."

"Does he play at university?" Harry asked. You could almost hear the eagerness in his voice at the opportunity to learn more about you, and while sharing in general made you squirm, your brothers were fairly easy to talk about.

"He did. He's in the NFL now."

"Oh nice You must be—Wait what's his name?"

"Hayden?"

Harry stopped walking for a moment. When you tried to stop too, Buddy protested, tugging the leash, and the wrist you had wrapped around it pulled uncomfortably. Murmuring a quick apology, Harry kept walking, keeping pace with your energetic puppy.

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

You nodded. "I'm guessing you've heard of him then?"

A bark of laughter slipped from Harry's lips. You'd never seen him so caught off guard before. It was strange, but also a relief to know that someone as steady as Harry wasn't so unflappable all the time.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he said, "I think everyone has heard of him. Any other famous brothers I should know about?"

"I don't know how you quantify fame, but my other brother is in the NHL. He plays for a team on the east coast."

Andrew was the youngest of your family. Despite that, he still considered himself your older brother, which had always been annoying growing up, especially when you were taller than him for a few years. He was rather sweet for someone so aggressive on the ice. He spent a lot of time with his mom, but was still close to you, Evan, and Hayden. It was hard not to be when you all shared the same deadbeat dad.

Outside of Evan, you probably talked to Andrew the most. You were the closest in age and grew up going to school together, and while his main focus was hockey, whenever he was in town, he'd go with you to concerts to see whatever indie band you were into or treat you to tickets to a show at the arena he played for.

"You have a third, right?" Harry asked, and you weren't even surprised that he remembered even though you were sure you'd only mentioned it once or twice.

"Evan. He's a lawyer in New York, but he lives in Connecticut with his wife and daughter," you said.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. You were looping back around on the trail, heading back to the park entrance where you'd met Harry this morning. Evan would pester you about it until you did, or worse, get Hayden and Andrew involved. You just had to throw it out there, be as casual as possible. Easy. You were all about being casual.

"So, um, he—Evan—he, um, said if I wanted I could invite a friend to Thanksgiving. If I wanted to."

"Oh yeah?" You weren't looking at him, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Swallowing thickly as you willed your cheeks not to flush, you continued to look at Buddy as you spoke. "You probably already have plans, but I just thought I would ask if you wanted to come. Laura, Evan's wife, is a great cook, and it's usually pretty low-key until football gets turned on. But no offensive aunts or uncles or anything like that. Just us."

That was definitely too many words, but the amused look in Harry's eyes didn't feel antagonizing. "I would love to, but um, I already promised my mum I would go home that week."

"Oh." You didn't mean to sound disappointed. It was a good thing that Harry was going home to see his mother. And him meeting your brothers for the first time all at once probably would've scared him out of talking to you in the studio, so really it was for the best. It was for the best. "That's okay. You must be excited to go home. How long has it been?"

"London? Not too long, but I'm headed back to Manchester, and my mum has not been shy in letting me know that it's been too long since..."

You listened to Harry the rest of the walk back, trying to fight off the disappointment gnawing inside you that he'd said no. You didn't want that feeling in you. You wanted to be indifferent. It's for the best. You repeated it over and over until you convinced yourself it was true.

*.*

"You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches. And I couldn't give a reason, Champagne problems."

You scribbled in your notebook, crossing out words from the original recording and replacing them with better ones. You hadn't planned to go back to this song. After recording it on your phone, you figured it wouldn't see the light of day again. But something kept bringing you back to it. So you worked on it between other projects, playing around with the lyrics and melody in small doses so that the past wouldn't overwhelm you.

Guilt seeped into your bones as you recalled what happened eighteen, almost nineteen, months ago. Sometimes you wished you could forget everything you'd done, but other times you decided being forced to remember was part of your penance for causing so much pain. Gavin was a good man. He was so kind and so smart, he didn't have a cruel bone in his body. And you'd taken his goodness, you'd welcomed all his kindness, and crushed it in your hands.

Wiping away a tear, you shut your notebook definitively. Your session in the studio was far from over, but you were done for the day.

On your way out, you kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your watery eyes. You could feel the tears building, and you hoped you could at least make it to your car before you turned into a mess. It was so hard sometimes. Some days you felt great. You would write good songs, take Buddy for a walk and teach him a new trick, you would get coffee with Harry and laugh, and everything would be fine. But then there were days where the mere thought of the past sent you careening off course, leaving you with nothing but the intrusive thoughts you thought you'd learned how to keep at bay.

Today happened to be one of those days, and you hoped you could escape and wallow in self-pity unnoticed. But before you could even make it to the elevator, you bumped into something solid and warm. Arms wrapped around you to hold you steady before you could spring back, and against your better judgment, you looked up, an apology poised on your lips.

"Y/n, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You should've known that you would be unlucky enough to run into Harry on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head and stepped out of his grasp, though that didn't make you feel any better. "I'm fine."

"You can talk to me," Harry insisted. His brows furrowed with concern, but he didn't come any closer. There was a bag slung over his shoulder and a hat covering up his hair, with only a few stray curls sticking out beneath it. He looked like he was just going into the studio for a session.

"I'm fine, I promise," you lied, not wanting to be the reason he was late for studio time. "I'm just leaving for the day."

You tried to step around Harry, but his hands fell down on your shoulders. His gaze burned, but you couldn't make yourself look him in the eye. You knew the moment you saw the sympathy swimming in them you'd burst into tears.

"Please let me go," you said, but it came out as more of a squeak, your voice breaking on the last word.

To your surprise, Harry did, and even though that was what you'd asked for, what you wanted, you somehow felt worse. Shuffling around him, you mumbled a quick goodbye and bypassed the elevator, not wanting to wait awkwardly for it to come up while he was still in the hall. It wasn't until you finally got in your car that you let everything out, all the guilt and loneliness and self-loathing that you kept bottled up regularly.

So often you were able to pretend the past didn't exist. But then there were days where you were almost slapped in the face by the consequences of your actions. Negative thoughts followed you all the way home and into your bed. Not even hiding under the covers kept you from feeling everything all at once. Your mind spun as you thought of Gavin, of his elated grin crumpling into a look of betrayal as you told him you were ending it.

You remembered every detail from that night. The brand of Champagne Gavin bought for the would-be occasion, the woodsy cologne he wore, the looks on his friends' and family's faces as you hurried down the stairs to leave the party, unable to bear their shame and disapproval, or the heart you'd broken on the landing in his family's mansion.

You didn't know he was going to propose until mere moments before it happened. You had only been seeing Gavin for a few months, and things were good. He made you happy, and you liked having someone to go through life with. He liked to shower you with expensive gifts, for no other reason than to show you he cared and because he could. You didn't have the same kind of wealth he or his family did, not even with the substantial amount of money you made as a successful songwriter. But you'd write him poems and leave them places you knew he'd find them and looped your arm through his at company parties. Things were good.

Every year, Gavin's family hosted a Christmas party, and last year was the first time you'd been invited. You hadn't wanted to go, mostly because in the two weeks leading up to the party, you realized you weren't in the same place Gavin was emotionally, and you weren't sure you ever would be. But Gavin insisted, promising it would be fun and he wouldn't abandon you to his family, who had been nothing but cold since the moment he'd introduced them to you. So you went, sipping on Champagne in a glass made of crystal and wondering if the guilty pit at the bottom of your stomach would ever stop growing.

It was a couple hours into the party when you'd stumbled on a conversation between Gavin's mother and sister, one that made your blood run cold with dread.

"Did Gav really ask you for your ring?" his sister asked.

His mother nodded gravely. "He wants to do it tonight."

"What? That's ridiculous! They've barely been together a year!"

"I'm sure she would make a lovely bride, she's beautiful, I'll give her that," his mother conceded, but you could hear the disdain in her voice loud and clear. "It's just a shame that she's—"

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

"What? She is! She's a total basket case, and everyone can see it but him. She'll never make him happy. How could she? Putting a ring on it doesn't change a thing. Gavin would have a psych patient, not a wife. He deserves better."

The rest of the night was a blur, but you knew you couldn't wait. You didn't want to break up with Gavin on the night of his family's Christmas party, but if he was going to propose, you couldn't let him. The hurt would be so much worse if you had to slide the ring off your finger a week or two after the proposal.

Gavin called you for weeks afterward, begging you to help him understand. His family did too, and his friends, people you considered friends as well, but it was clear once there was a line drawn in the sand where everyone stood, and they didn't have any trouble letting you know how horrible you were for doing what you did. Sometimes when you let yourself get angry, you wondered why Gavin's mother and sister, or any of them really, were so aggressive about your break up. They'd never wanted you to be with him in the first place, and even though they'd gotten their wish, they still called you a heartless monster.

But above all that, Gavin's messages made the deepest cut. He sounded so devastated in each voicemail. And at first, all he wanted was to talk, to somehow work it all out as if it was one big misunderstanding. I know my family can be a lot, but I love you so much, he'd said in a text. We can go to Italy like we'd planned. Elope. Buy a little cottage and just start a new life somewhere else. Please, Y/n. Talk to me. I love you.

Messages like those were the toughest pills to swallow. You knew Gavin loved you, you never doubted that for a moment. The problem was you didn't feel the same. You didn't know why. You cared for Gavin a lot, and in the beginning, you had all those giddy, initial relationship feelings, but they never developed beyond that. And when you noticed Gavin's feelings growing more and more each day while yours didn't, you started to panic.

But it was when those messages turned angry, hateful even, that hurt the most. It was what you deserved after what you'd done, but to know that you'd turned one of the gentlest souls you knew into a spiteful one killed you almost as much as stopping him from getting down on one knee had.

In the midst of all your crying and hyperventilating, your phone buzzed. Wiping your eyes and nose, you lifted your phone to your face, squinting at the bright light.

Harry S: I know you probably want space, but I'm here for you xx

You shouldn't be, was your first thought, but all you texted back was, Just a bad day that's all.

Harry's response was almost immediate, as if he was waiting around for your reply.

Harry S: Well, if you ever need a friend, you know where to find me :))

You sighed, feeling another wave of tears overwhelm you. The pressure of friendship weighed heavily on your chest. All you could offer was disappointment, and you couldn't stomach the thought of letting someone like Harry down. He was too good a person to be your friend. All you could offer him was disappointment and pain. You were toxic, and better off left alone.

You: We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend so just leave me alone.

*.*

Weeks went by and you were positively miserable. Thanksgiving came and went, and even your brothers could sense not to pry about your sour mood. Evan tried to get you alone, but you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain how you'd fucked things up so royally. Again. You didn't want his sympathy, or Hayden's promise to fight anyone who hurt you, or Andrew's cheesy jokes to lift your spirits. What you wanted had been all the way in England and had been giving you the cold shoulder. Just like you'd asked.

Harry stopped saying hi to you at the studio, which hurt more than you thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't known him very long, but seeing him in the hallway and watching him purposely avoid you felt awful. You only had yourself to blame, but you thought it was better to let him down early on than further down the line. You couldn't have another Gavin situation on your hands.

But this felt entirely different. Even though you'd only spoken to Harry for a month, his absence from your life was more poignant than you expected it to be. When you ended things with Gavin, you felt guilty for hurting him, but ultimately, there was a sense of relief that you weren't leading him on, that crushing weight of his family's disapproval on your chest lifted. Breaking up with Gavin was hard, but it was the right thing to do for you, there was no doubt in your mind about that.

But this thing with Harry...you'd pushed him away when you were feeling vulnerable. A preemptive measure for the both of you, but there was no relief, no justifiable sense of rightness in your gut in the days following.

Part of you wanted to reach out to him and apologize, but you worried he hated you now and didn't know how to bridge the gap you created between the two of you.

Opportunity struck when you overheard a conversation between Harry and...Mitch. you were pretty sure that was Mitch from that night at Harry's house. It was about a week after you came back from your brother's house, and all three of them were constantly calling or texting despite their busy schedules. You wouldn't have put it past any of them to have set up times to routinely check in on you. It warmed your heart some, but nothing would feel right until you fixed things with Harry. Pushing him away had been a mistake, you saw that now. You'd done it in a moment when you were at your lowest, and that wasn't fair to either of you.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Mitch. "I didn't even think to ask if you were allergic before adopting a cat. I feel like an idiot now."

So he went ahead with his plan to get a pet, then. The thought made you smile, but you held it in. You were pressed into the corner of the elevator up to the studio. Harry was definitely aware of your presence, but he hadn't acknowledged you. Mitch gave you an awkward wave, but that was somehow worse.

"No worries, man," Mitch said now, stepping out of the elevator with Harry. He was in a white t-shirt and a light brown cardigan today, his curly brown hair looking beautifully windswept. You refused to think about the current state of your hair, which was hiding beneath a blue baseball cap. "I'll just have to—"

You never found out what Mitch would have to do because they rounded a corner of the hallway, leaving you alone outside the elevator. Quickly scurrying into your usual studio, you sat down at the grand piano, letting the smooth keys cool your sweaty palms. You felt breathless, but it wasn't the usual anxiety-ridden breathlessness you were used to. This felt different, your heart speeding up at the thought of Harry's broad shoulders beneath his sweater.

"Pull yourself together, Y/n," you told yourself.

The damage was done—once again, at your hands, but you couldn't help that right this second. Right now you had work to do.

The next day, you did something you didn't normally do—venture outside of your studio. Since working in the building, you'd never thought to explore the other rooms, to introduce yourself or make friends the way Harry had with you. As you walked down the long hallway of closed and half-open doors, you wondered who was behind them, what kind of projects were being worked on right now.

Most importantly, you wanted to know which door Harry sat behind.

After a day of writing, of trying to lean into more positive feelings, the small hope you had for a brighter future. You left the studio feeling lighter after another introspective session. There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, both of these things can be true, you'd written, forming your thoughts around a melody that was both somber and hopeful. That moment when you'd pushed Harry away was the lowest you'd felt in a while, but you didn't want to feel that way anymore. All Harry had been asking for was friendship. You could do friendship, in fact, you craved it.

So now you were trying to make things right with Harry, or at least apologize for your rude text. He'd only ever been incredibly kind to you, and you'd treated him like garbage.

You came across a door that was partially open, laughter filtering out and reaching you in the hallway. Harry's voice was mixed among them, and hearing him laugh filled you with butterflies. Going to his studio suddenly felt like a mistake. You didn't want to bring down his mood, especially if it would affect his writing for the day.

But you finally worked up the courage to knock on the open door. You'd already made it this far. The knock immediately sobered up everyone inside the studio, and you waited outside with your gift bag clutched in your hands. One of Harry's friends appeared, eyes widening when he saw you there.

"Y/n," he said. "It's good to see you."

You couldn't tell if he was pleased to see you or not, and nerves slowly began to creep in.

"I—I won't take up too much of your time, I know y'all are probably busy," you said. "I just, um, could you give this to Harry, please?"

You shoved the bag in the man's direction, forcing him to take it. "You can come in. He's just inside—"

"No, it's okay. I should probably get back to it. So, uh, see you."

You turned and fled, heat flooding your cheeks. Honestly, you were surprised you made it that far. You figured your courage would fizzle out before knocking on the studio door.

Settling back in your studio, you pulled out your journal and phone out of your bag, and opened up to a fresh page to work on a new song. On the way into work this morning, your agent pitched you an opportunity to write for an up-and-coming artist. "Something light, Y/n," she'd said, knowing you'd been writing mostly sad, break-up songs recently. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out, but at least try. You've always liked to challenge yourself."

So you were putting away the Champagne problems for now and channeling your happiest thoughts. You even brought your computer to stream romantic comedies while you worked for some additional inspiration.

You were halfway through When Harry met Sally when that inspiration finally struck. Lighter, happier words finally filled your journal, a rare, but not completely uncommon occurrence. You'd written love songs in the past, both before and while you were with Gavin. But surprisingly, Gavin wasn't who came to mind, nor was it the characters in the movie on your computer.

You thought of Harry's smile, his flushed cheeks after he'd had a couple drinks, his green eyes that seemed to sparkle when he laughed. Did you have a crush on him? You weren't entirely sure, maybe you just admired his goodness. And, okay fine, his unfair amount of good looks too. But you tried not to focus too long on who exactly inspired you, just on making sure the words kept flowing onto the page.

Perhaps you should've expected Harry to stop by, but you hadn't. His voice startled you, your eyes having been glued to the screen of your computer as the final scene of Roman Holiday played out in front of you. It had always been one of your favorites, and you decided that a brain break was needed as the final third of the film rolled around.

"What's this?"

No matter how many times you'd seen it, the ending never failed to bring tears to your eyes. Seeing the glisten of tears in Gregory Peck's eyes as he stared longingly at Audrey Hepburn's, knowing they loved each other but could never be together was heartbreaking. It had been the most tragic thing you'd ever experienced when you first watched it as a girl, and it hadn't even happened to you.

It was those tears now that you wiped away, a warmth creeping up your cheeks because this was the second time Harry had caught you crying. How embarrassing.

Looking up, you saw the gift bag in one hand, the other in his pocket as he stared at you blankly. No warmth or his usual smile, but he wasn't glaring at you, either. He just looked indifferent, and that didn't sit well with you at all.

"I...I overheard you and Mitch talking about your cat and his allergies, and I'd heard of this stuff that you can use on your pets to help people who are allergic to animals."

You'd gone out and bought it after leaving the studio the day you'd overheard the conversation between Mitch and Harry. It was your version of an olive branch, a way to express your guilt after taking Harry's friendship and throwing it in his face. You were his friend, and you wanted him to know it.

It probably seemed silly to hide behind a gift instead of saying something, considering your profession. But confrontation was almost as terrifying as love was, it was part of the reason why you only wrote songs and didn't perform them.

Harry scoffed, and it looked like he couldn't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes. "No, I know what this is, I'm asking why you gave it to me. Or not me, to my friend and then scurried back over here."

"I'm sorry about that, about everything," you said, shutting your laptop and shifting in your chair. "I was...I haven't been in the best place for some time now. It's not an excuse for how I treated you that day. You caught me in a bad moment and I lashed out."

"Thank you for apologizing," he said, his voice cool and even. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at you. "Do you want to grab coffee? Maybe we can talk?"

The thought of being open and honest in the way that he was suggesting was daunting, but Harry deserved your honesty. "Sure. Let me just pack up my things."

Harry waited for you by the door as you packed your bag, jotting a couple notes down in your journal before putting it away. Your hands shook a little as you approached him, excitement swelling in your belly despite the anxiety you felt at the prospect of having to talk about things you preferred to leave in the recesses of your mind. But it felt good to see Harry again, to walk beside him and head to your favorite coffee house.

Neither of you said anything on the short walk over, and even after you placed your orders, you remained quiet. When your name was called out alongside Harry's to grab your drinks, you knew it was time to find a table, but you stayed rooted to your spot in front of the counter.

It was Larissa. Gavin's sister. She was standing next to the other end of the counter where baristas called out and dropped off orders. There was a moment when she didn't see you, and you thought you could make a break for it, even if that meant leaving Harry high and dry. But even if you wanted to, you were frozen in place, and when Larissa's gaze finally landed on you, you felt her glare even from a short distance.

"Y/n?" Harry asked, both drinks in his hands. "What's—"

"Y/n! How good to see you!"

Larissa's kind smile was anything but. You'd never trusted Gavin's sister. From the moment you met her, you knew to be wary of her, and after everything that happened, you were sure nothing good was going to come out of this interaction.

"H—Hi, Larissa. How are you?" you said, trying your best not to look at Harry, who had a quizzical look on his face.

"Oh, I'm just fabulous. I've just spent the last year healing my brother's broken heart, which you broke like it was nothing," Larissa said. "He's great, by the way. Finally came to his senses and realized what a God-awful mess you were. He realized all of us were better off without you."

Then, before you could even make sense of what was happening, a rush of cold washed over you. At first, you thought it was merely a visceral reaction to the confrontation, but Harry's, "What the fuck?" made you think twice.

Looking down, you realized Larissa had poured her drink on your sweater. Shock left you blinking at Gavin's sister, tears welling in your eyes. With shaking hands, you held the ruined sweater in your hands, then back to Larissa. "Wh—Why—"

"That's for my brother, slut."

"That's enough," Harry said, voice harder and colder than you'd ever heard him before. Even when he was upset with you at the studio, he never sounded this angry. Gently gripping your elbow, he turned you around. You hardly noticed the flashing of cameras aimed in your direction. All you could really process was Larissa's smirk and the iced coffee dripping off you onto the coffee house's floor.

When you were finally outside and a block down the road, Harry pulled you down an alley where you could have a moment of privacy. He pulled his sweater over his head and offered it to you in a bundle. You quietly murmured your thanks and took it from him, slipping it over your head. The plain black sweater was warm and smelled like him—like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It would've been the kind of thing to flood your senses if shame hadn't currently encompassed every fiber of your being.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said when you felt like you could speak without your voice trembling.

"You don't have to apologize for what happened, Y/n," Harry said. He gently rested his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You couldn't look him in the eye, not while your iced coffee-ridden sweater was now ruining his, not while he kept looking at you with such pity. You could feel it down to your toes, and it made you want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed. But Harry deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved to know who he associated himself with.

"I should explain—"

"You don't have to," Harry insisted.

"I want to," you said, believing the words as you said them. You weren't sure what you would've done if Harry hadn't been with you a few minutes ago. His brows were still furrowed with concern, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. His sweater layered over yours created a pretty thick barrier, but you could feel his touch as if he was caressing your skin. "We can, um, we can go back to my place."

Thankfully, Harry didn't protest, just nodded quietly. The walk back to the studio was completely silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts until it was time to part ways. He got in his car and followed you home, silently following you up the steps to your apartment, a comfortable little one-bedroom twenty minutes from the studio.

Buddy was at the door when you unlocked it, tail wagging and tongue lolling to the side of his mouth happily. He greeted you first, then Harry, who he tried with all his might to knock over by getting up on his hind legs and resting on your guest. "Buddy! Down!" you hissed, frantically holding onto your dog's collar. Harry laughed and waived you off, surprising you by lifting Buddy up into his arms. Both boys were perfectly content, and the image of your friend holding your dog in your apartment was enough to lift your spirits the tiniest bit. A small smile crept onto your face, and Harry's grin widened when he saw it.

"Nice place," Harry commented, spinning around in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Thanks." Your apartment was small, but it was in a nice neighborhood and close to the beach. You made just enough in royalties to be comfortable in a little one bedroom. "Definitely different from my place in Nashville."

Harry nodded mildly before setting Buddy back down on the floor, admiring the colorful furniture that took up the space in your living room. Shivering a little, you looked down at yourself, reminded of your coffee-soaked clothes.

"There are treats in the pantry," you said, setting your things down on the kitchen counter and nodding to the pantry in question. "I'm just going to get changed so I can wash your sweater."

Harry nodded, but he seemed content to play with Buddy and look around your apartment, and your dog seemed perfectly happy to never walk on four legs ever again.

You tried to make quick work of changing, not wanting to keep Harry waiting too long. But you gave yourself a minute or two to calm down and process everything that had happened in the last hour. Even though it was horribly embarrassing, you were glad Harry had been there. He'd been a calming presence throughout, and you could only hope that would continue as you explained why you'd pushed him away.

*.*

"I...I didn't want to hurt you," you said, looking down at where your hands were knotted in your lap. "I just...I don't have a very good track record with relationships. Of any kind. I didn't want you to be one of the people I ruined."

Harry had been surprisingly quiet while you explained everything. And by everything, you meant everything. From Gavin to the Christmas party and what you'd heard to the would-be proposal. You told him about that song you'd written a couple weeks ago and how it brought all that emotion to the forefront of your memory and that it led you to push Harry away. He hadn't said much, asking you a few questions here and there; but for the most part, he let you speak uninterrupted, and you were surprised at how you continued to fill the silence, not once feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps a little ashamed after explaining how badly you'd hurt Gavin, but you never felt discomfort telling Harry any of it.

"Y/n, I—" Harry began to say before pausing. Looking up at him, you saw his brows furrowed, a look of consternation on his face. You waited for the blow, the one that eventually led him to leave you friendless once and for all. "I don't think you're a bad person for breaking up with him. I can't imagine that kind of hurt, sure, but if you didn't love him, you did the right thing. Do you—Do you seriously believe you're fucked in the head? Or that you ruin people?"

He was referencing the song you'd written, and you flushed bright red at the idea of him hearing more of the song than you would've liked. Shrugging, you gave him the truth. It didn't seem fit to lie when you'd bared your soul to him. "I don't know."

You could tell that answer didn't sit right with Harry. His frown deepened, and you desperately wanted to see him smile again. "Y/n, everyone makes mistakes in relationships, and even then I don't think you did anything wrong in that moment. Was it unfortunate timing? Maybe, but I don't think you should punish yourself for it anymore. In fact, I think what you did was brave."

"What?"

Smiling, Harry took your hand in his. It was warm, and his long fingers curled around your hand with ease. On any other day, you would've pulled back, but after sharing so much with him, this felt good. It felt right.

"I said what you did was brave," he said again. "You didn't love him, but you could've accepted the proposal and stayed with him. And then what? Leave him at the altar? Stay in a loveless marriage? It was hard, but you did the right thing for you and Gavin. I'm sure even he would come to understand that one day. Have you tried talking to him?"

You shook your head. "He hates me now."

"I don't think anyone could really hate you, Y/n," Harry said quietly, a blush crawling up his cheeks as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I know you might disagree, but I think you might feel a lot better about all of this if you talked to him."

"His family—"

"Fuck his family. Gavin is a grown man who can think for himself," Harry said. "If he can't separate their wrong opinions from his own thoughts, then he's an idiot who never deserved you anyway."

You laughed a little at the first half of what he said. It felt nice to know that someone was on your side. Squeezing Harry's hand, you said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, for being a good friend when I maybe didn't deserve it. Evan's the only person I talked to about this, and even then I didn't explain everything," you said. Evan had been on your side, but it didn't really count to you. He was your brother. He had to be on your side. "I just don't have the best track record when it comes to hurting people, you know?"

Your eyes had fallen to your hand, which was still curled around his, but to your surprise, Harry's other one lifted your chin to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, you looked at him, heart beating a little wilder in your chest when you saw the look on his face. His expression was wide open, earnest and endearing, and filled with...something you weren't ready to see yet. But it filled you with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, you really believed that you didn't have to be alone.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hand pushed a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement made your breath hitch, lips parting as you tried to decide what Harry was going to do next, what you wanted him to do next. He seemed like he was waiting for something too, and his gaze was finally too much, like he could see your soul and was currently shuffling through every little thing you longed for and were afraid of. It was heavy with emotion, and you weren't ready for it.

"You should probably get going soon," you said, rising, with great difficulty, to your feet and putting some distance between yourself and Harry. A frown on Harry's face appeared, and you quickly explained yourself. "Your cat. You probably should head home and feed her."

Before you and Harry sat down to talk about...everything, he briefly mentioned his new kitten, Sweet Pea. "It was the name she already had when I adopted her, and it didn't feel right to change it, though sometimes she's not so sweet." She was a fluffy Ragdoll cat that was apparently quite the diva, and Harry proudly showed off picture after picture, claiming he was already in love with his new furry companion.

Now though, Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought about his new kitten since being here. "Right. Good call. I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded as you watched him gather his things. "I'll return the sweater tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You walked Harry to the door to see him out. He crossed the threshold but paused before heading down to his car. You couldn't read the look that crossed his face, but his lingering gave you one last opportunity to take him all in. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the white t-shirt he wore, and his hair had grown a tad longer since you'd spoken to him last, now curling around the nape of his neck and touching the collar of his shirt. Harry was taller than you, but not by much, though standing this close, it felt like he was a whole foot taller as you craned your neck to look at him.

Then, before you could ask if he'd forgotten something, he leaned forward. It took you a moment to realize what he'd done, but the lingering traces of heat on your forehead helped. He'd kissed you. On the forehead.

"See you tomorrow!"

Harry was gone in a flash, leaving you standing at the front door of your apartment with an open mouth as you tried to decide what his forehead kiss meant. To you, it felt sisterly, and you couldn't help the disappointment that swirled in your gut. You quickly pushed that feeling away, closing the door on whatever happened just then.

*.*

For the next few weeks, everything felt like it was back to normal. Better than normal, even. Despite the awkwardness you felt at having to see Harry after the odd forehead kiss, Harry acted like it never happened, which you were thankful for. You wouldn't have known what to say if he'd brought it up. Or tried to do it again.

But it became clear, despite the teeny tiny budding feelings you might have had for him, that he merely saw you as a friend. After your long talk with him at your apartment, Harry began showing you some of the work he'd been doing in his own studio down the hall from yours. It appeared he was getting over a break up too, though you never would've guessed by how cheerful he was most days. He still was, even as he explained a little about his most recent relationship, and you realized that while you hid your true emotions behind a wall, he might've been hiding behind his happy disposition. It made you want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath all that "fineness."

As you spent more time with Harry, you also began hanging out with his friends. The first time you returned to his house for another game night, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see you, namely Sylvia. "I'm so glad you're spending more time with H," she'd said that night. "I love him to death but he's a clingy motherfucker when he's lonely."

That thought made you laugh. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Harry a while back when he'd said his friends were "disgustingly in love." He seemed like the kind of guy who loved love, but you also didn't want Sylvia, or any of his friends, to get the wrong idea.

"Oh I don't—I mean we're not—I don't think he sees me that way."

That wasn't how you wanted to explain yourself, seeing as you weren't even sure if you saw him that way. But Sylvia must have seen your flushed cheeks and understood your floundering because she smiled at you warmly.

"I think this calls for a girl's day. What do you think?"

"Oh. Um..." You didn't expect any of Harry's friends to want to hang out with you one on one, but you'd been leaning into trying new things lately. And girl's day? You grew up with three brothers, the last time you had anything resembling that was a tea party Hayden and Evan threw for you when you were six. "Sure. I could meet you for lunch this week if you'd like."

"Lunch sounds perfect."

A couple days passed until you had Buddy on his leash, walking down to the cafe you and Sylvia agreed on. You were a little nervous, but mostly excited. It had been a while since you'd hung out casually with a friend—you weren't counting Harry—and while you'd grown accustomed to the loneliness, you couldn't help but acknowledge that it felt nice to talk to someone other than your dog.

"Okay," Sylvia said once the waiter walked away with your orders. She'd held off asking about Harry, but now the time had come. "Hit me. What did Harold do?"

"Nothing," you said, perhaps a little too quickly. When Sylvia pinned you with a stare, you looked down at your glass of water. "He just...He gave me a kiss? On the forehead? And I don't know, it just read very...brotherly."

Sylvia sighed, which at the very least vindicated your feelings. It wasn't like you wanted anything more, but the whole thing left you feeling confused. A cheek kiss would've been easier to navigate, but the forehead? It left Y/n thinking about Harry more than she should've.

"Okay, I can see where you might be confused by that, but as someone with a brother, I can confidently say they don't do shit like that."

You weren't sure what you expected her to say, or what you even wanted her to say, but it wasn't that. Sylvia knew Harry fairly well, so it was safe to say that she was telling the truth, you just weren't ready to accept what she was implying.

"I do too, and I know the last thing I would expect from any of my brothers is a kiss on the forehead, but I don't know," you said, trying to remain as neutral as possible knowing Sylvia could report back to Harry. This whole thing was starting to feel very grade school-esque.

"Just know that Harry's a pretty open guy, but he's been burned in the past so he might be a little closed off or not be as inclined to make the first move," Sylvia said, though in some ways it sounded like a warning. "He's the greatest guy you'll ever meet, and whatever you decide, just be gentle, okay?"

It was hard to imagine someone as positive and happy as Harry having a dark past, but it sounded like there was a lot more than what met the eye as far as he was concerned. It was honestly a little comforting to know that he wasn't perfect. You were such a mess sometimes it seemed unfair that people wandered through life seemingly unscathed. You knew that was rarely ever the case, but sometimes it was hard to remember when guys like Harry walked around embracing life and had smiles for every occasion.

"I will," you promised, and you meant it. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen between you and Harry, but you could appreciate Sylvia looking out for her friend. As nice as she had been to you so far, she was Harry's friend first. Her words made you wonder if you would ever have friends so fiercely loyal to you.

After that lunch with Sylvia, the weeks began to pass by in a blur. There were days when you saw Harry frequently, and then you wouldn't see him at all. He would show up at your studio to get coffee—at a new coffee shop, of course—you stopped by his to bring him and his friends baked goods, and sometimes you would end the night at one another's houses, a bottle of wine and takeout split between the two of you. You weren't dating, at least you wouldn't categorize whatever it was that you were doing as dating, but it felt nice to have someone in your life consistently again, and you liked that Harry was that person even more.

That didn't mean you couldn't read the signs. Sometimes Harry's gaze would linger when he thought you didn't notice, or he would sit a lot closer than was maybe necessary when you hung out with his friends. Sometimes his hand would brush yours as you watched a movie as if he wanted to hold it, and yours would brush back encourgingly, and then suddenly you were holding hands. To anyone else, it might have appeared confusing—in fact, Sylvia had vocalized her confusion over the non-relationship you and Harry were engaging in—but for you, not acknowledging what was happening and not putting any labels or definitions on this thing happening between the two of you was somehow easier to swallow. And since Harry seemed to be following your lead, he didn't say anything to object.

It was around Christmastime that things began to change. You'd spent your morning writing a song for an artist's Christmas album, a feat you'd managed to avoid in the past. But since you'd worked with the artist before and liked the vision she had for this album, you decided to at least try to write a holiday song. It wasn't necessarily that you disliked Christmas or the holidays, you were just indifferent to the season in question, and after everything that transpired two years ago now, you just never felt like celebrating much.

Harry Styles, however, was a huge fan of Christmas. his studio was decked out with lights and garlands, he got him and Sweet Pea matching sweaters, which you weren't entirely sure if he knitted or not, and he'd been bugging you since Thanksgiving to come over to decorate cookies. He'd finally worn you down and you were going over later tonight, but not before putting in a couple hours at the studio, which turned into sitting in on one of Harry's sessions.

It didn't happen often, but you did like seeing the team approach to writing songs as opposed to your usual solitary method. For the most part, you watched as Harry bounced ideas off his friends, observing as they focused on one chord progression or verse until something else stole their attention away. It was a bit chaotic, but everyone in the room seemed to be having fun.

It was in the middle of a heated debate between another fun, upbeat song or beginning to work on a ballad when the melody came to you. It was just piano chords, and had you been in your own studio, you would've immediately sat down to play it and see where it went. But this wasn't your studio, and it wasn't your session, and while you knew no one would've minded hearing your input, you felt nervous all of a sudden, self-conscious.

So instead, you pulled some blank sheet music out and began to scribble, writing as quickly as possible before the melody escaped you. The melody had taken up so much space in your head that everything else faded away. You envisioned arrangements, themes, a line or two sprouting as you wrote down the next note. Something sad and somber, the exact opposite of what Harry had been pushing for since he entered the studio.

"What am I now?" you wrote on the back of the sheet music. You didn't know how it would fit, but it would. You could tinker with the words later, so long as all your thoughts were written down somewhere, you would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you working on over there?"

Harry was suddenly at your side, and when he peeked over your shoulder, you didn't try to hide your frenzied notes. You handed them over, unsure if he even read sheet music. "It was just a thought I had. I can play it for you if you'd like?"

"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the piano in the corner of the room. It was then that you realized that everyone else had left the room at some point or another. At your questioning glance, Harry explained. "Ten minute break, but it felt like you were onto something...And I figured you'd be more willing to share if it wasn't in front of a group."

"Thank you," you said, those pesky butterflies swirling around in your stomach. They seemed to appear any time Harry so much as smiled at you. "It's just a melody, really, but maybe you can use it for something.

You sat down at the piano, eyes widening when Harry sat down beside you. Shaking it off, you focused on the piano, the keys cool and smooth to the touch, a familiar feeling that felt nice among such a different work setting. You explained your thought process to Harry a little bit, telling him the direction you hoped the song would go in and possible arrangements for it and whatnot. Harry, who apparently knew you better than you thought he did, nudged you with his elbow and encouraged you to play, knowing that you were stalling.

It wasn't that you were unsure of yourself or your talent. You knew you were good at what you did. You'd collaborated on multiple albums and worked with many well-known artists and bands, or artists who were just breaking out onto the scene and did so with the help of your songwriting. The difference here was that you normally didn't play an idea for anyone until it was fully realized. You typically sent over demos and typed up lyrics, and Harry would be one of the first to hear something that you'd only just come up with. Besides Buddy, but he didn't really count.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play, letting the chords you'd only just come up with pull your focus. After having played through it a couple times, you looked over at Harry, who had a faraway look in his eyes, an idea of his own forming in his head, perhaps.

"It's fairly simple, but I think that's what's rather beautiful about it," you said while still playing. "Sometimes you don't need much to get a response from someone, and I think a melody like this really allows an artist to shine, you know? Whether that's through their lyrics, or their vocal range, or both. And obviously it can be changed to a different key, this is just the one I wrote down, but...yeah, that's what I've got."

You finally stopped playing to hear Harry's opinion, though you wished you hadn't. Now your hands didn't really know what to do, and it took a lot of effort to keep them knotted together in your lap. Harry still looked pensive, as if he hadn't even heard your rambling, though now you were even more curious to know what he thought.

"Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned toward you, his knee bumping against yours on the piano bench. His eyes cleared up as he remembered he wasn't alone in the studio. "Hm? Sorry, just thinking."

Offering him your pen and a fresh page in your journal, you said, "Did you maybe want to write it down?"

After that, you and Harry wrote hundreds of songs together. At least it felt like a hundred songs. Whether it was in the studio, or at each other's homes—mainly his because he had a home studio and a guest room for when sessions went too long—the two of you were almost always writing together. It wasn't always for his album, either. Sometimes Harry would help you with projects you were working on for other artists, or you would just write songs for the sake of writing them.

And it just worked. It felt like you and Harry just clicked. He was able to vocalize what you were trying to say to his producer, and you knew what he was thinking before he said it or the sound he was going for based off a couple descriptors. You'd never known someone so intimately before, or understood them so completely, Not even Gavin.

Harry was witty and smart and kind and genuine. He felt things deeply, and kept a lot of his darkest secrets and deepest insecurities incredibly close to his chest. You realized at some point that he was even more guarded than you in some ways. As you wrote together more and more, you obviously realized that there was more than met the eye when it came to your friend, but outside of songwriting, he wouldn't divulge much. He'd been through a breakup recently, that much you could tell, and while you wanted to know more, you respected his privacy and the desire to leave the past exactly where it was. Unless it came to the music, of course.

"So...you're what? Friends without all the benefits?" Sylvia asked you.

You met with her pretty regularly now for lunch during the week. Harry wasn't typically the topic of conversation, but on this occasion, Sylvia was giving you the third degree.

"We're co-workers. And friends," you added as an afterthought. Saying you were merely co-workers didn't seem right to you anymore, and you knew Harry would be upset if you thought otherwise. "I don't know what other benefits I would need outside of his companionship."

"Bull. Shit." Sylvia pinned you with a stare that made you blush. "Last weekend he had you practically sitting in his lap, and you're trying to tell me nothing's going on?"

"Not really. I don't think either of us are in a place to be in a relationship right now." It was the same line you fed to Andrew last week when you went to see one of his games. He thankfully bought it, or maybe he was just used to you keeping your love life to yourself, but Sylvia wasn't having it.

"What makes you say that?"

You shrugged. "I mean I'm definitely not, and I can just tell he's not there yet either. I mean, obviously, I've learned about his most recent relationship by working with him, but outside of that, he doesn't tell me anything. I don't even know her name."

You weren't offended that Harry didn't want to share about his ex. You wouldn't have told him about Gavin if you hadn't been put in that particular situation. But you understood better than most about that kind of pain. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe his feelings were getting all jumbled up between the past and the present. Or maybe he just didn't like you that way. The last theory hurt more than you cared to admit, but you were more scared of another potential relationship going up in flames than finding out the truth, so you decided ignorance really was bliss.

Sylvia nodded, understanding. You realized she must've known his ex, though you didn't ask for details. That was Harry's story to tell, not hers, and you were pretty sure Sylvia would say the same if you did ask. "I guess that's fair. But so, you're just...friends who kiss occasionally?"

You nearly choked on your sip of water. "What? No! Of course not. We don't—We—"

"Let me save you the struggle of coming up with an unconvincing lie," Sylvia said. "I've seen you."

"When?"

"Christmas party," she said, raising one finger as if she was about to list a few occurences.

"That was mistletoe. It was innocent," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, even though said hand was suddenly clammy.

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

"Why are you paying that close attention to my neck?"

"And," Slyvia said, pointedly ignoring your last remark. "I have it on good authority that Harry kissed you at the studio last week. Don't try to hide it, Y/n."

Sighing, you said, "So what's your point, exactly?"

"My point is that y'all are just pretending you're not in a relationship when you are!" she said, looking at you as if you had two heads. "Look, it's clear you've been through some shit and Harry has too, I won't deny that. But are you really going to put your happiness on the back burner because of it?"

Your cheeks burned at having been caught. It wasn't like you'd planned to kiss Harry any of those times. Each kiss came as a surprise, leaving you more and more breathless than the last and hopeful for another. What Sylvia didn't know was that you and Harry had kissed a lot more than the handful that she'd rattled off. Sometimes when it was late and you were over at his house working, he'd get this look in his eyes that would turn your whole body molten. He'd lean in close, nudge your nose with his, and then his lips were on yours and time suddenly didn't exist.

You liked kissing Harry. A lot. You liked the way his fingers gingerly held your jaw, you liked that kissing him gave you free rein to touch him wherever you wanted—his hair, his arms, beneath his shirt. Sometimes it felt like you couldn't get enough, but it always ended with one of you pulling away under the guise that it was getting late. Your lips would tingle long after, and you'd text Harry late at night when you should've been asleep, or he would call to talk about whatever he was thinking.

To anyone else, it wouldn't make sense, but it made sense to you and Harry. There was no pressure to be more, no urgency to define what you were doing, and that seemed to work for both of you.

"I'm perfectly happy right now," you said, and you were.

It had been a long time since you'd felt this content. Your breakup with Gavin left you feeling guilty and ashamed. And deep down, you knew you already felt more for Harry than you did for your ex, and that made you feel horrible too. Part of you still felt you were being greedy by trying to be this happy, that you should just take what you were given and try not to press your luck.

Sylvia took you by surprise by taking your hand. Her fingers were warm and reassuring, just as her eyes were when you finally met her gaze. It was safe to say now that she was your friend. She'd come over to your house multiple times for wine and movie nights, you went out to bars together, you'd met her partner, who was the absolute sweetest person on the planet. You valued Sylvia's friendship, and you valued her as a person. You didn't want to lose her if things with Harry progressed and fizzled out.

"It's okay to want more, Y/n," she said gently.

It was like she saw through all the bullshit and realized what you were really scared of. Harry was the only person who knew everything regarding your past relationship, but you told Sylvia bits and pieces. When you'd told her that you broke up with Gavin the night he wanted to propose, she didn't judge you, or ask why you'd throw away a perfectly good relationship. She was empathetic, and said she was sorry you had to go through that. It felt good to confide in someone who was willing to hear your side of the story, to have them realize if you could've loved Gavin the way he loved you, you would've.

"Maybe," you said. "But like I said, I'm not the only one who has shit to work through."

Sylvia nodded, letting the subject drop. But the words she'd said, It's okay to want more, needled at your brain the rest of the day.

*.*

"You should come with me."

You had been watching Sweet Pea doze contentedly on top of Buddy, who was curled in a ball on his dog bed. The two of them were an unlikely pair, but they'd gotten along great the first time they were introduced, and now you found it adorable any time they napped together.

Harry's voice was low and scratchy in your ear, as if he wasn't too far off from sleep himself. You were huddled together under a blanket on your couch, watching the credits roll on the second movie of the night, but you hadn't paid much attention to anything since the moment Harry pulled you to his chest and tucked his chin in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses as his thumbs rubbed circles beneath your shirt.

"What?" you asked, not having really heard him. It seemed impossible, but every day his touch became more and more dizzying.

"To Japan. You should come with me," he said. "It would be like a writing retreat."

Harry had mentioned his impromptu trip to Japan over dinner. He seemed excited about it, of getting out of town for a little while and just being alone with his thoughts. Those were his words, though now he was inviting you along.

"I don't even have a passport," you said, a non-answer, as Harry would call it.

"We'll get you one," he said. "Don't you think it would be fun to explore a new city together? Just the two of us?"

"W—What about Buddy?"

"Buddy can come to," Harry said, like it was all just so easy.

You thought back to your conversation with Sylvia a week ago. It's okay to want more, she'd said. At the time, you were content with this thing you and Harry were doing. It was simple and easy and pressure-free. A couple weeks later her words still nagged you. You hadn't mentioned wanting more to Harry, but this was different. This was...big. Appearing nonchalant didn't make it so.

"What are we?" you found yourself asking, hating how cliche the question was, even if you did need the answer all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but you knew he was too smart to not understand.

Still, you sat up and faced him, forcing him to sit on the other side of the couch to have a proper conversation. "I meant exactly what I said, H. What—What are we doing here exactly?"

Harry's face flushed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed his neck. "I...I don't know. I thought we were okay with not really defining it."

Not defining it, or not talking about it? you thought, even though that wasn't really fair. You were just as content not to ask as he was until now. Or a few weeks ago, you couldn't exactly tell when you began to want more, or when wanting more stopped scaring you.

"I know, but now you're asking me to drop everything and fly to Japan for...for how long exactly?"

Harry shrugged, and your jaw ticked. "A couple months?"

"A couple months," you repeated, trying to align your thoughts. All you could hear though was, It's okay to want more. Taking a deep breath, you said, "I think...I think if I'm going to follow someone across the world for a couple months, I would like a definition about what it is we're doing."

"It's a writing retreat, Y/n. We would be working on songs. Just like we've always done."

You weren't sure when you became the brave one. Perhaps it was your conversation with Sylvia bolstering your confidence, or maybe it was Harry's reluctance to acknowledge the situation at hand, you weren't sure, but his reply wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'd have to find my own hotel," you said. "Or an apartment to rent I guess."

"You'd stay with me obviously," Harry said, and you had to resist the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he started seeing your perspective.

"Co-workers don't live together, H."

"But we're not just co-workers, Y/n. We're—"

Your brows raised, encouraging him to finish, but he ended up shaking his head. Running a tired hand over his face, he said, "I understand what you mean, but I can't...I can't give that to you right now."

You nodded, then stood up. "And I can't go to Japan without it."

It hurt, but at least he was being upfront about how he felt. It wasn't really fair of you to ask for more when both of you had been content to keep things simple. But somewhere down the line, you realized you liked Harry. A lot. You were okay with leaving your history with Gavin in the past, and you wanted to look to the future now. You'd thought that the future might include a relationship with Harry, but he wasn't ready, and you weren't sure if you wanted to wait. So much of the last two years had been waiting, hiding. Now you needed more. You craved it.

You felt like you were in some kind of alternate universe. One where Harry was scared and unsure of himself and unable to admit to what he wanted. You wanted more, and you weren't going to settle for anything less. You wanted to be more than his friend whom he kissed sometimes, you wanted to hear his scratchy voice as he woke up beside you, and you knew he did too, but something was holding him back. You'd spent too much time hiding from life and love to hide with him some more. Part of you wanted to, just because it was Harry, and you cared about him a lot, but a bigger part of you knew what you deserved, and it was okay to acknowledge that.

"I understand," he said, standing up with you.

Both of you were quiet as he gathered his things. You watched his broad shoulders shrug into his coat, the lean frame of his body bend down to put Sweet Pea in her little carrier. You felt the loss of him already, and he hadn't even gone yet, but you could feel the wall going up between the two of you. Both of you were guarded in your own ways, and both of you had been as vulnerable as you could be, but it wasn't enough.

"When are you planning on leaving?" you asked as you walked him to the door.

"Couple weeks," he said. "Just have to get the logistics figured out."

Nodding, you stepped into his offered embrace, letting yourself inhale the scent of his cologne and feel his arms around you for the last time for a while. His nose bumped yours in a move that was so familiar it made your heart squeeze. You weren't sure how long you stood like that, kissing until you couldn't breathe, it was only until Buddy's wet nose nudged the two of you apart that you finally stepped away from him. Harry bent down to scratch your dog's head and let him lick his cheek a few times before straightening back up. He was about to turn and leave when you called his name.

"I don't know what happened," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "If you did something or if she did something to make you so...closed off, and from one heavily guarded person to another, I'm sorry that it happened and that it made you this way. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in Japan."

Harry grinned, but it wasn't wide enough to show his dimples. Without saying a word, he left, head bent as he walked down the hall, taking a piece of you with him.

Buddy nudged your leg, pulling away from the hall Harry already disappeared down. Your dog's eyes were big and curious and completely unaware of what was wrong, which brought a watery smile to your face. "Come on, bubba. Let's get ready for bed."

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles album #fine line era #fine line album

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lincolndjarin · 4 months

Text

Every Now and Then - ch. one

[ I Dream of Something Wild ]

pairing : joel miller x f!reader, platonicsoulmate!tommy & f!reader

word count : 6.4k

summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.

tags/warnings : 18+ mdni, angst, canon typical violence, injury, language, manipulation, joel takes advantage of readers situation, eventual smut, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, she is picked up by joel at one point but i'm a firm believer that he's strong enough to lift any one who may find themselves in the pov of our reader, joel is possessive and controlling, dark!joel miller in a sense?? like he's not really dark now but he's going to be, multiple time lines, not canon compliant, mentions of prostitution, i sorta made up my own timeline, i probs missed tags sorry!!

a/n : i really need to fix my writing schedule so i'm hoping that having a new fic to put my energy into is going to help!! also sorry if this chapter doesn't have much going on i need to set up a lot of stuff but i promise more action in future chapters

ao3 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ main masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ kofi

He crept up on you like the shadows as the sun sets in the west. An all encompassing darkness that blotted out the sun until all that was left was night. He sunk his claws into you so deep that your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you shrunk away from the inevitable sunrise that made him cower away from the dawn as if he never really was big and scary.

And in the light of day you saw him for what he really was.

He was just a man, who was once a boy, who was scared of the dark.

So he made himself big, and terrifying, and he grew so accustomed to the thing he once feared that the very idea of anything else made him recoil.

You feel something akin to pity when you think of him now. That doesn’t mean you forgive him, but when you can stomach it you try to, for the sake of your peace. You’d probably be happier if you could just forgive him.

But you can’t.

So you don’t.

It’s hard when his own blood doesn’t think he’s a good man. Tommy was afraid of him. Terrified at the very thought of his big brother. You can recall several nights where you had woken up to him screaming in the sleeping bag beside you, absolutely petrified of a memory that had inevitably snuck in through the darkness. You never feared him quite like that, but seeing the effect he has on Tommy makes your stomach churn, a painful reminder of your own suffering.

Most of the time it’s easier to just not think of him at all, despite the reminders he’s branded into you forever. You ignore him when he tries to soak back into your very being, but at the end of the day he’s unavoidable. You see him in the dark brown eyes of others, hear him in Tommy’s southern drawl, taste him when you have the occasional sip of whiskey. He tries and tries relentlessly to worm his way back into you, but you never let him. You put up walls and you focus on other things, anything, that isn’t Joel Miller. And even though you can’t forget him entirely you manage to ignore the memory of the man you once loved for several years.

Until one day it’s impossible to keep the thought of him away.

Until he himself makes it impossible.

Then - NEW YORK CITY, QUARANTINE ZONE : 2019

“Stay off of it or you’re going to lose it.”

That’s what the QZ doctor had told you. A couple weeks of bed rest was the most he could offer when you came to him with your broken ankle.

A couple weeks without working is a death sentence.

If you don’t work you won’t be able to afford food. And you don’t have anybody to fall back on, no family, no friends, not even an acquaintance to borrow funds from.

Lose your leg or starve.

As appealing as it sounds, starvation isn’t an option, too painful.

So you have to work. The only issue with that is you’ve been blacklisted, the stupid doctor had you put on a no-shift list. You beg them to let you work, you’ll do anything, but they never budge.

You only have enough ration cards stocked up to make it to the end of the week so you have to consider your other options. You could sell yourself. It certainly isn’t uncommon and the money’s good but it’s too dangerous, especially if you can’t run on your leg. You’ve seen too many people get hurt in that profession to risk it. You don’t have a trade. You’re terrible at sewing, you can’t cook, there isn’t a need for much of anything else and you own nothing valuable.

So there’s only one other option for you.

You steal.

You dress inconspicuously, in your only pair of jeans and a plain shirt, both of which are getting rather tattered at this point but you have nothing else. With your jacket on you pull up your hood and you do the exact thing you aren’t supposed to do, and you walk.

The conditions in the QZ are poor enough that your limp doesn’t stand out. You walk up and down the streets all day, slow and steady, with your head down and you don’t take risks. You don’t take anything big or obvious, just little things. A single ration card peeking out of a pocket, a pocket knife off a vendor's table, stale bread, set away from the good stuff where no one is looking. And you return home each night with your pockets full and your leg aching.

By the end of your second week you’re still barely scraping by but you’re managing. What little ration cards you manage to snatch you use to buy food, but it’s still nothing compared to what you’re used to making. Your ankle feels worse by the day.

You need more.

You need to find a source of income that will let you rest or you’re going to lose your leg, which will leave you in an even worse position. It isn’t until you hear your neighbor slam his door that you come up with an idea.

Your neighbor probably has more cards than he knows what to do with, and he’s always coming and going so he probably wouldn’t even notice if you skimmed a little off the top. Nothing substantial, just enough to keep you going and give your leg time to heal.

The only problem is your neighbors reputation.

You doubt you’d have much of a chance of surviving him if you got caught. Joel Miller was a bit of an urban legend around the QZ. Of course you only knew him as your stoic neighbor, just a guy who didn’t make a lot of noise and came home at strange hours, and sometimes disappeared for days at a time.

But everyone else acted as if he was some kind of Boogey Man. You didn’t see him much in the streets but when you did children ran and people whispered, and while you had no knowledge of how he earned that reputation you knew it probably wasn’t pretty.

So you’d have to be careful.

He’s gone now, you’d heard him stopping down the hall so you decide it couldn’t hurt to take a peek, just scout out the area.

You climb out onto the fire escape, your leg aching as you do, and you use the dull little knife you’d stolen a few days ago to shimmy open his window lock. It slides open pretty easily, he’s probably rather confident that nobody would ever mess with him so he doesn’t seem to have the usual precautions taken to protect his belongings.

Lucky you.

Stepping into the room you wince as you land on your bad leg, stumbling onto the floor, knocking a board loose in the process.

“Shit.” You groan, sitting up quickly, trying to put everything back in its proper place when you catch a glimmer of something under the floor.

A revolver.

You shouldn’t be here. Joel Miller is a dangerous man, you knew that but you did this anyway, you can’t help but feel incredibly stupid as you stare at the weapon. You feel so stupid that you don’t even hear the click of a lock. You don’t even bother with the ration cards you can see peeking out from under the gun, you just want to leave and forget that you ever thought this was a good idea. It’s a struggle, getting back to your feet, your leg is throbbing, begging for a rest you can’t afford to take right now. With a groan you push the window open, eager for this silly idea to be over you try to figure out the best way to go about this. You’re starting to lose feeling in your leg, should you go bad leg first or try to balance on it while shimmying the rest of your body out the window?

You never get to decide what the best course of action is because your head is slammed against the wall, your knees crumple underneath you as you hit the floor, the room spinning as your leg bends at an angle that makes you shriek. You slap your hand over your mouth but it’s far too late for that. He’s been here the whole time. It’s dark but you can still make out the foreboding shape of his figure. The broad shouldered beast that’s glaring down at you, his boot nudging your chin roughly as you bite back a shriek of fear.

“I could report you to FEDRA for this.” The gruff voice whispers into the darkness.

You’re desperate to avoid lockup, you know you’ll die in there, or worse. Although you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen to you either way.

“I- I’ll tell them about your contraband.” You point frantically at the loose floor board. “They’ll lock you up too.” His glare is unwavering as he stares down at you. You’re a little worried that he might just kill you himself, there would be no consequences, no one would be looking for you.

No one would look for you.

The thought makes you shudder and even though you try to stop yourself you feel your eyes beginning to water. You hear footsteps, watching his outline move across the room before you’re shrinking away from the light of a dim lamp in the corner.

“You gotta be real dumb to find yourself in this situation.” He mutters, turning back around to stare at you. His gaze makes you want to cover yourself up, it’s like he can see every single part of you within that icy glare. You’ve never taken the time to really, truly look at him before but you do now, after all this might be your last chance to look at anything at all.

He isn’t a terrible last sight.

Sure, he’s ominous enough to make you want to try and run despite the ache in your calf right now, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. In a rugged, weathered sort of way. He’s older than you thought, gray sprinkled throughout the mess of curls framing his face. What a nice face it is. Soft where it needs to be soft, sharp where it needs to be sharp. He marches back over to you, easily taking the pocket knife from your hand and crouching down in front of you.

“Give me one good reason not to finish you off right now.” He points the blade in the direction of your leg. “Seems like it’d be a mercy at this point.”

Maybe he’s right.

Maybe it would be a mercy to just let him put you out of your misery. Why have you been fighting so hard? You can’t seem to recall a reason other than the fact that that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mind tells you that you’re supposed to keep fighting but you can’t think of a single driving force. You’re in pain, constantly, you live in a world that wants you dead, and you have no one relying on you.

You don’t have a good reason, other than the fact that surviving is all you know how to do. So you look up at him and you nod. Taking in the sight of the pretty, frightening man one last time before closing your eyes.

It feels good. You feel good, for the first time in a long time, knowing that you won’t hurt anymore. You won’t have to be afraid of someone kicking your door in, you won’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from, and you won’t have to worry about turning into a monster. It’s a mercy.

So you close your eyes.

Suddenly grateful for the killer before you, your guardian angel, here to deliver you the peace you didn’t know you needed.

You wait patiently for the sting of a blade or the embrace of his hands around your throat but all you're met with is a sigh. When you finally find the courage to open your eyes he’s sitting on the edge of the bed across from you, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Just go.” He grumbles, muttering a few other words you don’t catch.

You’re almost disappointed, having accepted this was the end, and now you’re being shoved back into the cold and unforgiving world. You start to get to your feet but your knees buckle under you. You try again, willing your leg to just work but much to your dismay you can’t even straighten out your leg anymore. When you try to move it all you find yourself only able to bend your knee a few inches.

Shit.

You think of the fall you took on the way in and wonder if you finally pushed yourself to the limit. If you go back to the doctor will he remove the entire thing? Maybe you should just ask Joel to finish the job before it comes to that. It would be a kindness, between a quick death here or a slow death starving in your apartment you’ll take the quick way every time. Before you even have a chance to ask he’s on his feet. Maybe his patience has run out and you won’t have to ask at all.

“Let me.” His voice rattles around in your head, so low and commanding that you put up no resistance as he lifts you up under your arms and sets you down on the edge of the bed where he just was. He flips the knife out, going to cut your jeans off of you but you stop him.

“Wait!” He freezes in place, giving you an impatient look. “These are my only jeans, just- just pull them down.” Before you can realize how embarrassing it might be to show your neighbor your faded pink panties, you're already unbuttoning your pants, lifting your hips up so he can pull them down your legs with a roll of his eyes. It’s painful, the feeling of the denim running against your skin but it’s better than not having any pants at all.

Fuck.

It’s been a while since you’ve actually looked at your leg. You’re surprised he was able to get your jeans off with how swollen it is, the flesh bulging around your ankle and now up your calf. The skin is shiny and blotchy with shades of purple and red. The sight of it makes you want to hurl but you manage to swallow the urge, looking away as he pokes at the tender flesh.

“Christ girl, what the hell did you do?” When he grabs your ankle to lift your leg you yelp in pain, making him set your leg back down instinctively.

“I just- it’s just a broken ankle.” You mumble as he gives you an incredulous look.

“Like hell it is.” Something about the sternness of his voice demands your obedience as you nod. “Wanna tell me what really happened?”

“Well I- I fell and-” You struggle to find an excuse to justify how bad you let this get but you come up empty. So you tell the truth. “I fell off a ladder while painting over graffiti during my shift and broke my ankle. The doctor told me to stay off of it and- well, I couldn’t afford not to work so I just… didn’t” You rush through your words, staring anywhere else but into his demanding gaze as you explain yourself.

“So you turned to stealin’.” He says it like the fact it is and you can only bring yourself to nod. “You need antibiotics.” He says just as matter of factly. “You know how much that sort of thing costs?”

A lot.

More than you’d have even if you were working overtime.

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes.

His eyes were so dark that day they threatened to swallow you whole. Were they always that dark? Or was it just that day, the first day, when he realized that he had you.

“Look, I don’t do this kinda thing for just anybody. But I can help you.” He had sounded so kind, his hint of a smile had seemed so promising.

“I can’t afford it-”

“You can use alternative methods to pay me back.”

You told him you’d think about it.

And he hadn’t pushed you, he had simply helped you back into your jeans and carried you back to your apartment. He told you he’d check on you tomorrow and see if you had an answer for him.

So when the next day came and you had a fever and your leg was throbbing, demanding your attention you’d been all too eager to accept his help.

And just like that, it was your idea.

It wasn’t his, he was blameless, you asked him to help you. And it didn’t matter who had suggested it first, it mattered who brought it up after.

You had been certain that when he had told you you’d be using alternative methods to pay him back that his intentions were unsavory. And at that point you didn’t really care, you’d made your peace with that. The medicine you needed wasn’t cheap and you could find worse looking men who didn’t take care of themselves the way Joel did.

But he wanted nothing of the sort.

Southern Manners.

All he wanted was for you to take care of his apartment when he was out with his business partner, a woman who didn’t seem to dislike you but certainly didn’t care for you. He told you to take a week to just rest, take the medicine he brought you, eat the food that he fed you, and be good. So you did as he asked. And after a week you could move a bit more, you started spending your days at Joel’s tidying up and organizing while he was gone, it was much easier to stay off your leg for most of the day and he always made sure there was food and books for you while he was gone. And when he returned he would help you hobble back to your place and help you into bed without complaint and with a promise that he’d be back in the morning.

But you still don’t relax around him.

It doesn’t make sense. Even someone who wasn’t known for their cruelty wouldn’t just take a stranger in. You’d like to believe that there’s good in people but you know better than to have that kind of faith. There isn’t enough left of the world to share the remains. Yet Joel does. He doesn’t ask to know you better and he certainly doesn’t tell you about himself yet he shows you more kindness than anyone else in your life has before.

He must like having someone to take care of.

That’s how you explain it to yourself.

You watch him with Tess and it’s clear who’s in charge there, she barely even lets him stitch her up when she returns to the apartment. Joel gets frustrated every time, huffing and pacing around the room before finding some way to tend to you in her place. Icing your leg, or bringing you a new book to read, or feeding you.

It took a few months for your leg to heal, it had been in such bad shape a part of you worried that it might never be the same as it once was.

After the first month of your arrangement Joel told you his knees hurt and he wouldn’t be able to carry you home, you offered to just walk yourself over, your leg didn’t hurt that bad anymore and you were more than capable of walking short distances. But he insisted you stay, told you you could sleep in the bed and he’d take the couch.

But his knees hurt, you couldn’t let him do that.

And you told him you’d take the couch and he told you he wouldn’t feel right making you sleep on the couch with your leg the way it was.

So you told him you’d both just sleep in the bed. It wasn’t a big deal. You trusted him, of course you did, he had an opportunity to exploit you and he didn’t, if he was going to hurt you he would have done it already.

He had acted unsure.

You know now that it was acting.

So you had insisted. You told him it was okay, you told him you felt safe with him.

It was your idea.

Even though it hadn’t been your idea to stay that night.

You had insisted he get in the bed with you.

A fact that he would bring up often in the months to come.

He would still help you to your apartment some nights, but just as often he’d complain about his knees and you’d stay. You got used to his warmth, you got used to waking up in his arms and not talking about it in the morning.

So it made sense when he told you that you should keep your pajamas at his apartment.

It made sense when he got a toothbrush for you to keep in his bathroom cabinet.

It made sense when he told you that he couldn’t find new clothes in your size and you could just wear his.

It made sense when he told you that he and Tess had never been a thing, so you had no reason to feel weird about sleeping in his bed.

And it made sense when he told you that he’d hold onto the keys to your apartment, afterall you wouldn’t want to lose them.

Joel Miller was a glue trap. And you had waded across his sticky surface without a care in the world, never realizing that it was getting harder and harder to move until you were standing still. Until the only way you were going to escape was by biting off your own leg.

You don’t remember when you stopped returning to your own apartment completely, but you know that it happened early on, before you’d even started chewing.

Now - JACKSON, WYOMING : 2023

“Ruth?” You’re gonna be late if you don’t find her soon. The turntable in the corner of the kitchen plays a 3 Doors Down song as you lift the table cloth, searching for the little girl. “We don’t have time to play, we need to get you to school.” You groan, turning to face the boy currently sitting in a highchair he’s just about grown out of. “Do you know where she is?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him as he shrugs.

Of course he isn’t going to tell. They look out for each other before anyone else, a fact that normally fills you with joy but not when they’re ganging up against you. Thankfully you catch his eye as he shoots a glance at the pantry. Pulling the door open you’re quickly met with the sight of Ruth, giggling on the floor. You pick her up, putting her in her own highchair before setting a plate of fruits down in front of her.

“Eat. We don’t have time to play this morning, young lady.” You poke your fork in her direction as you sit down across from them.

“Eat.” She repeats in a mocking tone, her brother erupting into a fit of giggles at the impression as you sigh. They need to be at the community center in half an hour. You make the job schedules on Friday and you need as much time as possible if you want to finish them in one day. You’re having a hard time focusing on the mess your son is making as he smashes each blueberry down onto the table before popping them into his mouth as you try to schedule your own weekend.

You need to finish all of your work today while the kids are gone so you don’t have to juggle watching them and working later, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue, scheduling should only take a few hours if you really zero in on it. You have dinner with Tommy and Maria tomorrow and you promised to bring dessert so you’ll have to take the kids to the market tonight, which also means you’re going to have to find supplies to barter with before you go.

You have nothing planned on Sunday.

You’ll have to change that.

You hate having nothing to do.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as a blueberry hits you in the forehead. Both twins laugh now as you frown at them.

“Behave or I’ll tell your aunt that you’ve been bad.” Both children look at each other nervously before returning to their breakfast. You were never stern enough with them. You loved them too much, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to yell at them, and it wasn’t like they were troublemakers by any means, they were just kids with a lot of energy in the mornings. And when they did misbehave a small threat of telling Maria was enough to make them stop whatever it was they were doing.

You finish up your own plate and start getting ready to leave as the kids start giggling again to themselves. When their plates are empty you use a wet washcloth to clean their hands and faces before lifting each of them out of their respective seats, letting them run off a bit more energy before you head out. You set all three bags down in front of the door. Yours being the beige over the shoulder bag accompanied by two little backpacks. Ruth’s green canvas bag is covered in mud and other remnants of the yard that she’s brought in with her but Arthur’s purple backpack is kept neat and tidy. You slip into your coat before turning just in time to watch your son dive into the couch, quickly followed by his sister.

“Come on little ducks. Time for school.” You take their jackets off the hook, holding them out to them as they rush over to you, tugging their own coats on before grabbing their bags, once you pull the door open they both rush out into the cool autumn morning, talking to each other in hushed tones. Always secrets with those two. It would probably make you a little worried if these were normal circumstances, the way they don’t let anyone in except each other, with you being the only exception. But the world is a terrifying place, it brings you peace to know that they have each other.

A part of you is certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle just one.

One little person relying on you, all while you’re doing your best to hold it all together? It sounds like a nightmare. It’s better that they have each other. Once you’re standing outside the community center, busy with parents dropping off their children, you kneel down.

“Be good, if you behave today you can go to the market tonight.” The promise of the market has both of them grinning, showing off the teeth they’ve both recently had grow in. “I love you, I’ll see you in a bit.” You hold open your arms, each of them taking their respective sides as they wrap themselves around you. You take your daughter's face in your hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead, repeating the motion with your son. After a few “love you mama’s” they both run into the building, once you’re sure they’re safe inside you head off in the direction of town hall.

You have what you would call the best job in town, despite the fact that no one else seems to want to do it.

Maria understood when you arrived that you needed something that let you work from home if needed, you needed something that kept your mind busy but also gave you time with the kids. So you took care of the parts of Jackson most didn’t think about.

You document all of the citizens, you make the shift schedules, and you make sure everyone has the necessities. You take care of housing, when big hauls from scavenging come in you divide them up among the people who need them. You make the meal schedules for the dining hall, and you make the crop schedules.

You keep Jackson moving.

When you arrived all of this was Maria’s job along with her other duties, when you told her you wanted something engaging and demanding she was more than willing to pass off those duties to you. So now you’ve got to make the schedule. Town hall is nothing more than a house with several desks for people doing work similar to yours but thankfully you’ve been lucky enough to reserve your own office in one of the bedrooms.

Most Friday's Maria visits you for lunch but you know she’s on patrol currently, another perk of this job is knowing where everyone is, all the time.

No surprises.

You hate surprises. (With a few exceptions.)

One of the exceptions is waiting for you in your office, Tommy sits with his legs up on your desk, reading over this past week's schedule.

“You put me on crop harvest way more than anyone else.” He grumbles, tossing your notebook down.

“It’s the end of the season, everyones on crop harvest.” You lean down, kissing his cheek before taking your place across from him, immediately getting to work as he groans.

“Maria gets to go on patrol.”

“Council gets first dibs on patrols during harvest season.” The tip of your favorite pen is dry so you quickly bring it to your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before you start writing out jobs for this upcoming week. The second he sees how many farming related jobs you’re listing he leans back in his chair, groaning and running his fingers through his dark curls.

Today’s his day off. You always gave anyone doing more manual labor three days off instead of two.

“I can get you on one patrol shift but they’re going to need your help with the corn.” You write his name in with the Monday and Tuesday patrol squad, filling in the rest of his week with harvest as he grins.

“Thank you, darlin’.” He drawls. You hate that nickname, you hate that he isn’t the first to give it to you but you never complain, you’d let Tommy get away with murder at this point. It’s the least you can do considering everything he’s given you.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re only getting a two-day weekend next week.” You mumble, searching through the list of citizens, trying to pick out the people you know won’t mind the hard work.

“Fine by me.” You have a complicated relationship with that smile of his. You can love it all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that it makes you uneasy, it doesn’t help that you’re starting to see that same smile in your son.

“I was thinking about berry cobbler for tomorrow night.” Molly twisted her ankle last week, make sure she isn’t standing. You put her down for shucking corn, she can sit in the dining hall and work.

“We have a bunch of extra sweet potatoes if you want to make sweet potato pie.” He takes your crop ledger, flipping through it, clearly not reading a thing.

“Ruth hates sweet potatoes.” Marcus insists he’s capable of doing manual labor, his pride won’t let him act his age. You put him down for pushing the wheelbarrows, he won’t have to bend down to pick anything up but hopefully he’ll still feel like he’s doing enough. You’ve told him countless times that at his age he shouldn’t be working so hard but he always insists.

“Shit, forgot about that. Maria might have some apples.”

“I’ll stop by tonight before I take the kids to the market.”

You’re thankful for Tommy.

He keeps your mind busy with conversation while you work, and he’s one of the only people you actually trust. By the time you’re almost done you know you need to go get the kids, with a conflicted glance at the clock you start to gather your things but Tommy beats you to it.

“I’ll go get them, Maria should be home from patrol soon, she’ll want to see them.” He’s already putting his coat on so you stay seated.

“Are you sure?” You already know there’s no reason to argue, he’s stubborn, just like his brother.

“It’s the least I can do to make up for bothering you all day.” He steps around the desk to give you a peck on the cheek before going to leave. “Just come by the house when you’re done, no rush.” And just like that he’s gone.

You make quick work of your remaining duties. Finishing everything within a half an hour before heading out in the direction of the Miller’s farm house on the edge of town. It’s only a few houses away from your ranch house, a fact that you couldn’t be more grateful for, if it weren’t for Tommy and Maria you aren’t sure you’d have been able to handle those first few months of parenthood. Most people in town assumed Tommy must be the father purely based on how much effort he put into taking care of not only them, but you as well. As you make your way up their porch steps and into the living room you’re also reminded of the similarities. You can’t blame people for making assumptions, even Maria thought he was the father. The twins have his eyes, (which by association means that they also have his eyes, but you try not to dwell on that.) Ruth has your nose but Arthur has that Miller curve already starting to show on his little nose. Both little ones are sitting in the big recliner with their uncle as he tries to get them to settle down while he reads to them but the second they see you, both are scrambling out of the chair to hug your legs.

And everything goes exactly how it’s supposed to.

(Of course it does, you plan every day down to the minute.)

You give Tommy the list of things you need along with a few things he can trade them for and he takes the kids down the street to the market as you sit at the kitchen counter, talking to Maria about her patrol. You had all planned to go to the market together but she’d insisted she was tired and you didn’t want her to be here alone so you stayed, helping her cook dinner. And you talked about all the things you knew you would, something cute the kids did, how her patrol went, what things you could put on the dining hall menu in the coming weeks.

It’s all exactly how it should be.

Until she frowns.

“Are you busy Sunday?” You had sensed something was wrong with her but you assumed maybe she was just a little rattled coming off of a three day patrol.

“No, did you need something?” You continue to chop up the sweet potatoes she now planned to use tonight instead of tomorrow.

“We found a couple of strays, I thought maybe we could get them settled in.”

Odd.

Normally finding survivors would be the first thing she mentioned after returning, even stranger is the fact that she’d often waste no time getting them supplies and a home to make their own. But you're not one to question Maria’s judgment.

“Sure, we can do that Sunday morning.” You want to ask questions about it but she’s already changed the subject to doing a clothing drive at the community center so you don’t press. Despite the way the look on her face is bothering you.

It wasn’t fear, or discomfort, or something you could explain away with the excuse of the strays being off putting or violent.

It’s a look of pity.

As if she feels bad for even asking.

It unsettles you enough to leave it be. Making idle chit chat with her until Tommy returns with the twins and you take them home. It unsettles you as you make your own dinner, as you give the twins a bath, and as you help them into their pajamas and read them a story. It never leaves your mind.

“Goodnight Ruthie.” You lean down to kiss her forehead, watching her eyes flutter shut as she continues to fight sleep. Always the stubborn one.

“Night Mama.” You take the stuffed bear from the foot of her bed, tucking it in beside her before quietly standing, walking across the room to your son's bed.

“Goodnight Arthur.” You lean down, kissing both of his rosy cheeks, he doesn’t fight sleep the way his sister does. So similar but so different.

“Goodnight Mama.” His little voice has the same southern drawl you know he’s been picking up from Tommy.

“I love you, little ducks.” You smile at him, turning to see that Ruth is already asleep, you tuck in the blankets around Arthur before leaving, keeping the door cracked open a bit so the light from the kitchen can act as a night light.

God, you're tired.

You’re quick to shower and slip into your own pajamas, crawling into bed with a yawn. You take the book from your nightstand, flipping through until you find where you left off yesterday.

You never really know what’s going on in the books you read, they serve a singular purpose and it isn’t entertainment.

You read until you fall asleep, they’re just a distraction to keep your mind busy with thoughts so he can’t sneak in right before you fall asleep and embed himself in your dreams.

It works.

Your dreams never feature him.

They aren’t good dreams by any means, they’re wild. Often of your journey to Jackson, the fear you felt then. But you’ll take that over Joel any day. Tonight isn’t any different, your sleep is restless as you fight the memories of fighting for survival in those woods, but instead of your usual nightmares of infected hunting you through the trees you’re faced with a sight that somehow makes you even more uneasy than the living dead.

The look on Maria’s face when she told you about the two strays.

support me on kofi!!

a/n : this fic has been bouncing around in my brain for months now and it feels so fucking good to finally start it omfg. sorry if this felt a little slow, i really needed to set a tone and a base for the story, sorry!!

#lincolndjarin #fic : every now and then #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic #joel x reader #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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starlit-typewriter · 1 month

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Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 2

I didn't expect such a warm reception, but I'm so glad you guys all liked it!

Your kind words inspired me so much so behold the next part!

Warning for spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

It all started with a dream.

Well, a lot of things start with dreams, but this one was an actual, asleep in bed, REM cycle dream.

Well, at least you thought it was. But that's neither here nor now.

It was, to your unending embarrassment about Genshin Impact.

Now there’s absolutely nothing wrong with likings something so much that you end up dreaming about it, it’s just slightly humiliating when you as a person is not someone who dreams a lot and your first actual proper dream that you can actually remember past the first twenty minutes after waking up is about a fictional 2D character vowing to love and care for you.

Ever so slightly humiliating.

You'd've preferred it if it was an actual person because at least that way you knew you had a crush on a living human being rather than having a parasocial relationship with a giant block of code and text.

Actually, can you have parasocial relationships with fictional humans?

Not the point,

This started with a series of extremely weird and slightly embarrassing dreams about Iudex Neuvillette.

Actually this started when you C6’d him.

Honestly, you did not expect to get anywhere near this lucky, especially since your past luck has been average to low in terms of wishing for characters.

But with him,

Well,

It wasn't quite streamer luck, but you did not have to spend any monetary funds to achieve your goal.

You did have to skip quite a few Fontanian characters, and grind out all the region’s exploration, but you’d say it was well worth it.

The night after you’d gotten that final constellation, you had the aforementioned weird dream.

You weren’t in the dream per say, as you didn’t seem to occupy any physical space,

you well.

The best way to describe it would be a movie scene.

You watched as the man, dragon, stood on a balcony.

The moon’s rays reflecting off of this silver chalice, you could only assume filled with another one of his fancy waters.

But it was his gaze that caught your attention.

It’s cheesy to say, but you’ve always been drawn to the man’s gaze. It was always so sharp, so intentional.

He knew what he was looking at and he did so with reason.

But now, at this moment.

It was unfocused, hazy.

His gaze was not focused on the moon, nor the city lights.

He did not stare at the landscape of Fontaine, nor the glittering waters beneath.

But, he saw you.

You don’t know how you knew, but you did.

You didn’t hear what he was saying, nor could you make out the words his mouth was forming but you knew that it was a call, a call for you.

It was odd but flattering and confusing, but a deeper part of you crooned as his sentiments. A part of you you didn’t realize you had was rising to the surface.

“My child,” it crooned, “my dear Hydro Dragon,”

Neuvillette seemed to startle at that.

You knew you didn’t make any sound, you didn’t even have a body, but somehow he heard it, heard you.

His face flushed, hand grasping at his chest as his murmurs seemed to grow faster.

You didn’t know what was going on anymore, simply that this rising feeling in your chest was growing and growing.

It was scary.

It was alien.

Feelings that were not your own, moments of clarity and nostalgia flash through you, connecting to nothing but faceless figures and a deep sense of regret and loss.

What is happening,

A part of you that you didn’t know about, that you’ve never felt.

Is this what it feels like to be possessed, you recall thinking faintly before sinking into darkness.

~~~

The Iudex of Fontaine stood above all in the courtroom.

With the destruction of the Oratrice Mechanique D’analyse Cardinale, his word and judgment were the last line holding Fountaine to its standard of justice and order.

On paper, he seemed to have it all as the youths may say.

But his identity as the Hydro Dragon may deter from that.

It is already isolating enough to be the Iudex of the nation of Justice and Hydro, but to be the only dragon, were it not something that he had spent his entire lifespan balancing, he feared he could go mad from that.

There is a sense of irony in that.

Focalors's plot put both he and Furina in the highest positions in all of Fountaine, and in turn made them both the most isolated as well.

Although, at least she was released from her duties after the job was done.

While he was and forever will be grateful for her contribution in saving Fountaine, there is a quiet part of him that he’s tried very hard to bury, that is green with envy.

He understood Focalor’s reasoning, after all, once their act was done Furina would be able to live a normal human life and he would be able to regain his powers and authority as the Hydro Dragon.

That was as much as she could do for him, from her limited position.

He was grateful.

But,

His brethren, his kin.

They did not have the same freedoms granted to them.

While he did not have many memories of what happened to the previous sovereigns, nor of his life before the arrival of the Primordial one, he knew that they were most likely sealed away, deprived of their rightful power and authority.

It is his duty as the Hydro Dragon to render judgment upon the Usurpers that massacred his brethren and sealed away his kin. To uphold the standard of justice he has worked so hard to maintain during his rule as Iudex of Fontaine.

He once saw a quote in a popular novel that was making the rounds. “To become God is the loneliest achievement of them all,” whilst he does not recall the contents of the book, the sentiment of the line rings true, especially now that he has regained his authority.

While he and Furina did not spend much time together whilst they were performing their duties, she was a constant presence that he knew was always there. Much like a tree you would pass by everyday on your morning commute, or the singing of birds at dawn. An ever present figure whose loss is sudden and to an effect irreplaceable.

He finds himself missing her, sometimes.

Not that he dares let Sedene and the others know, else they’ll enact some kind of plot to get him to go out and meet more people.

But there was a comfort in knowing that she, just like him, was alone in their positions and would serve Fontaine to the very end.

Not that he dares disturb her well earned retirement, nor does he wish to retire himself.

It was simply,

A shame.

The melusines were the closest equivalent to his dragon kin that he has had over the centuries, and will most likely continue to be for many to come. For as much as their presence filled him with happiness, they do not, and he hopes never will, understand what it truly means to be a dragon.

To be the last survivor of the original people of Teyvat, crushed under the heel of the Usurper king and their shades.

To have to live amongst their people, knowing that while humans are innocent, their creation was built upon the bloodshed and suffering of his people.

There is a unique sense of cruelty in her actions, he reflected, fitting for the successor of one of the usurpers.

Whilst he has no doubt she meant it as an honor, taking him in, raising him to the highest scene of this land, giving him the highest seat of power and eventually returning to him his authority after watching her death.

There were moments, especially when he first took on the mantle and was trying to prove himself worthy of the title, that we would stare out at the people of Fountaine and wonder why he was doing this.

Humans were the reason for the destruction of his people. The Usurper King, sought out this world and destroyed it and it’s civilization so that a new one could be created in place of it. So that humans could be created in place of it.

Human are the reason why his people, why the dragons were destroyed, they were the reason behind all the suffering and pain his kin have gone through and yet.

Yet they were still innocent.

They did not participate in the war.

They did not ask to be created.

They did not deserve to be punished for the sins of their creator.

However that does not make it any easier to stomach.

There is a peculiar sense of humiliation, to be worshiped alongside those who have destroyed your brethren. To serve and protect the beloved children of those who caused him and his people great harm.

It is a cruel and angry part of him that he does not dwell on much.

He cannot, lest it overrule all his rational sensibilities.

Humans are not inherently cruel beings. They are curious passionate creatures who love and care for each other deeply, who are compassionate and curious at their very core.

Whilst during his reign as Iudex, he has seen a great deal of human cruelty and evil, he has also witnessed selfless acts of kindness and compassion.

It is the duality of human nature that strikes him so. He cannot blame them for acts they are innocent of, but neither can he proclaim them to be free of all responsibility.

Truly the most vexing case he has ever dealt with.

Especially since,

Neuvillete frowned as he rubbed at his chest, feeling where the small spark of divine blessing lay within him.

As the reborn Hydro dragon he does not have access to all the memories of his previous incarnations. As such his knowledge of the previous Dragon Sovereigns and the Creator of Teyvat remains incomplete.

But what he does know, what he does remember, is warmth.

The same warmth that now resides in his chest and on his very self.

He does not remember having many interactions with the creator of Teyvat, knowing that the greatest of interactions lay between the Fromitable Dragon Father himself, and the creator of this great realm.

He had assumed that they had abandoned Teyvat, abandoned the dragons. He’d have preferred that to be in case rather than the harrowing alternative of their defeat and possible imprisonment at the hands of the Usurper king.

But deep in his heart he knew that not to be the case.

“A creator cannot abandon their world”, King Nibelung had proclaimed, their Dragon Father was the one who knew the most about their creator after all, he had no reason to dispute such a fact.

Worlds are much akin to terrariums, whilst on the surface it may seem completely self dependent and a skilled enough botanist may even be able to create one that can last years without any need for direct intervention, but even terrariums need light.

They require the sun to nourish its plants and create the water cycle, for all it may seem self sufficient it requires the energy of the world outside it’s glass container.

That is very much the situation of Teyvat.

For as much as Teyvat seems to have taken care of itself, the world is breaking. Ley lines disorders have become more and more common, abyssal energy roams around, attaching itself to unsuspecting creatures. Bodies of dead gods spread harmful miasma around, polluting the earth.

If the creator wanted to destroy Teyvat, it would be as simple as cutting off the power of the Leylines, putting out the sun, or any myriad of actions that would destroy this very world.

They did not, instead they still provided this terrarium with bits of light. Enough for it to survive, but not enough to thrive.

They still cared enough for Teyvat to sustain it, but not enough to intervene when it so clearly was struggling.

The creator he knew was not like that, they took no pleasure in toying around with others.

The only explanation for this was that they lacked the power to give Teyvat the help it so truly required.

That realization was horrifying.

Nauvillete could only sit and wallow in his own helplessness as he watched the situation in Teyvat decline over the centuries.

Until,

Well,

Until the Traveler,

The witness from beyond the stars.

They have been given a great many titles in their journey through Teyvat, and have undoubtedly more than earned all of them.

What he did not realize, is that they also had another title, unbeknownst to all.

A title given by a presence beyond all that they’ve encountered.

A title that they most likely did not even know of themselves.

The Creator's ∎∎∎∎

They carried the essence of the creator within them, it was clear they were beloved, it was clear that they were back.

The creator had come back.

And they were kind.

A part of Neuvillette feared that they would be much like King Nibelung, furious and desperate to do anything to drive out those that did not belong on Teyvat.

Perhaps they were at some point, but it seems that that point is not now.

The Traveler that acted with their blessing was kind,

They cared for those around them, human and non-human alike.

But they were not naive, willing to dispense justice upon those who deserved it.

If this was the person the creator chose to represent their will, perhaps their return will be much more peaceful than their disappearance.

Neuvillette had contented himself with that thought back then, throwing himself into his works as he had to deal with the threat that was the prophecy.

Little did he know that with time, the creator would bless him in much the same way.

The same blessing that sits in his chest at this very moment.

It has been months since he had been blessed as well as the completion of the prophecy. A selfish part of him wished that he would receive more since then.

Through his investigation he has seen many others, being blessed just as he had, gaining strength and power beyond their previous limits.

But they were not dragons.

They were not the creator’s original creation, their children.

Is it unfair for him to hope that he’d be treated differently.

Perhaps, the age of dragons had long passed already, and humans have dominated so much of this world that it is hard to deny that they are the driving force behind Teyvat.

But still,

He hoped,

He prayed,

Until,

The skies glowed.

Not the stars, mind you,

The sky

It was akin to the opposite of a solar eclipse, the night turning into day.

A surge of energy filled his body.

Not like when he regained his authority, that one was a wave of pure power cascading upon his person, placing responsibilities and burden on his shoulders alike.

This one was kind, gentle, hopeful, excited.

Is this what it feels like to take drugs, Neuvillette thought faintly.

Synth was incredibly popular on the market for its ability to create unprecedented euphoria in its users. If this is what those people felt then he understood why they were willing to go to such methods to achieve this feeling.

“My child,” the power crooned, wrapping itself around him, embracing him with all the tenderness of a loving parent,

His mouth formed the words he could not bring himself to say,

The power purred with reassurance, erasing pains and aches that he didn’t even know he had, before fading from his body.

His arms reached out in desperation, hoping to capture that feeling again to no avail.

Their presence was gone,

But their blessing remained

It certainly remained and it was stronger than ever, this power surge he feels is akin to receiving his full authority once more.

Whilst many worries and doubts he had about the future still remained, one thing was made clear.

He was beloved, he was wanted, and the creator would keep him safe.

~~~~

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~~~

Let me know what you think! I love reading your comments and feel free to send me asks about it as well!

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin impact #genshin cult au #My writing

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randomdragonfires · 2 months

Text

Pieces of a Woman | Bonus

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | In the aftermath of the Battle Above The God's Eye, a mad widow weeps.

WARNINGS | 18+; Canon Divergence AU; Insanity; B&C; Gore; Delusions; Yearning; Major Character Death; ANGST.

WORD COUNT | 1.2k

A/N | Not beta read. To be read as an accompaniment to this one shot, but I suppose it works as a standalone too. Repost from my old blog.

There is a chill in the air that she does not like.

The white shift that she wore was too thin to allow her any semblance of warmth, and she is reminded of that as the cold air hits her form. Her days are long and her nights are lonely, each moment taking longer to pass than it should as she sits quietly, rocking herself back and forth with her hands hugging her knees. A loud thunderstorm strikes through the Keep - it is scary and loud enough to make her whimper and mumble into her hands.

“Aemond, Aemond, Aemond,” she repeats over and over.

Her eyes are an endless pit, having lost all their charm from months of isolated confinement. Her hands are frail, and they shake incessantly even when there is nothing within her line of sight to scare her. Her once beautiful hair is now unkempt and dry, falling around the sides of her hair like a dark, damning curtain.

Aemond loved my hair, she thinks. He always thought I had beautiful hair.

Aemond is dead.

She continues to cry, her eyes a mad, murderous red as the tears fall freely down her cheek.

Aemond would have wiped them off, she thinks. He would have kissed my forehead and told me I’d be alright.

Aemond is dead.

It is a rare moment of clarity, this moment in time. She does not have them often anymore, she knows. In times like this, she has always heard servants whispering about her apparent behaviour when she was not conscious of her being.

“Madness. She’s gone mad, the poor thing,” the servant maid had whispered outside her doors one night. “Absolute shame. She scratched the poor Prince’s face out yesterday!”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond. Her husband, her love, hers.

Not anymore.

She lifts her hands and cries, her tears a seemingly endless stream. She had hurt the man she loved with these very hands - her nails had dried blood on them, and she doesn't know where it could have come from. Was it Aemond’s blood? She does not know. Has she been scratching her own skin out?

She stands up and screams as the words continue to ring in her weak, fragile mind. “Aemond is dead. Your husband fought valiantly, Your Grace,” the servant maid had said. In a fit of anger, she takes the book - Ten Thousand Ships - left strewn about on her bedside. She does not know who had brought it, or where it had come from - all she knows is that they did not believe her worthy enough to deliver the news to her themselves, and had sent a servant maid to relay it to her.

She was everything to Aemond. She is worth nothing to them.

The realization hits her harsher than the gust of wind that she is now trying to shield herself from as she cries and tears the book to shreds. The pages fly about before they fall to the ground like light noiseless water drops. She continues to tear at it to her heart’s content and cries, cries, cries - but it is not enough. It is never enough.

Aemond is dead.

She does not remember much from when they were married - just that she had a husband who loved her enough to keep her. Was there a son? She remembers a baby boy. Was he hers? Was he Aemond’s? Where was he?

Aemond is dead.

She grips the hem of her shift and bends down to let her head rest on the cold, unmade bed. Her sobs are muffled by the cushions as they permeate the air in groans and whines. She then sits on the same bed and continues to weep - for what, she struggles to recall - only for a moment before it hits her again.

Aemond is dead.

She does not recognize the movement of her hands as she hugs herself. Her nails dig deep into the flesh of her arms as she weeps, rocking herself back and forth once more. Her cries are loud, louder and louder still, almost as though she was shouldering the sadness of the entire Keep. How could she not, after all she had been through?

Aemond is dead.

She is a dark silhouette in a greying room, a scary sight in her shift and untamed hair let loose. The servants treat her like she is some sort of wild animal, one that they are afraid of being eaten and hurt by. She has not known the love of her family in what seems like years, and she does not remember all the nights that her husband had come to give her warmth and comfort.

Aemond is dead.

But who was Aemond?

Her thoughts fluctuate constantly - one moment she knows, one moment she does not. One moment she was in his arms, and the next she was screaming at him to let her die. Die, die, die. The words have taken over her completely in this moment and her feet carry her to the large window of their own accord. The young Princess, a new widow, steps on the ledge and watches the grounds of the city as it sleeps in the pale moonlight.

Die, die, die. Aemond was dead. Dead. Who was Aemond? Who is he? A husband. Aemond? A baby?

Her feet sway just slightly as she regains her balance, and she turns back to look around the room as she spots the torn pages. True to her madness, despite her confusion all this time, her thoughts oscillate once more. Ten Thousand Ships, a gift from… Aemond. A man who loved her more than she could even try, a man she loved back with all that she ever was.

But who was Aemond?

She breathes out raggedly, heavily, audibly - waiting for the loudness in her mind to stop as she clutches her head tight with her palms and covers her ears. But it does not, it never does.

Madwoman… wife… a son… a Prince… poor thing… once a beautiful, happy girl born in the spring… dead. Aemond was dead.

In her last moment of unhinged grief, one of the pages flies about and she remembers.

Aemond was her husband. Aemond loved her. Aemond wanted her to get better. Aemond wanted her to be safe. Aemond wanted her to love him again. Aemond wanted her to come back to him. Aemond did not want her to die.

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond…

She remembers. She remembers happy days when she had been a wife and a mother. She remembers better days when she was beautiful and happy and had a husband who worshipped the ground she walked on; in whose eyes she could do no wrong.

She remembers safe arms around her, kisses to her temple, rough thrusts into her cunt. She remembers her hands holding onto his, his warm breath fanning her face, sweet nothings whispered in her ear. She remembers him reading to her in his low voice, in rumbling whispers that made her giggle once upon a time. She remembers and knows that Aemond did not want her to die.

Die, die, die. Aemond did not want her to-

It happens quickly.

Her foot slips and she falls, falls, falls. It is seemingly never-ending and she does not scream. She makes no noise as she sees windows and bricks zoom past her, looking at them briefly at an angle she never has before. Her shift billows above her knees and her hair flies in all directions and she falls, falls, falls…

Until she abruptly lands.

The warmth of the blood pooling below her head is a last moment of comfort for her. The last thing she sees is the blurring sight of thick, viscous blood seeping through her hair, coloring the floor red.

Not my hair, she thinks with her dying breath. Aemond loved my hair. He always thought I had beautiful hair.

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alloftheimaginesblog · 5 months

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nose in a book {bucky barnes}

plot: the coffee shop you and bucky frequent is also a library and every week, you have your nose in a new book.

request by sunflowerkitten2: a coffee shop meet-cute

character: reader x bucky barnes

In all of his years, Bucky Barnes had been to hundreds of coffee shops and had drank thousands of crappy cups of coffee but recently, he'd began to drink at this coffee shop. It was a small shop, half library half coffee shop with warm lighting and a nostalgic musky smell from the old books that adorned the shelves. There was a certain charm to it but the coffee certainly wasn't it. The coffee was actually pretty awful but there was a reason that Bucky kept coming back to this one.

The reason was you.

Each time Bucky came into the small shop, there you sat same time every Saturday morning, same time but always with a different book in your hand. From the first time Bucky entered that coffee shop, he was intrigued by you.

You were usually too concentrated on the book to look up at him when the chime of the door went as he walked in. Sometimes you caught each other's eye and exchanged friendly smiles but that was rare.

Bucky had never approached you, he wanted to but he wasn't that confident around asking beautiful people out anymore. He had changed a lot since the forties. Today though, the book you held in your hands was familiar to him... in fact it was one of his favourites; The Hobbit.

"You know," he said gently as he approached you, voice soft so's not to scare you, "I was there when they first printed that book."

With the comment, you expected it to be attached to a ninety year old man (which he was but you didn't know that yet) and instead you were met with the blue eyes of a very handsome thirty something year old. You laughed, "That's a rubbish pick up line," you teased.

Bucky frowned, "Not a pick up line, doll," he said, "I was actually there. 1937. What a year."

You blinked at him, insanely confused, before your foot pushed out the chair across from me, "Okay, I gotta hear this... How?"

He sat with a smile, reaching his hand across the table to shake yours, "Bucky Barnes, ma'am. Pleasure to meet you." Bucky... Barnes. That name sounded familiar.

Then it clicked.

"Oh!" You exclaimed with a little surprise as your shook his glove clad hand, "Oh my god, you look so good for your age." You hadn't meant to say that, it sounded pretty fucking weird but Bucky's face split into a wide grin. You were amusing. Usually, when people realised who Bucky was they recoiled with fear or at the very least they'd be apprehensive to talk to a ninety something assassin but you... you looked intrigued? He laughed, thanking you for the compliment that slipped out.

"Have you read Lord of the Rings?" You asked him with slightly warm cheeks.

It was his turn to be confused, "I don't think I've ever heard of them."

"Oh my god!" You gasped, "So obviously this is the Hobbit and this is a prequel to The Lord of the Rings which is hands down one of the best series ever written. They made movies of them too! It follows Bilbo's nephew, Frodo and his quest to destroy the Ring."

Bucky vaguely recalled Stark talking about movies that sounded similar to that title, "Are they any good?" He asked, genuinely curious, "To be honest, I've not seen many movies."

"They're so good. They made Hobbit movies too. Three."

He frowned, "Three movies? Did two more Hobbit books come out then?"

You shook your head, explaining that it was three movies centred around the one book, "I really liked them," you shrugged, "but is that because I just absolutely love the Hobbit? Who knows?"

As you and Bucky continued to chat you realised a very important fact, "I just realised I never told you my name," you said stopping mid sentence, "I'm (y/n). It's so nice to meet you, Bucky."

Bucky grinned, "Trust me, doll, pleasure's all mine... Now, can I buy you another cup of coffee?"

#one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #fic #os #marvel #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #avengers #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky #bucky barnes imagine #imagine

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nina-ya · 1 month

Note

Oh my gosh Nina I LOVE your content!!! It's so detailed and lovely without being too wordy and long it's just amazing oh gosh~

If you don't have too many asks and if it's okay, can I ask for a scenario where it's post-war arc and reader is at his bedside holding his hand while he's recovering just waiting for him to finally wake up. And while he's laying there reader realizes that they love him more than a friend/captain. So when he wakes up they're crying on him and they admit how scared they were to lose him.

Even if you don't write it, thank you so much for all of the content you give us!! You should consider opening/sharing a Ko-fi, I would love to give back as a true thank you!!

Have a blessed night ❤

Waiting for Luffy to Wake Up

Pairing: Luffy x Reader CW: Marineford spoilers if you squint. None overall. WC: 1.2k A/N: AAAAA????? Im going to actually sob at your complement it means a lot to me and truly thank you for reading my silly little writings i'm glad if i can bring joy to even one person. I do have a ko-fi! you can find it here!

You’ve grown accustomed to the smell of heavy antiseptic that inhabited the room. The blinding LED lights had been dimmed, as they usually were when night fell, leaving the room shroud in darkness. The only sources of light were the faint glow seeping in from under the door and the dull gleam of the machines that surrounded his bed. Oh, those machines. The machines that whir and beep through all hours of the day to keep him alive. The heart monitor is one of the machines that you are grateful for, though it was a double-edged sword. It's a reminder that his heart still beats, but the constant beep...beep....beep is a sound that you have grown to dread the longer that you hear it– wishing so desperately that you could hear the sound of his laughter instead of this constant reminder that he has gone through something absolutely terrible.

You couldn’t tell how long you had been in that room by Luffy's side. You knew that at least some days had passed since the surgery, but exactly how long was unknown to you as time seemed to blur the longer you waited to see him open his eyes. The creaking and groaning of the submarine, the chatter that could be heard from the other side of the door, the voices of the people who come in and out of the room, all have seemed to just be muted to you. Your mind could not make room for anything else other than the man in front of you.

You felt a lump form in your throat at the sight of him. How could someone so full of life, so unyielding, be lying here so still? Every move he made all seemed so effortless, it seemed that nothing could bring him down. But now, seeing him like this, you just realized how fragile he could be, and it scared you.

You took hold of his hand, gripping it tight, as if by holding on, you could will him back to consciousness. You could see the rising and falling of his chest to indicate his breathing. You could see the line on the heart monitor rise and fall with each beat of his heart. Yet, you could not help yourself but to distrust the machines lean in, placing your head against his chest and listening for yourself to hear the faint sound of the badump… badump… badump… of his heart to make sure that there is still life in there.

You sighed in relief hearing that beautiful sound, and yet, other, worrying thoughts occupied you. What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he never opens his eyes again? What if you can never see that smile of his again? Your mind suddenly raced with the things you wish you had said, all the moments you had taken for granted. You leaned back, lifting your head from Luffy’s chest, but your grip on his hand remained tight.

The thoughts began spiraling, bringing forward past memories. You recalled the first time you met, how he greeted you with that infectious grin, the kind that made you believe that anything was possible. You knew he was special from that moment. You knew that you had to keep him close. And somewhere along the way, without you even realizing it, you knew that you thought of him more than and you just couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Now, as you sat beside him, the weight of him pressed heavily on your heart. Fear and guilt. The two emotions filled your heart. Fear for what the future might hold, for the possibility of losing him forever. Guilt, for not realizing sooner, for not being able to protect him.

You didn’t even realize you were shaking. Your fingers trembled against his, and tears blurred your vision as you fought to contain your emotions. With a shuddering breath, you dropped your head and watched as the tears dropped to the surface below you. You whispered words of encouragement, of hope, of love, though whether they were meant for him your yourself, you couldn’t be sure. “Luffy… please,” you croaked out, your voice cracking with sorrow. “You have to wake up. The crew needs you… I need you…”

You squeezed his hand tighter, lifting your head, allowing the tears to flow down your cheeks as you looked at him. His face was peaceful despite what he went through. And just for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a possible future with him if he were to wake up. A future where you could be honest with yourself and with him and could finally tell him how you felt.

You couldn’t hold back the tears. Your body shook with sobs that left you gasping for breath. You knew that you couldn’t live in a world without him, and the mere thought of it hurt like nothing else.

In your dazed state, you felt his hand twitch. At first, you dismissed it as wishful thinking, but then you heard a shift in his breathing. Your sobs stopped abruptly as you stared at him with baited breath, wondering if it was just your mind playing a sick and cruel trick. But then you saw it– his chest rose sharply as he gasped for breath, his eyes fluttering open. It was real.

“Lu…Luffy?” You asked, your voice barely audible. You could not dare believe your eyes. He turned his head towards you, the motion strained and clearly weakened by the toll his body had endured, but the motion was enough to send you flying into his arms. You hugged him as tightly as you could, despite the wires and machines in the way. “Oh my gosh! Y-you’re okay!” you exclaimed between sobs. “Don’t ever do that to me again! Fuck… you had me so scared,” you cried, slumping over him.

Luffy groaned in pain under the weight of your embrace, and you quickly backed off, apologizing for any discomfort you may have caused. “Sorry, sorry,” you stammered, reaching out to touch his face gently. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just…” You traced his face, tears still spilling from your own. “You scared me…”

He looked like he wanted to say something. He struggled, reaching to take off the oxygen mask that was over his mouth. His chest heaved as he took in the air without the help of the mask, something clearly on his mind. Not even discomfort seemed to be at the forefront of his emotions. His voice was raspy and faint, and his words were disjointed as he tried speaking. “Ace?” was all he could ask, confusion evident in his eyes. Your heart sank. You knew that question too well– it was a name that would soon carry a heavy burden for him.

Your confession to Luffy could wait. All those feelings you had just realized can be kept to yourself. Right now, he had more important matters to deal with, a grief that would require your complete and utter support. It wasn’t about you, it was about being there for him during this point in his life. So, you held back those words of love that were on the tip of your tongue. Those can wait. Right now, he just needed you to be there for him more than anything.

#Nina Responds~✦#Nina Writes~✦#one piece #one piece x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #straw hat luffy #monkey d luffy #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy #luffy x reader #x reader

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glittering-moonlillie · 1 year

Text

My Beloved (Damian Wayne x Reader)

Word Count: 2740

Warnings: None

Summary: Not knowing how to express his feelings any other way, Damian resorts to calling you pet names in his mother's tongue in order to air out his pent up affection.

“Habibti, can you hand me the yellow frosting?” Damian was in deep trouble - absolutely terrible, hideous trouble.

“Of course!” You reached over to your left and handed him the buttercream, the arabic pet name flying over your head.

In his language, Habibti was a sign of endearment given to your lover, usually meaning something along the lines of My Love or Darling - but to you, he was utterly convinced that you believed it was a form of belittlement similar to Idiot.

Of course, Damian was too afraid to correct you and he was not sure if you would believe him if he tried. He would rather keep it a sweet secret to himself, even if his fragile heart was practically leaping its way out of his rib cage to expose itself to you.

“You know, if you want to call me something mean at least make it so I can understand you.” You laughed, a noise that would certainly haunt him late at night when he was alone and longed for your presence.

“But it’s much more fun seeing you like this.” You scruched your nose, your forehead creasing with the movement. Your lips were parted but no words came out. It was an adorable look he had grown to love despite how dorky you appeared.

You retaliated with a poorly placed handful of orange frosting along his cheek, your lips twisting into a pout that only served to make the fantasies of kissing you worsen.

Orange was an obnoxiously disgusting color but he would bathe in a lazarus pit full of orange frosting if you wished it.

He ran his thumb along his cheek and licked away whatever frosting was there. Alfred’s special buttercream frosting really was to die for. Damian enjoyed the way your eyes slightly widened, relishing in the fact that it wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else. He liked to think that the scarlet decorating your face was because of him being undoubtedly sexy, and not the fact that it was because it was a hot summer’s day.

“You’re staring, ya amar.” He smirked. “And I believe that cookie has way too much frosting, it looks like Picaso threw up all over it.”

Ya Amar had to be Damian’s second favorite pet name for you, translating to my moon. He often recalled the way his mother praised the moon for its beauty, treating it similar to a guiding life force. More than anything, Damian wanted to be the sun that illuminated your countenance - to be the man who kept you steady and loved you even if you just saw yourself as a clumpy rock. The name suited you perfectly. You were his beautiful, crated moon with star imbued eyes and a body that reflected the power of an inescapable black hole.

“Hey, are those cookies almost finished? B wants them set out within the hour-” Tim walked in, his under eye bags accentuated further with the distasteful dark blue sweater he threw on.

His brother paused, rolling his eyes at the state of the dining table. Damian hoped that the kitchen disaster was enough of a distraction for him not to notice the lovey-dovey eyes he assuredly was giving his best friend.

“We’ll clean it up, Tim. Sorry about that.” You replied quickly. “But most of the cookies are done, Damian still has a few to finish though.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning wildly like the Cheshire cat.

“Just don’t get distracted flirting with each other, I don’t want to deal with an irritated Bruce.”

“Shut up, Timothy. At least we aren’t aggressively making out like how you and Conner were at the last gala.” Damian shot back.

Tim frowned. “I’m too tired to deal with this. Try not to explode anything, okay?”

Damian waved off his brother and went back to decorating one of the cookies for the large event at Wayne Manor tonight. It was a charity event to raise awareness of the increase in homeless population on the streets of Gotham, and alongside the event, his family was hosting a soup kitchen for any struggling person on the streets. Along with a hearty, full course meal, they would be served one of the cookies being decorated by the two of you.

Although Damian’s father normally did not allow any friend’s to charity events, you were always an exception due to the fact that if you weren’t there, Damian would blow a gasket and murder someone if he was in a suit for too long. Your presence beside Damian was often looked over when you were both younger, but now that a few years had gone by plenty of journalists speculated the possibility of “a secret blooming relationship.”

The common theory circulating around Gotham was the idea that his father was disapproving of them being together since you were a “commoner,” therefore excusing the lack of concrete evidence of the relationship existing. Damian had found the notion completely ridiculous; even if his father disapproved of you in that context, that would not stop him from loving you the way he always dreamed, consequences be damned.

You treated the whole situation with carefree ease, giggling at the awful pictures and wack job theories concocted by 40 year old men looking to sell half-baked news. On one hand, Damian was pleased that the unwanted attention did not bother you, but deep down he also felt a pang of poison seep its way into his bloodstream. Was the idea of being his lover that much of a joke?

The clicking of a phone keyboard brought him back to reality. Damian peered over your shoulder and saw Safari pulled up.

“What ever are you doing, habibti?”

“I’m trying to decipher what you are calling me.” You said. “Can you repeat that last word for me, please?”

The youngest Wayne felt every single pour in his body drip in sweat, excess saliva pooling in his mouth. Perhaps if his blood was functioning properly, then he would have found a better response other than a simple no.��

It was very rare for Damian to be properly caught off guard. He should have thought that you would have looked up the words he was repeating, should have come up with a game plan instead of looking like a strangled goose.

His first instinct was to snatch the phone away and cut it up with the plastic, buttercream decorated knife. Damian could pretend to be possessed by a ghost and buy you a better phone with specially installed programs that inhibited your ability to look up any Arabic term. Yes, that was a wonderful idea-

“How are there zero search results?!!” You exclaimed, turning to him. “Did you make up a language or something? Why are there absolutely zero results??”

Damian looked at your phone again. You certainly took some liberties with the spelling of the pet name, letting him relax into his seat. It was nowhere close to how the word was spelled. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Why are there two y’s in the word?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Well maybe if you told me the other 20 languages you spoke I’d get somewhere.”

For the next 15 minutes, you angrily punched in 17 different ways to spell Habibti, all massively incorrect and leading to nowhere. You eventually threw your phone on the ground with a huff while he cackled.

“This is so unfair. I demand restitution for the amount of time I have lost thanks to you.” Damian hummed.

“I can’t give you back those missing minutes, but I can pay you back with your favorite meal and my full attention tonight.”

You pretended to ponder over the offer, but Damian knew you could not say no to Alfred’s cooking. “Okay, fine. But only because I love Alfred’s food and nothing else.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon peered over the horizon, the stars twinkling like falling fairy dust on a navy blue canvas. Hundreds of Gotham’s richest filled Wayne Manor, most of which were dressed with gaudy colors and bedazzlements, with feathers and overpriced jewels.

Damian was dressed in a dark green suit, one that Alfred had picked a little while ago. He was fully aware of the lustful stares he was given by the woman (and some of the men) there but he could care less. There was only one person he cared about impressing and that said person was “discreetly” stuffing themselves with a plate full of food in the corner.

As an attendant of the Gala, you were in a stunning dress that fit every single curve of your body marvelously, all courtesy to Stephanie who helped you pick out the dress to begin with. Heat rose to his cheeks and he began fumbling with his tie.

Damian was not the only one there to notice your beauty either. As you were trying to polish off your plate of food, several men had made attempts to woo you onto the dancefloor. Thankfully you declined all of their advances - Damian was not sure what he would have felt if you did. If it weren’t for the hundreds of other people present, he would have unquestionably sliced off the suitors hands if they tried to touch you again.

“Ya Helo, you look…” His throat clogged as you stared up at him. “You look stunning…”

Damian was convinced that your smile was the brightest thing in the universe; he was also sure that it could cure any bout of irritation or sadness possible.

“About time you showed up! Are you done flirting with the 70 year old women yet or does your dad want you back in there?” You poked his chest, the touch feeling like an electrical transfer.

“You know that I would never flirt with those women back there, Habibti. My dad just wanted me to manipulate them into giving more of their money to charity.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he clasped it and brought it closer to his heartbeat. Your hands were a pebble compared to his own and yet they still managed to fit perfectly together like Incan architecture.

“I-I…” You looked away with a crooked smile. “I know that, obviously. I just wanted to tease you a bit!”

When you turned towards him once more, he noticed the way your eyes trailed down his visage, strawberry lips parting ever so slightly. Your laughter died in your throat. The scene felt like the ridiculous romcoms he analyzed from time to time while you were over. All he had to do was lean in a little bit closer and his dreams would be fulfilled-

The tight grip of someone’s hand seized his arm, effectively pulling him away from his darling. The movement caught Damian off guard (the second time that day). There was only a select handful of people who were able to sneak up on him like that…

“Mother.” Damian seethed, turning to gaze upon the woman with a cold glare. “What are you doing here?”

Fitted for the occasion in a sleek black dress, Talia crossed her arms and matched her son’s glare. “Is a mother not allowed to visit her son, especially when he has not messaged her in months?”

Damian stood in front of you, his hands slightly raised in case Talia decided to activate her mother bear mode. Talia’s eyes furrowed, her lip pursing.

“How about you and your little friend follow me upstairs. You can tell me all about how you two met.” She suggested but her voice made it sound more like a threat.

Damian hated how your smile disappeared and was replaced with an apprehensive grimace. He reached for your hand and squeezed.

“Dami…”

“It’ll be alright habib albi…” He whispered, squeezing your hand once again. As the three of them climbed up the stairs, the soft tune of the violin faded into nothing, not even background noise.

“Mother, I find this hardly necessary. Could you have interfered in my life some other day?” Damian groaned.

“Of course not, my son.” Talia shut the door of the room they entered. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to meet the girl who stole my beloved’s heart.”

Damian’s heart dropped. “I- what?”

“Y-you must be mistaken. Damian and I…Damian doesn’t like me like that!” You stuttered out with nervous laughter.

Talia raised a single eyebrow. “I find that extremely hard to believe considering what I heard him call you.”

Fuck. Damian mentally slapped himself. He should have known that his mother would have heard him call you that. The pet name was just so natural to him, slipping off his tongue like sweet honey, he forgot that his mother would have been able to understand.

You tilted your head towards Damian then back to Talia, reflexively playing with your hair. “I…maybe you misheard? He calls me these made up names, they really have no meaning.”

“Wait, so he has not told you what they meant?”

“No, he refused to tell me and when I looked it up, there were no search results.” You said.

“Mother, please-”

Talia raised her hand to silence him. “I can’t believe you have been lying to her, Damian! I have raised you better than that. She deserves to know that you are calling her Love of my heart and Darling in Arabic!”

You snapped your head towards Damian, who was internally screaming a colorful variety of cuss words towards his mother. He expected you to look horrified and slap him away, to run for the hills and never speak to him again.

Instead you had this beautiful awestruck look in your galaxy-filled eyes. Your face was a deep crimson.

“Dami…” You hesitated. “Is this true?”

The hopeful tone in your voice was as intoxicating as a few shots of bourbon.

Damian imagined that the day he confessed to you would be atop a starry hill with perfectly blooming jasmines and evening primroses. He would pull you into his arms and whisper his love for you when the moon was at its peak, ending it with a kiss if you let him. It would have been perfect, if fate allowed it to be.

However, there were no starry hilltops or sweetly smelling fragrances - no moon that would peer over them and give its blessing. But you were there with him, an arm's reach away. As long as you were there, wasn't that all that mattered?

Damian glared at his mother, who was in the background with a smug smile, pretending to not overhear the conversation. When she didn’t get the message, he cleared his throat as loud as he could.

“Fine. I suppose I’ll leave you to it - but I expect you to message me afterward since I did the hard work for you.” Talia sauntered her way out of the room, leaving you and Damian alone.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dami…” You glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Were you really secretly giving me pet names in Arabic?”

Reaching for your hands, Damian pulled you close to create a few inch gap. “Yeah…I wanted a way to show you how much I…how much I loved you without you figuring out.”

You giggled, the vibrations of it causing his heart to flutter. “You’re a dork, you know that? I would have reciprocated your feelings no matter what, but it would have been nice if you had told me sooner.”

Your finger trailed down his neck to his collarbone, leaving a trail of lightning in its wake. “I demand more restitution for the time lost.”

Damian hummed, pretending to think of the perfect solution despite him already having one. You edged closer to him.

“How about,” he began, “I kiss you until your lips are as blue as this night sky?”

But before you could respond, Damian already brought his lips to yours. The dreams and fantasies he had did not live up to the actual softness of your lips - the subtle taste of raspberries filling his senses.

Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “Shouldn’t we go back to the Gala?”

Damian looked back at the door, contemplating how mad his father would be if he ditched the rest of the party. It was waning closer to midnight anyway and he could just say you were tired.

He turned back to you, his smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “He’ll be fine. Besides, I would rather be with you than flirt with 70 year old women.”

Your attempted giggle was covered with the rougher press of his lips against yours, causing you to fall backwards onto the guest bed. After years of calling you Habibti, now he could finally say it without you thinking it was an insult.

Damian is a simp with huge dimples. Fight me.

#Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x Reader #Damian Al Ghul #Damian Al Ghul x Reader #Damian Wayne x Y/n #Romance #Damian has dimples!!#DC #Batfam #Fluff #Damian speaking Arabic #Arabic pet names #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Alfred Pennyworth #Tim Drake makes an appearance out of his tomb #Comics

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aomimiusa-bear · 9 months

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strike a pose - jeon wonwoo

This is a work of fiction. Mature content ahead.

wc: 3.4k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The rough scratch of pencil gliding over scrapbook paper brought you solace in the chaos of life. The movements of your wrist have grown your ideas to places beyond your wildest imaginations. It was your reminder of why you were in this profession in the first place.

Your parents had always reprimanded your younger self for doodling on every free space available which painted you as the victim for the colorful streaks of crayon that danced the walls of your childhood home.

One of your parents never failed to bring up their favorite story of you at the semi annual family dinners you attend.

“I remember her wailing until she had no tears left to cry. It broke my heart to scrub her drawings off of the walls, but the landlord was not having it.”

Every retelling about your humble beginnings never failed to push a couple stray tears out of your eyes.

Pursuing your passion challenges your physical and mental capabilities. Continuing with art in university was like toying with a double edged sword; for once you were delighted at the thought of attending classes, but the viscous environment during your internships caused you to turn your back on art for a brief moment in time.

Nonetheless, the trials and tribulations of university led you to where you are today. The studio was furnished with blinding lights and eye-catching backdrops. The scent of hairspray lingered in the air as it is seemingly sprayed every couple seconds.

You shouldn’t be this nervous; it was just another photo shoot showcasing your newest creations. Honestly, you weren’t nervous at all until your assistant was, figuratively speaking, bouncing off the walls as they were delivering important news regarding the shoot.

“I had no idea he would agree so easily. I wouldn’t have stressed for days, weeks even if the negotiation was this simple.” Your assistant rambled. “The one and only, Jeon Wonwoo, agreed to be the leading model for your newest line!” followed by an earth-shattering squeal.

The oxygen supplying your lungs had magically disappeared in that very moment. You must have done the greatest act of kindness in your past life to receive this kind of opportunity.

Jeon Wonwoo is the top male model in the industry; his lean physique and fierce gaze was highly critiqued in every magazine column dedicated to the alluring man. To top it all off, Wonwoo was given an innumerable amount of praise for his seemingly contradicting persona behind the camera.

You recalled the countless interviews of Wonwoo’s diligent care towards all the staff members regardless of titles. You also, not that you were intentionally looking for more information on the man, know that he held a soft spot for any type of cat. How fucking adorable.

Wonwoo was paralyzingly attractive and his charming personality was sufficient to captivate even the most hateful people in this world.

Mindless drawings of multiple pieces of clothing occupied your downtime. The shoot was not scheduled to start until later, but you wanted to settle into the ambiance of it all to fully immerse yourself in your work. It was like a pre-shoot ritual for you.

Whenever you wanted to let your mind wander, you’d pick up the ratty sketchbook you had received for christmas one year. The ideas stuffed into said sketchbook were not worthy of being turned into reality, but you loved the brief moment of complete creative freedom.

The familiar scrape of your pencil on paper casted a hypnotic response on your hand. You were just doodling free from the confines of profit and pressure.

“That is absolutely beautiful.”

You whipped your head around at the sound of a deep and melodic voice. His eyes were trained on the worn out page of your sketchbook. You were speechless. Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t just a passing topic of many promiscuous conversations with coworkers. He was here. Right behind you. And he had complimented your work.

“Thank you. Kind words like yours inspire me to stay in this business.”

It was an automatic response whenever someone complimented your work after countless interviews, although your response had been more timid than anticipated.

A searing blush already crept up your neck, and soon to invade the tips of your ears. You turned back around in your chair effectively facing away from where he was positioned.

You had found relief from the busy outside in an empty dressing room, and you were in a comfortable position in one of the vanity set ups.

He wasn’t clueless. Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed how flustered you became in his presence. Wonwoo also didn’t miss how you were deliberately checking him out in the reflection of you both. He looked good in your clothes.

Suddenly, you found yourself enclosed in a pair of biceps. You stared into the mirror to meet Wonwoo’s eyes as well.

“Thank you for this opportunity to work with you. It is my greatest privilege to showcase your newest clothing line.” His head dipped lower to level with your own. Without breaking eye contact through the mirror Wonwoo added,

“See you out there sweetheart. I look forward to working with you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The shutter of the camera was another sound you learned to appreciate over time. Usually, the photographer would barrel directions towards the model, but not Wonwoo. He was confident in his abilities, and that energy was carried on to everyone in the room.

His movements were fluid and natural; he was posing just enough to display the clothes but still highlight his abilities.

It was as if he was born for the camera.

To say you were mesmerized by him was an understatement. You were bewitched by the man known as Jeon Wonwoo.

You lost count of the stolen glances you shared with Wonwoo. Every time your eyes hovered on him for a split second too long he would immediately sense it, and subsequently meet your own gaze.

His eyes devoured you. As if Wonwoo was attending an art exhibit and was bidding to take you home.

“The female model just called in saying she can’t make it.” Your assistant was out of breath trying to deliver the news as soon as possible. These situations happen more often than not, but what got your palms sweaty was the absence of a standby model.

A wave of deja vu crashed over you. This has happened only one other time. You had to step in, but in this case you were modeling with the most attractive man you had laid your eyes on. There were no other options.

There was only one outfit you envisioned that required the female model to pose with Wonwoo.

Red chiffon draped your figure, and the cowl neckline only did so much to cover your chest. The rounded swells of your breasts peaked out from the top, sides and down the plunging neckline. A small bunch of ruffles placed on your right arm lightly resembled a flower as the trim ran down the side and flowed past your ankle; the free moving trim was a contradiction to the form fitting body of the dress.

You loved this design on paper, and it only excited you to bring it to life.

A team of staff members scrambled to get yourself ready for the shoot. The angular placement of the deep brown eyeshadow pointed your eyes towards the temples of your face. A subtle peach lip topped off the look.

You were ready for the camera.

Upon walking out of the dressing room, you noticed that Wonwoo had changed into an all black outfit. The shirt was slightly see-through and equally as plunging as your own ensemble.

The concept for these photos were to showcase the sultry red dress hence Wonwoo’s monochromatic garments. Most of the poses consisted of you in front of Wonwoo with his hands on your waist while your head was on his shoulders.

Mundane is what you would describe the poses you were put into with Wonwoo. Up until the last pose.

“Wonwoo, I’m going to need you to take off your shirt bud.” The photographer instructs. Instinctively, Wonwoo began to unbutton his top. Tantalizingly slow. He also made direct eye contact with you.

A chair was placed in the middle of the white backdrop.

“Wonwoo, please take a seat while I direct our leading lady for our final pose.”

Your leg closest to the camera was bent on top of his while the other was firmly planted on the ground. Wonwoo’s hand grasped your waist, but his arm laid relaxed on the mound of your ass.

He was instructed to lean into your chest; right where the tip of the plunge was located. You snaked your arm around the nape of his neck to complete the final look.

A thunderous round of applause commenced after the final shutter of the camera. You and Wonwoo had made your way to the monitor storing all of the taken photos.

You had to admit, you and Wonwoo looked damn good together.

“Maybe you should switch professions so that I can see you more often. I would love to share the camera with you.” Wonwoo had said this low enough for only your ears to hear.

His broad figure disappeared after nearly sending you into hysteria. Wonwoo probably headed out to change out of the one article of clothing that he was wearing by the end of the shoot.

He probably had to attend scheduled obligations after the shoot. You were slightly upset that you may never see the gorgeous man ever again.

After Wonwoo had scurried off, you took it upon yourself to finish all of the administrative work left for you to complete. Being involved in the shoot pushed back all of your priorities, so you needed to catch up ASAP.

You had been so busy that you were still in the red dress.

At this eerily late hour, everyone had already gone home, and it was your job to close up the studio; the owner had slipped the keys into your palms after you explained the long night ahead.

Your personal belongings were tucked away in the same vacant dressing room you were in prior to the beginning of the shoot. The clack of your heels echoed on the linoleum floor as you made your way into the room.

You twisted the door open just to reveal Wonwoo sitting on a chair just scrolling on his phone. He was in his attire from earlier; shirtless with a pair of slacks. His head looked up to meet yours. You blinked once. Twice. Three times before you broke the silence.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you of course.” He replied. The beat of your heart sped up ten fold.

Your legs had a mind of its own, because you started walking where Wonwoo sat. He held out his hand for you to take. As soon as your hand was in his, Wonwoo yanked you onto his lap.

His chest felt firm pressed against the side of your arm. The inviting warmth radiating from his body was intoxicating.

Your hands were kept folded together on your lap. The dress rode up your thighs just a bit higher, but still covered enough to be decent. His hand rested on the side of your thighs playing with the hem of the dress while the other was placed underneath your chin.

“You were spectacular out there. Your confidence and grace was admirable; you deserve to be a role model to people everywhere.” His praises never ended.

“Thank you Wonwoo.” Sincerity laced your voice. “I see now why you are constantly booked for shoots.” You chuckled softly.

“I owe that all to you. You were ravishing out there.” You were speechless. And Wonwoo was the reason. Again.

“I’d love to work with you in the future if you are available.”

“Only if you’d have me.” Wonwoo’s smile was so bright that his eyes folded into cute crescent moons.

“It would be an honor.” You replied in a funny British accent. Even his laughs were perfect.

The laughter died down into a comfortable silence. You couldn’t focus with Wonwoo so close.

Wonwoo’s thumb toyed with your bottom lip. His warmth was a feeling you could get used to. You didn’t stop him nor did you want him to stop. Ever.

“Tell me I’m not imagining things darling. Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

You gave him a weak nod. Your brain was filled with nothing but him.

“Words sweetheart. I need words.” He softly chastised.

“Take me Wonwoo. I’m all yours.” The desperation in your voice would have made you cringe on a regular day, but something about Wonwoo made it so easy.

That was all he needed. Wonwoo moved his hand from your ass to the back of your neck to press his lips to yours.

Something about the kiss lit your whole body on fire. It felt so right.

The slight nip of Wonwoo’s teeth on your bottom lip emits a small gasp from you. That allowed Wonwoo to slip his tongue in to dance with yours. The sounds coming from the both of you could rival PornHub’s most popular video.

Wonwoo disconnected his lips from yours. “Spread your legs. Let me see your pussy babe.”

You shifted your body so that your back was pressed against his chest. Your head slumped against his while each of your legs fell on either side of his left thigh.

The end of the dress gathered on the tops of your thighs until Wonwoo pushed the bunched up fabric to sit around your waist.

Staring back at him was the image of your flimsy thong. The crotch area was covered by a thin layer of mesh with some sort of floral detailing.

You couldn’t recollect the specific attributes of your underwear because Wonwoo was slicing your pussy in half with the help of your thong. He tugged the skinny damp fabric upwards as it nestled itself in between your swollen pussy lips.

“You are the most breathtaking sight. Right? You’ll take everything I give you because you're my good girl.”

Any response you wanted to give him was lost in your never ending moans. Wonwoo released the tension on your underwear only to tease his index finger along your soaking slit.

“Fuck Wonwoo, that feels so good.” That was the first coherent thought you were able to voice. Wonwoo settled on playing with your clit stimulating the bundle of nerves.

“You’re so wet sweetheart. Were you this wet during the shoot too? Walking around with slick thighs and your cunt crying to be fucked?”

His words were too much to handle. Wonwoo’s finger circled your hole.

“Won–” you choke back a moan. “Wonwoo I need you now. No more teasing.” You mewl.

“I haven’t even stretched you out yet. Do you want this fat cock now? Are you that much of a greedy whore?” You desperately nodded.

Wonwoo removed his hand from your throbbing core, and you flinched at the contact of the frigid air.

“Up.”

You immediately stood up in between his legs. Wonwoo zipped down his slacks to reveal his hardened cock covered by the fabric of his underwear.

As for the dress, you slipped the straps off of your shoulders freeing your tits before completely stripping from the dress. Your nipples stood erect from your growing sexual desire.

Wonwoo grabbed you again and positioned your body to be kneeling in front of him. The gleam in his eye signaled you to pull the waistband of his underwear down until they bundled around his ankles.

“C’mon baby, you know what to do. You’re smart. I haven’t had the chance to fuck you dumb yet.”

His cock was red and pulsating. The bulbous tip was leaking beads of precum. Starting from the base, you licked the length of his cock all the way to the tip.

You circled your tongue on his slit to collect the leaking cum.

You collected a wad of saliva at the edge of your mouth before you spat it onto his penis. You lowered your head to completely take him in your mouth.

You were bobbing your head up and down and sucking him in. Whatever you couldn’t reach your hands were taking care of it.

He felt hot and heavy in your mouth, and you swore that your arousal was about to drip onto the floor.

“Shit. You’re a piece of art. The prettiest fuckin’ thing to ever grace this Earth.”

You glanced at Wonwoo through your eyelashes. His head was thrown back in pleasure, and that only motivated you to continue with what you were doing.

His hands found their way to the back of your head creating a makeshift ponytail.

He pushed your head down far enough where your nose met his pelvis. You gagged around him before he released you.

A string of saliva connected your bottom lip to his cock.

“C’mere baby.”

He placed you across his lap again. His hot mouth was sucking a deep bruise that would be a pain to cover in the morning. Wonwoo’s hands trailed down your leg and removed the uncomfortable heels on your feet.

You couldn’t have been more relieved.

Now, it was your turn to whisper lowly into his ear, “Let me ride your dick Won. I want to be good to you.”

You maneuvered yourself in order to straddle his hips. Wonwoo took this opportunity to tease your entrance with his tip.

“Stop teasing.” You were growing impatient after all of the foreplay.

Wonwoo harshly grabbed your neck. He pressed the sides just enough to feel a lightheaded buzz course through your head.

“Ask politely.” His grip tightened in the slightest. “I didn’t know you were a brat. I thought you wanted to be good for me.” It felt like he was scolding you.

“Give me your manners before I make you beg like the dirty fucking slut you are.”

God, you were so wet that it was starting to hurt having nothing to fill you up.

“Wonwoo please fuck me. I need you fill me with your cock and fuck me like the whore I am.”

“Are you asking?” He raised his eyebrow.

“No, I'm begging.”

The vulgar exchange of words was enough for him to slam your hips down and take him all the way. The mouthwatering stretch of his cock felt heavenly.

“This pussy was made for me. No one else could take this tight and dirty little hole like I can.”

You rhythmically moved your hips up and down while pausing every couple seconds to grind down on his dick. You felt every ridge and vein protruding from his cock.

Your eyes were clouded from lust

“You feel so good baby. Wrapped so well around my fat cock. Do you like it that much? Hmm?”

“Yes, yes Wonwoo love your cock. S’good.” You were panting like you had won a marathon. Your activities could possibly be considered one.

You knew you were clenching hard around Wonwoo, and he knew by looking at the drag of your pussy lips every time you’d lift yourself up.

“You’re so tight, baby. My good girl is doing so well for me.”

The familiar coil in your abdomen was about to snap. Wonwoo’s words only pushed you closer to release.

“Cum for me sweetheart. I’ll cum for you, fill you up to the brim darling, if you cum for me.”

That was enough to send you over the edge. Pleasure came crashing down on you. Wonwoo roughly thrusted upwards, and the stuttering of his hips let you know that he came too.

You looked down at where you and Wonwoo were connected and saw a white ring of your mixed arousal around the base of his cock. You were certain that the sticky mess had spread onto your inner thighs as well.

Suddenly, Wonwoo placed you on the desk of the vanity. You jumped at the contact of your bare ass against the cold surface.

He pulled up the pooled clothing pieces at his ankles so that he was wearing them again

You felt exposed. You were still completely naked. Wonwoo had been gazing at you longingly before speaking. “Let me clean you up at my place. It’s not far from here.”

“Is this a trick to get me to go home with you Mr. Jeon?” It was your turn to raise your eyebrow.

“Did it work?”

“Yes Wonwoo, I’d love nothing more than to go home with you.”

Wonwoo handed you his extra sweatshirt and pants. You quickly got dressed, and soon enough you were out the door with your hand in his.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Hi everyone! I am so grateful for the support on my past two works. Feel free to leave any comments in my asks or on my posts!

I hope you enjoyed this fic as well.

#kpop #seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt #svt x reader #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonu #jeon wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x you

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xo-cod · 7 months

Note

So I opened a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and I immediately thought about DBF!Simon. Def the type who would smoke it like after sex, (smoking hot) walking to the balcony to light a cigarette with the moonlight shining on his sweat-soaked body. And you’re just laying there on the bed broken because that man is so good at doing what he does he broke your pussy and he’s just fucking smoking like it’s nothing.

SCREECHING :"(((

simon's huge broad frame illuminated by the moonlight, overlooking the city as the cigarette lays between his fingers. a soft hum leaving his lips recalling just how your pretty body writhed and squirmed under him crying out for more. he shouldn't be doing this, he knows that. still, a ring of smoke passes his lips before he pressed the butt of the cigarette against the wall, discarding it away before he turned back to you. the sight of you catching your breath on the bed strokes his ego and with a deep chuckle, he took another step back into the room again.

you allow your eyes to roam how his huge muscles bulged when he flexed and tensed them, the small red marks painted on his skin from how intense he had pleasured you, watching how cocky he was without even saying anything. he knew what he wanted and it was you.

simon riley certainly had been different then what you had expected. you never thought an older man would ever be in your cards. you could never go for someone who was the age of your father let alone for one of his friends. though now you couldn't never turn back from simon. no, he was a drug and you were hooked on his taste.

your eyes trailed down his abdomen, across his v line and to happy trail that disappeared down his sweatpants that hung loosely around his waist. wanting to go again but knowing just how sensitive you were

"is my little lovie all tired out, hm?" simon cooed, crawling back into bed and pulling you against him again. the smell of smoke with his musk was one that couldn't be describe yet set your soul on fire everytime you breathed him in. he held you securely over his chest, brushing your hair out of your face. you didn't reply, just basking within each others glow and the serenity that came with it after how he fucked you so well.

"told you your legs would be too sore to walk on" his tone is a murmur but it holds amusement, proud of himself for following through on his promise. though he peppers you with plenty kisses accompanied with a gentle massage. your tired laugh calls to him like a siren and he gives you a gentle kiss on your lips, caressing your face with such a tenderness it makes you absolutely melt in his arms <33

#asks #simon riley #simon riley x reader #dbf!ghost #dbf!simon riley

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beardedjoel · 7 months

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pretty little wife | meet cute, part 2

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 9.5k words; joel takes you on your first date, and it doesn't end up like he'd planned. not that either of you seem to mind, of course. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, relationship/dynamic not established yet like the other chapters, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), reader is a little bratty in this chapter, talks of brat punishment, sub/dom relationship, dirty talk, pet names for reader, joel is so fucking handsy here i am Feral, minor bits of angst (reader backstory stuff) a/n: welp apparently i am incapable of writing a short chapter for these two right now >< i'm really loving the way that pretty wife started out a bit bratty and has this pipeline to being joel's good little wife it's kinda doing something for me

You don’t know if your heartbeat could get any louder, nearly drowning out the trill of the line ringing in your ear. You’re moments away from speaking to your mystery man from the bar again, to Joel, who’d seemed intent on changing the entirety of your life with one single fuck in a bar bathroom.

“Hello, Miller Contracting,” a deep voice lumbers out on the other end, sounding nearly clinical with the greeting. You have no doubt it's Joel - his voice feels too recognizable, the deep richness of it combined with his Texas twang that had you absolutely swooning last night. You will your lips to part, for words to rush out, but you pause, trying to get the lump out of your throat.

“Uh - Joel?” you croak out.

“Mhm,” he replies absentmindedly. You picture him at a desk somewhere, sorting through papers, or working on a construction site, his muscles bulging out his shirt and you’re temporarily lost to the fantasy. “What can I do for you?”

“I-it’s me -” you say, repeating your name to him. “From last night…” you add on.

He laughs, a deep rumble in the phone, and your heart lifts what feels like miles within your chest. “Yeah, from last night, didn’t need to clarify, sweetheart.”

“S-sorry. I’m Nervous,” you say simply, wringing your hands together on your lap.

“Now hang on a second, how’d you get this number? Don’t recall givin’ it out,” Joel says, a hint of playfulness in his voice. The fact that he seems eager to talk to you, tease you, immediately dissipates the nervousness you’d had about calling him.

“Er, I’m persistent, that’s all I’ll say,” you tell him with a flush of your cheeks.

“Well, if I’m honest, I’m happy as hell to hear from ya,” Joel says. You feel your eyebrows twitch and mouth part in surprise.

“You are?” You wish you didn’t sound so desperately surprised by the fact, but the words tumbled out of you before you could stop them.

“Felt like a damn idiot, forgettin’ to get your number last night. Not how a gentleman should act.” You can practically visualize Joel shaking his head at himself and running a hand through his hair on the other end.

“And you think you acted like a gentleman otherwise?” You smirk and bite your lip, already feeling a tingling in your limbs, a slow, swirling pool of arousal sinking deep into your gut.

Joel chuckles and makes a small humming sound. “Maybe not, but it got you callin’ me, didn’t it?”

You laugh heartily and agree with a sultry “mm-hmm.”

“So listen, I knew if I ever got to speak to you again, I wanted to… uh-” Joel clears his throat, and you can hear a slight wobbling, like he’s nervous. “See if I could take you on a proper date.”

“Oh really, a date? Not just a bar bathroom this time?” you ask, trying to quell a little bit of your excitement, play it cool around him. You’re having a hard time believing that he’d want to take you out, for some reason. This past year or so has been a slew of failed dates, refusals to call back, men telling you one reason or another you no longer interested them. This tended to happen after they’d already gotten something from you, which had only served to make you feel worse about the entire thing. You tried not to let it get to you, but really, you were craving to be loved, to be seen for who you were and loved for it. That was something you hadn’t gotten enough of in your life.

“Now listen, if you’re gonna be like that, maybe I don’t need t’take you out, do I?” Joel teases, and the tingling in your core intensifies, your legs rubbing together just at the low drawl of his voice prodding at you.

“I’d love to, Mr. Miller,” you say coyly, and you hear a sharp hiss of breath from Joel’s end.

“Little shit,” he mumbles.

“What’s that?” you lick your lips and fight the urge to twirl your hair, the feeling of getting him so riled up just over the phone giving you a perverse little twinge of satisfaction.

“Fuck, I need to see you again,” he nearly groans, and you’re unsure if he’d even meant the words for you to hear, so low and quiet. ”Dinner this Friday, then?” Joel asks you, and you bite your lip and scrunch your face up in excitement, knowing he can’t see you.

“It’s a date.”

Joel picks you up that Friday at 6:30, a bit of a sweating, anxious mess after fussing over your makeup and outfit for the last two hours. You end up landing on a white, frilly mini dress with a corset top, knowing your tits are on perfect display for him. A devious huff of laughter leaves you when you reach into your underwear drawer and dig out your sheer white over the knee stockings with a lace trim at the top and slide them up your legs. Maybe you are in the mood to be a bit of menace for him tonight, you think to yourself. The thought of Joel’s eyes practically falling out of his head when he sees you in this makes you smile and nearly squeal with delight as you put your finishing touches to your outfit with accessories and a touch up of your shimmery lip gloss.

When you bound outside of your apartment building, you can see a nearly pained expression on Joel’s face through the windows of his blue truck, pulled up right in front of your building. You hear the clicking of your little heels on the pavement, giving you a boost of confidence as you stride towards him, feeling your hair bouncing behind you.

You feel… fucking hot. And you know it’s partly because of who you know is going to be looking at you all night. Joel takes too long to stare and enjoy the view of you walking over before he’s scurrying out of his truck to reach you and grab the car door.

“Evenin’,” he says, clearing his throat and you notice he seems a bit more quiet and shy in the light of day. He seems almost dazed, trying to take in as much of you as he can in just a few seconds, blinking as he processes just how tiny everything you’re wearing is.

“Got you these,” he says, holding out a small bouquet of flowers full of different pastel flowers and greenery. You can tell he put some thought into it, that he didn’t just pick a random bouquet and roll with it, and it makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you say, studying the flowers for an extra beat. “Such a gentleman,” you coo as you step past him and start to climb into the seat. He huffs a little as you pass and shoots his hand out to grab your wrist, a tight hold as he yanks you back towards him. He doesn’t waste a second before pulling you flush with him, pressing the tops of your tits further out of your dress and onto his chest, covered in a button up shirt. His hand splays along the small of your back, rough and warm, seeping through the fabric of your dress. He leans down, capturing your lips with his.

“Not gonna give me a proper hello, were you?” he rasps once he pulls away. “Thought you were a polite girl.”

Your lips part and spread into a little smile as you lick your lips. “Sorry,” you say, putting your eyes down to the pavement for a moment before lifting them back up to his and cupping his face, raking your fingers through his beard and leaning back in for a soft, chaste kiss. “There’s your hello.”

“Mhm” Joel mumbles before he takes your hand in his, guiding you into his truck where you settle in, wrapping the seatbelt around yourself and watching him walk back around the front of the truck to the drivers side, admiring the way his button up hugs his broad form.

When he sits down, instead of starting the truck he just looks over at you, drinking in your show of skin, hungry glances all over your body until his gaze lands on your tits, the swells of your breasts heaving slightly as you breathe nervously now that you’re alone with him.

“You look like a goddamn angel, or somethin’,” he finally says, flicking his eyes to the tops of your stockings, and you notice his jaw set tightly while his hands clench in his lap. He softens a little once he looks at your face, amused eyes looking back into his. “Beautiful,” he adds, and you beam at him, twirling a bit of your hair around one of your fingers.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, leaning a little closer to him, knowing your cleavage is only being pushed together that much more at this angle in your seat. “You want me to be your little angel, Joel?”

“Christ…” he says under his breath, reaching his hands up to grip the steering wheel, knuckles going white with the strain of it. “Think you already seem to know the answer.”

“Well, I’ll take it you like my outfit, then. I picked it out special for you,” you tell him cheerfully, flouncing the skirt of your dress in your lap a bit.

“Sure do,” he says quickly, starting the car, seeming to need to high tail it out of here before he completely ditches the dinner reservation to have his way with you. You opt to just watch Joel drive, observing his profile with a small, thoughtful smile. You see his brows twitch as he feels your stare on him, and he turns to the side while he’s stopped at a red light, giving you a closed lip smile.

“Did you just ask me on a date because you felt bad?” you ask suddenly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Felt bad?” Joel asks, turning his eyes back to the road.

“For what happened the other night.”

Joel huffs in the seat next to you, his head shaking the smallest bit. “You think I felt bad about any of that? What gave you that idea, now?”

“I… I don’t know. I was just surprised you still wanted to take me out after…” you trail off, glancing out the window to try and avoid your own spiraling thoughts.

“C’mon, doll, need to give me more than that. If you don’t wanna be here you gotta say.”

“No!” you cry out a little too loudly.

“If you just need to hear me say that I liked fuckin’ your tight little pussy or whatever gets you off, just say it, yeah? Don’t need these roundabout questions like a little brat,” Joel snips, and you swallow hard, realizing he’s gotten the complete wrong idea.

“N-no, nothing like that, Joel, I… I really want to be here, I really do. I guess I was worried,” you suck in a breath. “That you’d just be done with me after you got what you wanted. That’s what other guys have done. Older guys.” You can feel your voice getting mousier, quieting with your confession, afraid that the answer will be exactly what you’re afraid of. Joel’s expression softens, the lines between his brows letting up as his eyes lighten a bit.

“First off, I ain’t other guys, and I want you gettin’ that in your head right now, okay?” Joel says, glancing over to see you nodding small little bounces of your head, eyes wide. “Okay?” he asks again, a little more stern this time, reaching a hand over to grip your thigh.

“Okay.”

“Good. An’ I ain’t even close to getting everything I want from you, probably never could be, so don’t wanna hear you say anythin’ like that again, got it?” His grip squeezes on your thigh, and you place your hand over it, covering his hand with your own.

Your mind spins, reeling with such a strong confession from him. You don’t know how it’s possible that after one night together, the both of you have something damn near unexplainable, something that’s been nestling itself deep into you since then. You tilt your head a little, giving him a soft smile, feeling all the worries you’d had this entire week start to melt away.

“Got it,” you tell him with a stern nod, your hair falling over your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh a few times. They twitch and clamp together a bit with his praise, the familiar rush of arousal from the other night coming back to you when he used those same words. You catch Joel smirking out of the corner of your eye, the effect he had with those two simple words not lost on him.

You can see his face steel, his jaw setting tighter as his fingers move up your thigh, unsticking from the bare flesh he’d been touching and climbing upwards.

“You dress like this a lot? Or just wanted to get a rise out of an old man, hm?” he asks, fingers digging into your plush skin a little harder.

You twist your lips into a thoughtful pout, knowing it shows off the shiny pink of your lip gloss a little better, and Joel’s eyes drift there for a brief moment when he glances at you.

“Sometimes.” You give him an indifferent shrug. “Mostly wanted to see how you liked it.”

“I’ll bet you did,” Joel replies plainly, nearly sounding irritated, but you somehow know that he’s more angry with himself right now, barely able to keep his trembling hand from moving further up your thigh.

“I mean, I thought the stockings might be too much, but don’t you think they go just perfect with this dress?” You trill in an innocent tone to him, moving his hand to play with the lace edges at the top.

“Mmm,” Joel replies, lips pressed tightly together. His fingers bury themselves under the band of the stockings, pads of his calloused hands grazing the skin underneath. You try to hold back a shudder but it’s no use, Joel’s touch is fully electric, sending a zip of pleasure up your spine.

Your legs spread open wider in the seat, inviting him to move higher and you let out a quieter moan and slide the hem of your dress up a bit higher. You’re warm all over, skin flushing as his hand creeps up towards the apex of your thighs. You admit you’re having even more fun than you thought teasing him. He’d done this same thing to you at the bar, sloppily kissing along your neck until you’d felt nearly insane with need for him, and it gives you a little pump of satisfaction to see him falling apart so quickly.

“Even got…” you breathe out, “The matching panties on.” Another tiny little mewl slips out when Joel’s fingertips slide along your inner thigh, ever closer to where you know you’re already wet for him. He peers over to see your chest heaving a bit, curves looking so inviting - all it would take was one little tug and your tits would be spilling out, just as they had the other night, so pretty and just for him.

“Fuck it,” Joel grunts out, tearing his hand away from you and pulling off to the side of the road, turning into a passing neighborhood and swinging the car into the closest driveway to turn around. “I live close by, we’re goin’ to my place right now,” he says. “Fuckin’ wearin’ this little shit to get me all worked up…” His voice is mumbling now, seemingly to angrily talk to himself as he keeps his eyes straight ahead, not looking at you.

His face is going pink with the effort of holding back from you, grunting while he maneuvers the car and speeds off, booking it towards his house. Your mouth forms perfect O before it splits into a grin, knowing you got exactly what you wanted from him. Something about driving a man like Joel crazy - someone who seems reserved, in control of these kinds of situations, makes you feel a little spark of pride mixed with your dousing of arousal.

“Teach you some damn manners, that’s what I’m gonna do,” Joel mumbles quietly, letting out little sighs of irritation.

“J-joel…?” you ask carefully.

“Mm-mm, not a word right now. You’ve said enough.”

You clamp your lips together, knowing you maybe shouldn’t be as thrilled as you are right now, feeling like sparks are dancing across your skin, magnifying right where Joel holds you, squeezing to where it might leave a bruise tomorrow, as if to hold you down, keep you in this car with him.

“Please…” you whimper, unsure what you’re asking for, just knowing you’re growing more desperate to feel him on you, inside of you.

“Please nothin’. You’re gonna act like this, I’m gonna react accordingly, you got that?” Joel snips, veins on his forehead protruding as he drives along, unable to even look in your direction. You stay silent while he whips through a suburban neighborhood, finally pulling into his driveway.

“Stay,” he spits out before exiting the car, coming over to your side and opening the door.

“Thank you,” you coo sweetly, which gets a devious smirk from Joel.

“You’re tryin’ to be good now, are you?” he scoffs, wrapping his hand around your upper arm.

“Thought you liked fucking good girls,” you say with a sly smile, repeating his own words back to him. He chuckles low and deep in his chest before tugging you out of the car, keeping one hand on your arm and the other pressed on your lower back, guiding you to the front door. Instead of letting you step out of the way, he presses himself so that you’re between his body and the door as he reaches around to unlock it, keys clanking in his awkward position.

You can feel him, hard and long, cock painfully erect and pressing against your ass. You fight the urge to grind into him, thinking that maybe he may not see that as something a good girl would do. Instead, you let a little whimper slip out when he digs into you deeper as he turns the nob and pushes the door in.

“Gonna be makin’ a lot more of those pretty little noises soon, honey,” he says low, near your ear as he nudges you inside. It’s dark, only bits of the setting sun coming through the windows, and you fumble past the doorway, the only anchor you have is Joel’s hand on your back.

He flicks a switch, illuminating the room with a dim floor lamp, and you can see that you’ve stepped into his living room. It’s modest but cozy, and definitely seems to ooze his busy, bachelor lifestyle with plain, somewhat mismatched furniture. You had to hand it to him, though, just upon first glance he seemed relatively clean, unlike some men’s places you’d visited.

“This is a nice pl-“ you start, cut off by one of Joel’s arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you into him with a thud. Your back is tight against his chest now, his head burying near the crook of your neck. He’s kissing you urgently - every spot he can find, biting and sucking and flicking his tongue, all gentle but firm, full of an unrelenting passion and frustration.

He groans loudly, hand tracing up your chest to grasp at one of your tits, squeezing it firmly and running his finger over your nipple. Both are hard and aching for him, poking through the fabric of your dress with no bra holding them back. He sucks so hard on a spot on the side of your neck that you gasp and twitch in his hold. He chuckles, quickly soothing the spot with his tongue and lips.

“Couldn’t wait for me to get my hands on you, is that it? Why you dressed like that, hopin’ I’d bring you back here? Say fuck the nice dinner reservation I made us?” he finally speaks, nearly growling in your ear.

“I just - I-“ you stutter, mind reeling from his warmth blazing into your skin now, his voice rumbling close to your ear, low and gritty and sounding… almost angry with you. You feel a tightening in your core, pooling between your legs and you already start to ache for him, turned on by the way he’s chastising you and covering you with marks.

“You were such a good girl the other night for me, can you do that again? Or you want to keep bein’ a brat?”

“N-no I liked being good for you, remember?” you blurt out, chest heaving and body fighting the urge to squirm out of his arms and show him, get on your knees and finally get him in your mouth.

“Didn’t seem to think so in the car… if I didn’t know any better you wanted me to punish you, fuck you fuckin’ dumb ‘til you submit to me. And the thing is, honey, I like my girls to be good f’me. Don’t wanna have to work for it unless I want to.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just wanted to play around, make you a little crazy for me,” you say with a whine, your bottom lip starting to quiver.

“C’mere, lemme see you,” Joel says, a quick grunt as he spins you around, catching you along your back with one hand, tilting your head up by the chin with the other. He takes in your wide, pleading eyes, plump lips turned into a frightened frown, and sighs.

“S’okay, doll,” he says much softer, thumbing your chin and then stroking his fingers up your cheek. “Lucky for you I was in the mood to work for it a bit tonight, and you know why that is?”

You shake your head mutely, absolutely dumbstruck by his dark eyes narrowed and looking straight into yours. He’s so beautiful, so much more than you even remembered from the other night. It nearly sends an ache into your chest, just how perfect he is.

“‘Cause you’re worth it, pretty girl. What kinda man would I be if I didn’t have to work for it a bit, hm?” His voice is changed, a bit more flexible, his tone coming off kinder now. You feel a surprised smile tugging at your mouth and you let it spread a bit, showing Joel that you’re pleased with what he said.

“Show you how pretty you are…” he trails off, his eyes drifting down to your chest, where he’s watching your curves spilling out the top, your dress pulled down from the way he’d been touching you there. He tugs slowly on the fabric, pulling it so your tits are both spilling out, letting the neckline tuck underneath and press them upwards.

He leans down to capture your lips in a softer kiss, letting your lips and tongues begin a gentle dance with each other. Joel’s fingers make their way under your dress, sliding the hem up to reach your ass, large palms splaying across both globes. He pulls you even closer, grinding you against his arousal and you groan, absolutely soaking for him, needing for him to touch you where you want him most.

“Got your ass and tits out like a little whore for me now, don’t you? Like being my little whore?” he grits out, and you nod with a quiet mhm, lolling your head back as he places a few little bites on your neck.

“Let me fuck you in that bathroom and comin’ home with me the first date ‘fore I can even buy you dinner,” Joel tuts, continuing to knead the plush flesh on your ass, stepping forward so that you have no choice but to walk backwards and further into the living room. He smacks your ass hard before rubbing the spot with a soothing touch.

“Now get inside and take what you’ve been askin’ for, honey,” he says, stroking the side of your face gently.

“W-where do you want me?” you ask timidly, looking into his chest before trying to meet his eyeline. He’s so intimidatingly in charge right now you can hardly meet his gaze, dark brown, nearly black in the dimness of the house.

Joel seems to like your question, smirking and stroking your cheek again, calloused fingers sending a jolt of electricity that travels down your spine. “Good girl for askin’,” he coos, a flash of excitement in his eyes at your docility for him. He takes his hands to your shoulders, gently guiding you to stand in front of the couch. He turns and sinks back into the cushions, watching you stand in front of him, anxious with anticipation.

“You gonna dress like a slutty little doll, I’m gonna treat ya like one and play with you as long as I want, yeah?” A quick, stunned nod from you before he continues. “Now take off that pretty dress,” he says, his tone deepening with the command. His eyes are glued to your chest where your tits are still popping out of the top, practically burning a hole in you with the intensity, heat creeping over your skin. You lift from the bottom, pulling it over your head in one slow movement, standing before Joel in only the skimpy lacy thong you’d chosen for tonight - white to match your dress and stockings. You reach to pull the stockings down and Joel shakes his head, eyes snapping to where your hands are.

“Mm-mm, didn’t tell you to do that now, did I? Leave those on, doll. Panties next,” he drawls, and you follow his command, stepping out of your thong and leaving it on the floor beneath your feet. You take a nervous gulp, waiting for his next words, feeling right between your legs slickening even more as his eyes hungrily take you in.

“C'mon over and sit right here,” Joel says, patting his lap. His words have an immediate effect, just like when he’d asked you to get on your knees at the bar, your body moving for him of its own accord. You pad over the few steps to him and settle yourself onto his lap so that you’re facing him, thighs on either side of his. Joel’s hands find your hips, holding you and stroking his thumbs along your bare skin there. There’s such a stark difference between the two of you right now - Joel, fully clothed, not even a button undone yet on his shirt, and you with the entirety of your body naked and exposed save for your stockings, sitting on top of him because he’d asked for it. All the fabric on your bare skin feels odd in the best way, like you’re doing something so wrong yet so right at the same time, like you’re Joel’s dirty little secret somehow with the way he has you in the palm of his hand right now.

He cocks his head a little, looking at you more seriously now. “Now listen, should’ve said this the other night, but you saw how I like to be in charge of things, right?” he says.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out, just barely. You’re distracted by the feel of his broad, muscled body beneath you, his hard length pressing into you through his jeans. You feel your head swimming but you try to focus on his words.

“So tonight if it gets to be too much, if somethin’ is wrong, you gotta call out ‘red’ for me, mkay?”

You nod again.

“Gonna need you to use your words, honey.”

“Yes, I got it. Red,” you repeat back to him, and the ghost of a smile comes to his lips.

“Good girl,” Joel says, tucking your hair behind your ears and smoothing it. “Now…” he trails off, his grip tightening on you in an instant to flip you off of him and next to him on the couch cushions, his body following closely behind so that he’s on top of you. His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and tongue and teeth clashing and you moan into it with surprise, still trying to get your bearings from all the sudden movement.

He slips down your body, his lips trailing a hot, wet mess along the way as he sucks your neck, your tits, briefly swirling a tease of his tongue over one of your nipples before he finds his way between your legs. They fall open for him in your dizzied state and he takes no pause before burying his head there, licking fat stripe up your slit, groaning loudly at the taste of you. He licks the same pattern several times, relishing in all the slick arousal that was just for him, he thinks greedily.

When Joel starts to lap at your cunt in earnest, his tongue poking your entrance before flicking at your clit, repeating the motions over and over, you throw your head back, whining loudly and writhing down into his face and chasing your pleasure.

“F-fuck, I’m -” you whimper. “Joel I’m already gonna -” Your legs shake and he seizes one of your thighs into his palms before the other hand slips between your legs and swiftly buries two fingers inside of you, going deep to press against your g-spot. You’d thought endlessly about that feeling since the night with him in the bar, the way he’d been the first person to show you what you’d been missing, to bring you world ending pleasure when he split you open. You’re desperate for it again, knowing his fingers are enough, but you can’t help but picture the way his girth had stretched you, pressed into you so deeply that you already felt addicted to it.

When he pulls your clit into his mouth, pressing on the spongy part inside of you at the same time, you cry out, feeling your hips bucking into him, body taut and shaking as he pulls your orgasm out of you. His name spills from your lips as easily as anything you’ve ever said in your life, like you’ve been saying it for years and no other man has existed for you, could exist for you.

You slump back, breathless and wanting, a sheen of sweat coating your body from the intensity with which he’d rocked your reality, and you quickly realize he’s likely far from done with you tonight. It makes your stomach churn with anticipation, and you bring yourself back, focusing on the gentle touch of his lips on your sensitive nerves, peppering your pussy with little kisses, leading out to your thighs.

“Good fucking girl f’me, didn’t take long at all, did it?” he says wryly.

“M-more…” you mumble, blinking your eyes to clear some of the post-climax fog you’re feeling, but it’s no use - Joel can see already how fucked out you are, barely even five minutes in. His heart swells with pride, excitement, the sick satisfaction of having you under his thumb, his to devour completely, body and soul.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, finally meeting your desperate, soft lips with his. He’s on top of you, his body slithering over yours again, pressing against you. Your hands reach up and start to unbutton his shirt, hesitantly at first, but a small noise of approval from him urges you on, indicating that he’s okay with you making that decision. When he finally shrugs it off, you take a moment to pull yourself back from his kisses to gaze down at him, his bare chest revealed to you for the first time. You feel your sex ache as fresh arousal starts to drip out of you seeing the salt and pepper of the curls on his chest, his defined but still soft abdomen, so inviting and sexy. You start to feel nearly feral, your gut coiling tight with the need for him to fuck you again, to watch his perfect body relentlessly use you for his own pleasure.

“S-shit…” you manage to gasp out when you gingerly run a hand down his chest, letting your nails scratch through his hair, and Joel hums against you as his lips find your shoulder. You rake your fingers downwards, leading all the way to his happy trail where you leave your fingers to rest on his belt. He looks delighted at your visceral reaction to his body, never thinking much of it himself, the way it had gotten slightly doughy with age and his hair had already started graying. But seeing you see so much in it that he can feel your legs tighten underneath him, pussy likely fluttering just at the sight, makes his core twist in pleasure and his cock twitch.

He caresses your face gently, his touch soft despite the mischief growing in his eyes. “Don’t think you learned your lesson yet, bein’ such a brat in the car,” he says, letting you start to undo his belt. When his cock springs out, you nearly start again at how length and thick it is, nearly having forgotten just how stunning it was outside the confines of your memory.

Joel notices your fresh reaction to his cock, the length of him twitching in anticipation to fuck you to pieces, to fuck you into being a good girl again. He can’t help but remember just how much it had shut you up to take his cock just a few nights ago, and he nearly whimpers at the memory alone.

“N-no? Don’t think so?” you tease back, grinding yourself against his bare and freed cock and Joel responds first with a surly little growl, two of his fingers possessively gripping your chin. His eyes flash in a way that you think should scare you, but you can’t help but feel comforted by Joel’s presence nonetheless.

“Exactly what I’m talkin’ about, bratty little ass, y’are. And let me fill you in on somethin’ for your own good,” he drawls, running his thumb along your lower lip. Your breath is baited as your lips part in invitation to him and he doesn’t slip it inside, not yet, at least. He hikes your hip up with his other hand, angling you towards his body as he steps closer between your legs. “I don’t like brats, I want my girl to be nice ‘n good to me. Are you gonna be nice ‘n good to me, doll?” he says, finishing the thought.

You swallow hard. You don’t know how serious he is, if this is part of some bigger game of his, this dominance he likes to have. You feel a pull in your heart, like you find yourself agreeing with him, that the look he’d given you when he called you good girl and obedient the other night were exactly what you’d been seeking your entire life. There was something there, something to take pride in, that he thought you were doing good enough for him. You’d wanted to tease him tonight, sure, make sure he still thought you were beautiful and sexy, afraid you’d get left behind so quickly in the more than likely slew of women he could have interested in him. Joel’s version of sexy just happened to be someone submissive for him, and the way you’d felt being that for him the other night, so far tonight, it was exhilarating, like a part of you that you’d had no idea existed until now, until him.

“I don’t want to be a brat,” you say quietly, gazing up at him with delicate eyes now, having your decision made. You reach a hand down to his cock, practically pulsating with need for you, sitting so close to your warm heat as he hovers above you. You gently palm it, wrapping your hand around the shaft, admiring the fact that your fingers can’t even fit around the expansive girth of it.

“I want to be your good girl,” you breathe, and Joel’s eyebrow cocks before his thumb settles into your mouth as he groans a little. You sit still, the saltiness of his skin so inviting but you don’t dare move, feeling that it's some kind of test, one you intend on passing.

Joel knows that you’ve figured it out. He strokes the side of your hair lovingly with his free hand and chuckles deep and low, the sound reverberating in the quiet room.

“Suck,” he finally commands, and immediately you suckle on his thumb, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around it. Joel’s eyes flutter a bit and he groans between the feel of your hand on his cock and warm tongue wrapping around his thumb. He pushes it deeper and deeper, another one of his fingers entering your mouth, met with the same enthusiasm by your tongue. He gives a final push of his fingers, gagging you, and your hand falls off his cock, having you distracted enough that you barely notice he’s notched himself at your entrance. When he splits you open with his head you gasp around his fingers, stuffed far back in your throat. It burns and aches and stretches but you feel exhilarated by it, awakened and alive by the absolute girth of him breaking you open and finding a place inside of you as he pushes on inch by inch.

“Good girl,” he whispers roughly, eyes intently locked onto yours as they widen and tear up with all the different intrusive sensations. But despite all of that, your insides warm at his words, finding a home in your heart and nestling in. That’s when you know for sure - you’re done for, you’re a goner, this is the man you’ll spend your life doing this for, chasing and seeking those two little words from him no matter what it takes. You want this.

“Y’sure that’s what you want? Be my good little doll? Be sure before I use you like one,” he says, checking in with you quietly, his lips lingering just above yours.

You nod, your breath hitching, and he can see the fear of the unknown in your eyes, but he smiles at your willingness to try for him. “I want it, I want it, use me, Joel,” you breathe out erratically, the words tumbling out of you without a second thought.

The next moment is nearly a blur, a switch seeming to flip in Joel as pops his fingers out of your mouth, grunting with the effort of yanking your hips upwards so that you have no choice but to wrap your legs around him. He begins a relentless fucking into you, pounding his cock over and over, and its only now that you can see just how well controlled he had been these last few minutes, so collected only to unleash it on you now. Your eyes squeeze shut, rolling back into your head as you bite back the cries of him stretching you so quickly and harshly, so much more rough than the other night.

“Fuck…” he groans, “Tight little pussy, could never forget how good it feels, just like I remembered, baby,” he praises as he continues to jackhammer into you. Your body is crumpled up underneath his huge frame on the couch, legs moving further up his body until they nearly reach his shoulders. He takes the initiative to tug them that way, propping your ankles onto his shoulders before he takes a swift bite at one of them. You yelp but quiet immediately, letting the soft moans you’d been making slip past your lips again instead.

You see Joel’s approval in his smirk, the way his face contorts with pleasure as he goes red from exertion, his body gathering sweat as you run a desperate hand down his chest. You feel so far away in this position, your lips so far from his, wanting to feel your skin touching in every possible spot. You’re drunk on him already and need more, more of his warmth and his scent and the feeling of him.

“I want to - p-please, feel you closer, please…” you beg, hoping that your politeness will win him over into doing something that you want.

“Yeah? Want to bounce on this fat cock of mine, pretty girl? That do you some good?”

You nod quickly and urgently, breathing in with the anticipation of being moved as Joel pushes his cock as deep as he can before bracing himself to swap your spots. It feels effortless, the way he contorts the both of you until he’s laying back on the sofa and you’re straddled on top of him.

“Oh my god…” you murmur when you sink fully down onto him. Your head tilts back and mouth gapes open as you feel him so fully, pressing so deep inside of you at this angle. “Joel…”

“I know, baby, m’so deep in there,” Joel says soothingly now, his demeanor changed for the moment. He starts to move your body for you, achingly slow on his cock while he urges your hips up and down. One hand slides to your belly, gently pushing low down on your abdomen. “Feel m’self right in there, baby, right where I’m meant to be,” he coos, looking at his hand in amazement.

“Feels so fuckin’... so good,” you whine, starting to move more quickly on top of him. You can’t compare it to anything else, anyone else you’ve ever been with, the way Joel’s cock stretches you with each new thrust, the pain giving way to an aching pleasure as your walls are stimulated over and over by him.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts out, wrapping his bulky biceps around your back and pulling you down so that your top half is more flat against his chest. He slips one hand into your hair, bringing you in for a deep, hungry kiss that you both moan into. At this angle he holds more power, able to thrust up into you after he bends his knees. You’re losing all sense of time, of sensation and noise around you, just Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel fucking into you with everything he’s got, his hot breath on your neck and ear and buried into the side of your hair. His lips warm and wet on any part he can find while you take and take and take what he’s doling out, your cunt starting to ache from the way he’s pounding into you but desperately begging for more, fluttering around his length. Your moans ramp up when you feel your clit start to brush against the curls at the base of his cock, his name whispered into his neck in between your cries.

“There we go, doll, get what y’need, c’mon,” he says near your ear, urging you on. You’re only brought back to some semblance of reality as Joel smacks your ass with a swift, hard slap and you moan out. A new flutter and gush from your cunt around him makes Joel grunt and he fucks up into you like a crazed, possessed man, intent on only you you you.

“Tha’s right, honey, so fuckin’ wet for me,” Joel grits, his hips snapping in a nearly impossible pace into you. You think you’re starting to black out, your vision a bit spotty from how hard he’s ramming the entirety of his cock into you, your g-spot so stimulating along with your clit and you’re grasping at the cushions on either side of you, nearly pounding your fists into them as Joel holds you close, not letting you move an inch, not letting this climax get away from either of you.

“God, Joel, fuck… I c-can’t -“ you whine, your entire body tightening, damp with sweat as your tits slide across his chest with each new thrust.

“Y’can, now be a good girl and come for me,” Joel says, hot heat of his lips meeting yours for a sloppy kiss, both of your tongues half missing the others’ mouth, making a mess on your faces full of saliva and the remnants of your lip gloss. Everything is so slick, slippery, and you gush between your legs, your wet arousal dripping out around where he enters you again and again.

You snap, the invisible tether you’ve visualized inside of yourself finally breaking and you let go, practically convulsing on top of Joel with erratic grunts and moans and the lewdest sounds you’ve ever heard yourself make. You bear down on his cock as he rides you through the waves of ecstasy that take over your entire being.

“Good girl,” he coos over and over, his quiet praises only serving to plunge you further into this blinding hot cavern of bliss that you’ve fallen into. You can feel how his cock slips in and out around the way you’re creaming over his length, and you finally quiet into his chest, a spent mess.

Joel stops moving for a moment, giving you time to catch your breath as he strokes the back of your head. You nearly want to purr with the contentment you feel as he lightly drags his fingers across your head.

“Your turn,” you finally say, a wry smile pulling at your lips. You pick yourself up a bit, wiggling your hips on him and hissing a little at the oversensitivity of your shot nerves.

“My turn,” Joel echoes, a devious little twinkle in his eye is all you see before he sits up, pulling you close and kissing you as he ruts his hips into yours a few times. He quickly pulls out of you, handling your body roughly but smoothly as he turns you, pushing you down, knees on the cushions and chest pressing against the back of the couch. He crowds behind you, spreading your knees for you and you can feel his wet cock slap against your ass as he positions you and then himself.

Joel’s cock forces its way between your legs again, immediately sliding into your wet heat. You bristle a little under the full size of him again, determined to take it like the good girl you say you are and let him spill every drop of cum he has inside of you. You realize you’ve said some version of that out loud in your mental fog when Joel chuckles a low, devious little noise and slams into you hard.

“Yeah? Want all my cum, want to have me fuckin’ my cum into you, fillin’ you up?” Joel asks and you nod dazedly in reply. He plants a firm hand on your back, sinking you into the back of the couch while he pounds into you, chasing after his pleasure, using you to get himself off. You’ve never been more turned on, and you feel the creeping need of desire filling low in your belly again.

Joel’s free hand starts to smack your ass relentlessly, as if to spur you on while you bounce your hips back into his movements.

“Yeah, pretty girl, so good, takin’ this cock like a good girl,” he chants, erratic movements of his hips telling you how close he is.

“Fuck, fuck, so tight…” he bellows out, “Gonna come inside you, baby.” One more thrust and he’s done for, his hips sputtering and stopping deep inside of you as he unleashes while your cunt flutters, your body reacting in pure effervescent joy to feel his spend coating you again. Joel wraps his arms around your chest, yanking you to fall back with him so that you’re laying side by side, tangled in each other's arms. You both breathe heavily, sweat and stickiness intermingling as you lay so close.

“We missed our dinner reservation,” Joel says after a few moments of silence stating the very obvious. “We could order some takeout, how’s that sound?”

You listen to the beat of his heart where your head rests on his chest, steady and strong as it still comes down from his climax. You hum a little approving noise, nodding your head.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you tell him, barely able to care much about anything else right now. You think in this completely fucked out, limp state you’d let him feed you practically anything, spooning each bite into your mouth like you’re a helpless child. The thought makes you shudder a bit, a feeling of fear creeping over you that someone could have such an effect on you as to change you like that, to pull this side of you out that you’d buried deep inside.

“Don’t wanna move, though,” you whine, snuggling down onto his chest.

“I know, I know,” Joel says soothingly with a hand running down your hair. “Gonna have to eat to keep up with what I’m gonna do to ya next, though.”

You lift an intrigued brow and glance up at his face to find him already giving you an amused expression. “I’ll order us some food, why don’t you put on your pretty dress again and we’ll pretend we got our date, how about that?” he says.

You bite your lip in an effort not to smile too widely, and you give him another nod of agreement, finally sitting up and then clambering off the couch and stretching. Joel’s eyes roam your still bare body, unable to believe he could be ready for another round this quickly when his cock twitches at the sight. You throw on your dress and adjust it, smoothing the sides of your hair.

“How do I look?” you ask innocently with a twirl, as if he hadn’t just been buried deep inside of you, stealing any semblance of reality from your very being.

“Perfect,” he says with a chuckle.

Joel orders Chinese food, and the two of you sit at his kitchen table, a candle lit that Joel had dug out from deep within a cabinet sitting between you two at the table.

While you’re already sure the physical attraction with Joel isn’t wanting for anything, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you two are connecting on all sorts of topics - from old country music that you listened to growing up to your dream vacation destinations. It seems like you two have more and more in common the longer you talk, or at the least, have an interest in the things the other person is saying. You can’t help but feel like you have a lot to learn from Joel, someone who has life experience, different interests (“old man interests” you tease him), and a whole new perspective on the world. You could listen to him for hours, sitting with your chin in your hand and lashes fluttering as you gaze at his perfect lips speaking about all of these new things.

“Can I tell you something?” you finally say during a quiet moment, when your plates have long been pushed away, swirling your third glass of wine in your hand. One foot is planted on the dining chair, knee tucked up to your chin where you rest it, lip worrying in between your teeth.

“Mhm, ‘course,” Joel says casually, sipping from his own glass.

“When I said I couldn’t find my passion before… I’ve always known what it is, what I want out of life. I just can’t… say it because it sounds, well, silly.”

“Try me,” Joel replies coolly, his eyes flickering with curiosity.

“I’ve always wanted to be -“ you hesitate, swallowing hard. “The reason someone comes home. The person they come home to. That’s it. That’s all I want. My parents… they never had that. Sure, they came home, but only because there wasn’t anything else to do, nowhere else to go. I never felt it from them. I’ve always wanted to just take care of someone and be that for them…” you confess, trailing off as your cheeks heat with the tipsy confession, slightly embarrassed to reveal it to Joel.

He considers your words with a small hmm and a cock of his head. “You’re talkin’ about a marriage, yeah? You wanna be a married woman.”

You nod, breathing out a sigh. “Women I know, and my parents, oh god, would probably freak out if that’s what I told them. That I just want to be someone’s wife, make each other happy. Be there for them. It’s something I’ve been too scared to admit until now, because my parents just want me to go to school, get a job, and be successful in the ways they’re successful, but…” you pause to glance at Joel, then back down to the table, tracing your nail along the knots in the wood. “What if I want to be successful in the ways they aren’t?”

Joel’s face contorts slightly, feeling your pain. “You gotta do what you need, sweetheart. Fuck what anyone else says,” he says plainly. “I can relate, y’know. I was married before.”

You snap your gaze up to him, somehow surprised, but realizing maybe you shouldn’t be, that this man is well into his forties now and has lived an entire life before ever laying eyes on you. “Yeah? And…”

“Was all pressure. Wasn’t right. Divorced over ten years ago, so don’t feel too sorry f’me. Her parents had all this pressure on us gettin’ married but I knew she wasn’t the right one for me. Ended up divorcin’ five years later.” He tuts at the memory - the waste of time, the endless arguments, the strain of it all for nothing.

“I’m sor-“ you start, cut off by Joel grabbing your hand across the small table, dwarfing it in his palm.

“Said don’t be sorry for me, yeah? I’m sittin’ here with you now, aren’t I?”

A smile tickles at the corners of your lips and you look down bashfully, letting your fingers curl around his. “Yeah, guess that’s true.”

“Come on over here,” Joel says, patting his lap and setting his wine glass on the table with a small clink.

You slide out of your chair, padding over and getting into his lap effortlessly. His fingers spread along your back to support you and you curl your legs up, resting against his chest.

“Y’know marriage is a lot, right? I know you know, you’re a smart girl, can tell you’ve thought about this.”

“I know,” you snip. “It’s not something I’ve ever taken lightly. I just… that’s what I want.” You don’t know how to express to him the yearning deep inside of you, the way you’d watch your parents moving in parallel lives, just happening to share children and a home, and wishing for anything more than that. Praying you’d never meet that same fate, that you’d be so sickly, passionately in love with your future spouse that the entire world could know from a single glance. That you’d give your life to make sure they were well taken care of, and they’d do the same for you.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says quietly, nuzzling his nose against the top of your head. “I know you’ll get what you’re lookin’ for. Anyone’d be lucky to have you.”

Your skin heats at his close contact and adoring words, your stomach twisting a little with the anticipation that it could be him - could Joel be the one lucky to have you, as he said?

“W-would you?” you stutter out, licking your suddenly desert dry lips. “Have me?”

“Honey, I’d have you a hundred different ways and never tire of it. Such a sweet, smart, special little thing you are.”

Your lips purse into a smile, fighting the urge to giddily giggle right in his lap. You tilt your head up to kiss him, a motion he gladly returns as he deepens it for a few moments, tasting remnants of the wine on each other's tongues.

“That what you want? Want me to have ya?” he asks quietly, the question carrying more weight in your mind than maybe he’d meant.

“Yes,” you say, a whisper into the quiet air of his house.

“Stay w’me then, this weekend. Don’t wanna let you out of my sight.”

You nod, nearly imperceptible as your mouths meet again, passion driving the kisses now as you squirm in his lap, desire igniting every cell of your body. Joel chuckles against your already puffy lips and shakes his head.

“Gonna ruin me, you know that?”

Three months later, Joel proposes to you in a park you frequently walk in together, a perfectly sunny and breezy spring day with the smell of fresh blooms surrounding you. You have on a pink dress, matching the explosion of color around you in the budding and blossoming trees and bushes. Joel wraps a hand around yours before getting down on one knee and revealing a solitaire diamond in a black velvet box, promising you all of the things you’d revealed to him in private months before. Someone to come home to. Someone who will come home to you. Succeed together in all the ways you’ve always wanted. Cherish you. And most importantly, love you for who you are.

#fic: pretty little wife #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction

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