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sparklingchim · 3 months

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you're losing me 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

rating: 18+

warnings: pregnancy scare, mean possessive jungkook 😾, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, fingering, choking, oc gets her hands tied bc she's a brat ! ☝🏼, blowjob, cum eating, car sex, teasingg, tipsy oc, v vulnerable oc :(, dirty talk, daddy kink, crying, one boob bite methinks

summary: having a bit too much fun at chanyeol's halloween party, jungkook unexpectedly joins the party too.

a/n: it's finally here !! i hope u like it hihi <3

you're losing me masterlist

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Chanyeol never misses with his Halloween parties.

And usually, you never miss with your costumes too, but given the circumstance you’re glad to even attend.

Truthfully, it was entirely your own fault, and you hate to admit it because you had been extremely excited to wear your customised Barbie doll outfit, but one spill of your wine and the dress was disastrously ruined.

So you had to come up with a spontaneous Plan B.

You finally found usage for the small Victoria Secret wings from their special collection you received during a fashion show. Cinching a lace-embellished corset from Dolce & Gabbana, you paired it with a flirty ruffled miniskirt from Chanel. Your hair was crowned with crystal-embellished hairpins by Jennifer Behr. And oh, those satin heels by Jimmy Choo, adorned with dazzling crystals, added the perfect dose of sparkle to the outfit. You think you might’ve redefined last minute-magic.

“You’re trending on Twitter.”

As you sit on the couch, reaching down to retrieve the ping pong ball for Eunwoo turn at beer pong, Chanyeol abruptly shoves his phone in front of you. His screen is showing the trending page on Twitter.

“Didn’t realise my costume is that cute.” You look down on yourself. It’s a basic costume, but you would have thought that Chanyeol’s vampire look gained more attention.

“Your outfit’s cute, but everyone’s talking about what you posted on your Story,” Chanyeol remarks. He taps on your name trending and scrolls through a myriad of Tweets, with people reposting the picture.

“Oh.”

Eunwoo peeks over Chanyeol’s shoulder and reads the Tweets. He chuckles. “Everyone’s just talking about how hot we look.”

You giggle, swatting his arm.

You didn’t expect a little mirror pic creating chaos to this extent.

It was just a funny coincidence seeing Eunwoo dressed up in a matching costume to in a devil costume, complete with fitting horns and wings, creating an impromptu couple costume. It was his idea to take a picture.

You probably should have considered that Eunwoo is a rising idol and actor. Everyone adores him. And seeing him photographed next to a girl off-screen, especially when it’s not for a highly anticipated KBS drama, might not sit well with everyone.

“Has your hubby seen it?” Chanyeol asks.

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe? He does regularly check what I post.” But he told you how busy he is today, so you’re not sure if he saw.

“Have you thought about my offer, by the way?” Eunwoo asks.

“What offer?” Chanyeol curiously chimes in.

“The lead role in my next drama. They're srill looking for an actress and honestly, I think ___ would be incredible for this one.”

Chanyeol’s eyes grow wide. “You two in a drama? That’s insane.”

“I’ve never tried acting. Not sure if I’d be any good,” you confess,

“I feel like you’re good at anything,” Chanyeol assures with a grin.

“I’ll think about it.”

They both resume playing beer pong with the others while you watch them as you drink.

As you take a sip from your drink, the weight of lingering gazes persists – less intense than in the beginning, yet a subtle scrutiny remains.

The curious looks undoubtedly trace back to the headlines two weeks ago, when pictures of Jungkook and you in his car near the gynaecologist’s building surfaced online. Captured in a vulnerable moment, perched on Jungkook’s lap with tears streaming down your face, you know how it must’ve looked like to the public.

You couldn’t stand those pictures making the rounds, especially with you in tears.

2 weeks ago

“You don’t need to worry.” Jungkook gently traces his thumb over the back of your hand.

You huff, frowning at your interlaced fingers. “But I do worry.”

“Love, if you are potentially-”

“Don’t say it!” you cut him off. “Hearing the word makes me more anxious.”

You hear him utter an exhausted sigh. “You said yourself that your period has been irregular in the past.”

“Yeah, minus the morning sickness.” Your tone is a bit sharp, maybe even sassy, and you don’t actually want it to come off that way and in another circumstance you’d feel guilty, but you’re too drained from your emotions and the conversation to care.

“But the tests you took were negative,” he tries again.

“It’s just plastic. I can’t trust it.”

You took countless of pregnancy tests weekly, filled up the bathroom bin with those stupid little things until you finally acquiesced to Jungkook’s persistent suggestion to schedule an appointment with your gynaecologist.

The slow traces on your hand come to a halt. His fingers lightly squeeze your chin, directing your gaze at him.

“I promise you, whatever the outcome is we’ll make the best of it.”

“I don’t understand how you’re able to stay calm,” you say, eyebrows arching at his composed demeanour.

In truth, this is an authentic depiction of your relationship dynamic. You deal with lots of anxiety, always have been, and Jungkook stands as the serene counterbalance – tranquil and calm, akin to a gentle, silent breeze sweeping over your arms just as it gets unbearably hot in summer and you’re out of options to cope with the temperature.

But this is concerning you both and you can’t grasp the ease with which he handles the plaguing situation.

“Either outcome won’t change anything drastically.”

You head turns to the side and your stare out the windscreen, a hint of pique evident as your tongue pokes your cheek.

“I don’t want a baby.” It’s barely a whisper under your breath. “But you want one.” Your eyes flutter back to him.

Thinking about it, it dawns on you that a potential pregnancy would undoubtedly bring joy to everyone in your life. Especially your dad, who has been eagerly anticipating it for years – bugging you about it almost every time you see him. However, at 24 you have dreams beyond motherhood. The thought of being tied down to it now fills you with a quiet sense of unease.

You know that Jungkook views it differently. It’s understandable; he is 31, and despite mutually agreeing to wait for a baby, for him it’s not the end of the world. His calm demeanour, shaped by having navigated through a previous marriage and bringing a wealth of life experience, contrasts with your apprehension.

Jungkook hesitates. “I do want a baby,” he confirms, a shadow of regretful longing crossing his face. “But it doesn’t matter. Whatever the result is, I will support it – I will support your decision.” Upon squeezing your bare thigh, he realises how cold you are. “Love, you’re freezing.” He fetches a fuzzy blanket from the backseat that he keeps there just for you. He tucks you under the comfy blanket.

“It’s ‘cause I’m scared,” you mumble, leaning back in your seat.

“Come here.” He softly anchors his hands on your hips and guides you to his lap. “It pains me to see you like this.” He wraps the blanket around you tighter. “You don’t wanna go in there and get this done quickly? Avoiding the inevitable messes with your headspace.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

Jungkook mindlessly cups your cheek, tatted knuckle skimming over your skin.

Maybe it’s the way he peers at you. With a gentle shimmer reflecting sheer fondness and poised to unfold the world at your feet, build a home for you wherever your finger points to without having to ask. Maybe it’s the way he is holding you to himself, his hands serving as a protective embrace, a shield warding off any harm that would dare come your way. Or maybe it’s the tall, daunting building on the side of the road, towering over you like a spectre of uncertainty.

But something brings tears to your eyes – making you grow smaller and younger and suddenly fragile.

“My love,” Jungkook utters tenderly. It fills you with warmth and so much love.

Worry contorts his face. His hand around you holds you tighter.

“I’m not gonna cry.” It serves more as a reassurance for yourself than for him.

“You know you can when you’re with me.”

You refuse, adamantly shaking your head. But when you lose control over the tears stinging your eyes, you bury your face into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, adding a small peck to your temple. “It’s okay to feel this way.”

“Don’t like it,” you murmur into his now tears stained skin.

“But there’s no point in denying it.”

“There’s just...so much. All at once.” You lean back a bit, finger pointing right to your heart.

“I know, love.” He gingerly caresses your back. He softens at your trembling bottom lip, a piece of his own heart falling apart upon seeing you vulnerable on his lap. “I’ll carry everything you can’t, remember?” It’s a vow that formed the foundation of your shared existence. In the quiet assurance of his voice, he continues, “I’ll carry your worries, your fears, your doubts.” His promise is a soothing melody in the symphony of your shared moment. “As long as we talk – communicate properly, this won’t be difficult.”

“But we do talk,” you reply, scrunching your stuffy nose. “No?”

“Yeah, I know.” He nods, thumbing away the tear from the corner of your eye. “But I need you to be honest with me regarding this. No hiding your thoughts from me.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re ready now?” Jungkook asks. As much as he comforts you, traces of curiosity glimmer in his eyes.

“I think so.”

“There’s nothing to worry.” Jungkook smiles in that boyish and lovely way that it coaxes a weak smile on your face.

Jungkook had been right the whole time. You weren’t pregnant.

There had been nothing to worry.

You’re still in awe at how he never doubted his feeling. He just knew you weren’t pregnant – typical Jungkook, always has this uncanny grasp on things, like an innate ability.

Your gynaecologist attributed it to a lack of vitamins and advised better hydration.

Jungkook, feeling more than a tad guilty, bombards you with constant reminders to take your vitamins, drink and eat even more than he used to.

“Is that Jeon Jungkook?” A hushed female voice utters to the person beside her.

As you gaze upward, your eyes lock onto Jungkook in the back of the crowd. A flutter dances through your heart at the mere sight of him.

Jungkook’s presence demands every ounce of attention as people instantly recognise him. He’s draped entirely in black. His pants temptingly cling to his thighs, the buttons of his shirt straining across his chiselled chest and strong arms. His Rolex sits prettily around his wrist, it’s gleam harmonising with the brilliance of his wedding ring.

And you find it so funny, silly almost, because this is just Jungkook in his work attire, you see him like this every day, and yet people’s eyes morph into tiny hearts as he effortlessly strolls by, leaving a trail of heated admiration.

Sometimes Jungkook has a way of teasing your sanity. He turns your life into a whimsical romance, making you wonder if you’re living in a silly, sappy romance movie with the dreamiest guy as the lead. Because in this fleeting moment, the world around you dissolves into a blur, and you see nothing but him. Everyone fades, except him.

“Jungkook!” You stand up, a bit wobbly on your heels. He immediately wraps his hands around your sides.

“Hi, love.” He kisses you softly.

You missed his sweet, gentle voice when he talks to you.

He rakes a stare over you, one brow arched. “You’re already drunk? Who’s been giving you drinks?”

You deny his question with a dragged out “no”. “Just a bit tipsy – if even.” Before he can comment anything else regarding how many drinks you’ve already had, you ask, “Where’d you get these cute horns from?” Your hand reaches for the hairband with two attached red horns on them.

“Don’t know the brands name. Just a cheap store down the street from the company.”

You tilt your head as you ponder. “I don’t know of any cheap store close to the company.”

A ping pong ball rolls towards you on the floor. As you bend down to retrieve the ball, Jungkook’s hand pulls you back by the waist and he picks it up himself. His possessive hand travels to your butt and he slides his palm over the ruffles of your skirt.

“You’re not wearing any panties, are you?” he whispers into your ear. He throws the little ball towards the other end of the table. You shake your head, not really comprehending what he’s implying. Your more focused on how he effortlessly threw the ping pong ball straight into the cup.

“Yah, Jungkook! Come here, I need you in my team right now!” Chanyeol yells.

Jungkook lets out a humourless laugh. “Has Eunwoo not been good enough?”

Eunwoo sends a glare his way. “Chanyeol’s just taking everything too seriously.”

Jungkook rolls up his sleeve. “Too good that I’m also competitive.”

When Jungkook has enough of beer pong after carrying his team every round, he sits down next to you, pulling you to his lap.

You were just talking with Jisoo about the newest Dior collection, but she leaves the two of you alone with a knowing smile.

Jungkook swiftly takes the partially filled cup from your grasp and places it on the table. “You’ve had plenty to drink tonight.”

“I didn’t drink that much.” You don’t know exactly how much you drank because maybe you had too much to count, but you won’t tell him.

Jungkook cocks his head. He doesn’t need you to tell him to know.

“Get up.” His palms push your lower back.

“Huh?” You play with his necktie, leaning closer to his body. “For what?”

A crooked, entertained smirk crosses his face. “For what?” he scoffs.

His tatted arm snakes around you, his rolled-up sleeve flaunting the pretty inked lines adorning his skin. Jungkook grips you close to him. He angles your face down, his lips brushing over the sensitive part of your neck until he reaches your ear.

“Gonna fuck your brainless in my car. That’s why.”

His voice has got that pretty husky rasp you love so much. Tingles spread everywhere, especially your pussy. Jungkook sucks your earlobe between his teeth, and you think you can feel his smile when an unintended moan bubbles up your throat. You squirm in his lap.

“Someone’s got excited,” he teases as his hands run up your thigh, thumb disappearing underneath the white material of your skirt.

“Don’t.” Your fingers fly to his wrist. “There are people.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Now you care about people watching?”

Your lips pull together in a confused pout.

“You never notice, do you?” He decided against sneaking his finger further between your legs. Instead, he smoothens the hiked-up fabric of your skirt, though there is not much to adjust. It’s a skimpy skirt, it barely covers you.

“Notice what?” Your sparkly heels distract you and you move your feet around, watching every crystal glitter. “You’re being confusing, Koo.”

“I’m not being confusing,” he denies.

“Yes, you are.” You shift your gaze to him. A subtle crease appears between your brows. “You told me you didn’t have time for a silly Halloween party and yet you showed up.”

Jungkook dislikes seeing you upset. He really does. It creates this unexplainable feeling of protectiveness that sits right behind his rib – annoying and intolerable, coupled with a hint of guilt. But seeing your tipsy form upset delights him the tiniest bit.

“I was able to finish off early,” he explains. “Thought I’d join you, ‘cause you wanted me to.”

“And you were pretty mean to Eunwoo.”

“He can fuck off. I really don’t care about him.” His tongue peaks out as he swipes it over his bottom lip, teeth biting at the skin with furrowed brows.

“You’re such a meanie sometimes.” You run your fingers over his eyebrows, relaxing them.

“Want me to show you how mean I can be?” He tilts his head, a challenging glint in his eyes.

“You can’t be mean to me,” you say, shaking your head as your fingers settle on his broad shoulders. “Been good today.”

“You’ve been driving me insane tonight.”

“Me? What did I do?”

Jungkook rises to his feet with you, and you stagger a little at the sudden movement, but he keeps a safe arm around you. “Always so clueless,” he mumbles as he leads you through the crowd.

“___!” someone yells your name.

You stop when you see Karina rushing towards you.

“I’ve been looking for you all night!” She hands you a drink

You look at her through apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m leaving already. I’ll see you soon!”

Jungkook takes the drink from you after you had a sip and downs the whole thing. He tosses the cup into a near trashcan as you step out of the house.

“Oh, no. I told Eunwoo I’d give him my number,” you remember. “Lemme go back.”

But Jungkook’s hand on the small of your back remains firm.

“He’s not stupid. He’ll find a way to contact your manager.” Jungkook is pissed and you’re not quite sure if you heard it right, but you think he adds a small “Doesn’t need my wife’s number.”.

“Can you imagine me in a drama?” You giggle as you think about it. “Would you watch it?” You turn your head. “You don’t like watching dramas.”

“Of course, I’d watch it. Immediately.”

Your eyes spark up and Jungkook wants to have this image of your forever ingrained in his memory. A literal angel staring at him as if he was the one that hung up the stars.

You stumble over your heels when you refuse to look ahead, pretty eyes still admiring him. “Careful, love.” He quickly steadies you.

He unlocks his car when you reach it and opens the door to the backseat for you. But instead, you pull open the passenger door and bend over to open the glove compartment.

“Are there condoms left here?”

You search for the familiar package, but Jungkook hurriedly pulls you back, shutting it closed along with the car door.

“Nothing left,” he replies. “Get in the backseat.”

As you get into the car and settle on your back, you ponder, “Didn’t realise how many times we’ve fucked in the car.”

You're not particularly interested in cars, but in rare – or apparently not so rare – moments like these, you appreciate the spaciousness of Jungkook’s G-Wagon.

Before Jungkook joins you in the car, he scans the surroundings, vigilant for any lingering onlookers. He doesn’t need you on the front page of every media outlet again. You’ve had enough of that lately, and that darn Instagram Story of yours likely fuelled the gossip mill again.

Jungkook barely uses social media. You’re the only reason he has the apps on his phone. He doesn’t follow anyone except you, only has your notifications on. During a short break he mindlessly clicked on the Instagram notification, expecting a cute picture of your angel outfit – you had texted him complaining about your ruined Barbie dress and he suggested you could use the angel wings he once saw you carrying into your wardrobe.

Safe to stay he expected everything, but a picture with fucking Eunwoo wearing fucking matching costumes.

As hours passed by, his anger didn’t simmer; instead, it prompted his decision to make a swift trip to the dollar store and join you at the party.

“You tend to conveniently forget when you’re a needy brat.”

“It’s ´cause I’m not a brat,” you reply with a huff, yanking at his tie. “Just a bit needy sometimes.”

“Hmm, just a bit needy?” His knuckle follows along your jaw, teasing you with his gentle touches and the mock sympathy seeping from his tone.

You look so cute lying here for him, with the angel wings peeking from your sides and the little sparkly pins adorning your hair. He just wants to fuck you silly.

You nod pliantly. An innocent smile blossoms on your face.

Jungkook’s hand disappears under the ruffles of your skirt, middle finger sliding over your pussy. You gasp, body twitching at the sudden touch.

“So wet already?” he sneers. “All for me?”

You grind your pussy against him, hungry for more.

“And so greedy for me.” He spreads your pussy lips, gently rubbing the pad of his finger over your sensitive clit. Jungkook moves your skirt up and an immediate glint surfaces in his eyes. “So pretty.” He slips two fingers in, smirking when you shake beneath him. “Baby’s sensitive, huh?”

He pumps his fingers into you and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. The alcohol running through your veins heightens your sensitivity to his touch. Everywhere he touches leaves a shimmering trail of tingles, enveloping your body in a cloud of euphoria, a sensation both fuzzy and dreamy.

“I want you.” You reach for his cock, but Jungkook seizes your wrist.

“Did I say you could touch?” His voice drips with condescension.

You weakly shake your head, a frustrated whine accompanying it.

“Use your big girl words.” His fingers stop moving and he completely removes them when you remain silent. “C’mon,” he urges, growing more impatient.

“No, you didn’t,” you sulk. Even dare to look at him through a frown.

“You don’t get to do anything," he tells you. He loses hie tie, wraps it around your wrist in a swift, practiced motion and ties them above your head. “Just lie there and look pretty for me.” He pulls his pants and briefs down, stroking his hard cock before he teasingly nudges his tip against your clit.

You watch him play with your pussy and you’re unable to keep the desperate moans from leaving your mouth, eagerly waiting until he aligns his cock to your entrance, slowly filling you up with his entire length. A throaty moan reverberates when he’s all the way in.

“Pussy’s so good at taking me.”

A gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you out. “So good,” you mumble.

Jungkook waits until he knows you’re used to h is size before he starts moving his hips.

Your tits move in the confines of your corset. Jungkook’s head dips down and you feel his tongue slide over the swell of your boobs that peek out, teeth slightly grazing over your skin.

“Don’t bite,” you utter between moans.

But Jungkook does exactly that. Even sucks on your skin a little bit.

“You think you have a say on anything?” His hand squeezes your face. Traces of petulance lie in your eyes. His other hand grips your hips, fingers buried in your skin to fuck you fast.

It’s almost ridiculous how fast Jungkook gets you to your high. He knows exactly what to do to get your walls clamp around his cock, begging him to give you just a little bit more to push you off the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, eyes falling closed as you the pleasure builds up in your tummy.

But then Jungkook suddenly stops moving. You open your eyes to find Jungkook smirking at your trembling body, amused when a shaky breath escapes you.

“Why would you do that? I was close!”

He pulls his cock out, tapping it over your clit.

“Hmm, no idea why I would do that?” he asks, pushing his cock back into your pussy in one swift motion.

“I haven’t done anything,” you say meekly, staring at the way he slowly fucks you. He could make you cum so easily.

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “Can’t recall anything bad you did?”

He picks up on his pace and you can’t think at all, barely able to shake your head as more breathless moans fly past your lips.

“Posting a couple costume picture online? Fuck, ___ what were you thinking?” He hooks his hands underneath your thighs, pulling them up to fuck deeper. “Wanted everyone talking about you two? Wanted to piss me off?”

“No,” you whine. “Didn't mean it that way. We- we didn’t plan on it at all. Just – when we saw each other it was really funny, and I just took a pic of it.” You’re a babbling mess at this point, the ability to form comprehensible sentences gone once Jungkook sticked his cock in you.

“I don’t fucking care,” he curses. “You know how people perceive this stuff.”

“You don’t... don’t think it was a silly coincidence?”

Jungkook is flush against you. Your nails dig into your palms at how deep his cock is buried in you.

“I should find it silly?” A deep glower settles on his face and in a sick, naughty way it turns you on, making your pussy involuntarily squeeze around his cock. “Fuck, ___, do you wanna cum at all?”

“No, please,” you fuss desperately. “Wanna cum.”

“Then start behaving. Quit being a brat.”

“I am good,” you try to convince him.

Jungkook shakes his head in dismissal. “Put on an angel costume and yet you’re such a dirty girl.”

While you may not encapsule the right persona regarding the angel outfit, Jungkook undoubtedly fucks you like the devil. So mean and selfish, teasing and cursing at you.

“Wanna be – wanna be good for daddy.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, hand travelling up your body until it reaches your throat. “Then don’t disappoint me.” With his shiny Rolex around his wrist, he wraps his fingers around you, squeezing the tiniest bit. You feel the familiar outline of his wedding ring press to your skin.

Your legs wrap around him and you try not to poke him with your heels, but tears obstruct your view and you can barely control yourself, the aching feeling to come undone is back in your tummy.

“Jungkook,” you utter between little desperate puffs. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“Only when I allow you to.” Jungkook looks down at your defeated, crushed face with a smug smirk. “Can do that, right? My wife’s capable of that, hmm?”

Your eyes flutter shut. A single tear rolls down the corner of your eye. “Yes, I – I can wait.”

“That’s my good girl.” He leans closer, whispering it into your ear. “Cock so good it’s making you cry, huh?” His lips press to the corner your eye and he kisses your tear away.

The more he talks and whispers dirty word into your ear, the harder it becomes to resist the temptation to pull yourself back and cum on his dick. But you want to be good for Jungkook, want to hear him praise you for being a patient girl.

“Slow down, please.” Your bound wrists unconsciously attempt to free themselves, but Jungkook’s knot is too tight for you to undo it. You’ll cum soon if he continues at this pace.

“Nuh-uh.” He denies firmly. “You can take it. Show me how good you are.” His fingers dig deeper into your throat and your eyes open again. His brows are furrowed, an angry flush tinting his cheeks. “That’s it. Look at me – look at me when you cum.”

It crosses your mind to secretly cum, but Jungkook’s got a knack for spotting your telltale signs, so it wouldn’t be that sneaky after all. You did try to do that once though. You couldn’t properly sit the next day.

Jungkook swipes his tongue over his thumb before he slips his hand between your legs and starts to slowly circle your clit. A devilish grin sparks up his face.

“You wanna cum so badly, don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Wanna cum all over my cock?” His thumb moves faster. “Make a little mess?”

“Yes,” you pant. Pleasure seeps through your entire body and the effort to ignore the feeling becomes so exhausting, more tears fill your eyes.

“Then cum for me,” Jungkook demands, keeping a gentle trace in his voice. His gaze remains on your face and he watches you with greedy eyes as you come undone beneath him.

It happens almost instantly, like a string that snapped. You’re body shakes as your orgasm rumbles through you and you’re so sensitive you want to yank his hand away fromyour clit, but Jungkook enjoys seeing your writhe way too much to stop playing with your nub.

Shaky breaths escape you. Jungkook fucks you slower now, still rolling his hips into you with precision to hit your sweet spot.

“Doing so good, love.” The hand on your throat moves to your face, swiping away the tears. “So good for me.”

And just as you’re about to tell him you’re too sensitive, Jungkook removes his finger from your clit and pulls his cock out. He sits down and pats your thigh. “Come here.”

Despite being tired from just cumming, you’re hungry for him just by the sight of Jungkook stroking his cock. You move to sit on your thighs, tied up hands on your lap.

Jungkook gathers your hair in his hand before he moves your head down. “Open wide,” he instructs, guiding his wet cock into your mouth.

You taste yourself on his dick as your slide your tongue around him. Jungkook is close to cumming. You can feel it in the way his he impatiently pushes your head further down his cock.

“Gonna cum in your mouth.” Tiny moans fill your ear and you take as much of him inside your mouth as you can. “Fuck, just like that.”

Your mouth fills with hot, salty cum and you continue bobbing your head up and down, getting every drop of it.

“Good girl.” Jungkook pulls you away from his cock. You swallow his load as you look at him. He hums approvingly. “Wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks, untying the know from your wrists. He rubs his fingers over the red marks.

“I’m fine. Didn’t hurt.” Your eyes close when he pecks your forehead.

After he pulls up his pants and briefs, Jungkook checks his phone. His fingers are quick as he types something.

“Who’s texting you at this hour,” you ask, curiously peeking over his arm.

“Just work. I left a bit abruptly.” He tucks his phone away before you can read anything.

Before more questions can leave your lips, he meets yours in a sweet kiss.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he says, patting your hair to tame the mess on your head. “Once we’re home, I’m gonna give your ass the attention it hasn’t got yet.”

#jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #bts smut #bts angst #jungkook imagine

2K notes · View notes

chikoshoes · 2 years

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#Embellished #HighShine #PumpsShoes #sparkle #WomenShoes #Zipper

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hellvcifer · 29 days

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ANGEL SUPPORT SERVICES—

pairing; lucifer x fem!angel!reader (?), slight adam x fem!angel!reader (?) i don't know yet. still developing ideas atp wc; 2.9k note; yeah i really don't know where this story will go but it's been stuck in my head for a bit. hope you enjoy!! and let me know who the pairing should be bcs i can't decide lol !!

“Hello!” Charlie peeked around the door, eyes glancing side-to-side as she took in the decor. Various whites and golds fancily accentuated the interior of the Embassy. She walked in further, noting the long pathway, surrounded by empty seating, all leading up to a desk in the distance. “Hello?” Her soft voice echoed with the sound of her footsteps. “Helloo~o…? Cre~epy…” Her face scrunched, shoulders curling in as she got closer to the lone desk.

She approached, not knowing what else to do. This being her first time at the Heaven Embassy and all. A solid gold bell was centered on the white porcelain, embellished with fanciful design and begging someone to ring it. Charlie stared at it for a moment before her hand slapped the top of it. The emitted chime was soft and held out the delightful sound.

A bright flash of light emitted from behind the desk, swirls of golden flowers and sparkling light appearing and growing bigger before revealing a figure wrapped in a mass of feathers. They shuffled a bit and spread out widely to reveal the back of the owner.

“Oh!” You turned around, eyes widening upon seeing the guest. “Welcome to the Heaven Embassy!” You smiled brightly, arms held out to gesture to the place. “I'm with Angel Support Services, you can call me Y/N, how can I help you?”

“Oh, uh Hi! I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar.” The girl returned your energy, eyes attentive. “So nice to meet you! I’m here for a meeting with, uh, Heaven.” She explained.

“Right!” Your eyes scanned her quickly, “I heard they were sending someone… new.” You giggled.

“Yes! I’m here filling in for my father, of course, I’m sure you know that but I really wanted to present my new idea about rehabbing sinners and the–”

“Rehabbing sinners?” Your eyes widened, lips curling in. Hand covered your mouth.

“I know right! Just the best solution to our problem! It may sound a little crazy but I’ve compiled an entire speech–”

“That is… A great idea.” You interrupted her, swallowing down your laughter. Oh, he is gonna eat her alive. “I’m sure they would love to hear it.” Your hands flourished in the air and a pen appeared in one while a scroll in the other. The glow on them shined as you set the paper in front of the girl. “Please sign in here.”

“Oh, Okay!” She grabbed the pen, “I'm super happy to be here! It’s so nice to meet with such friendly people from Heaven considering the ex–Oh!” As soon as she finished signing, the items disappeared and shocked her.

“Of course, of course! We get that alot.” You continued your cheery tune as a door opened on your right. “Through there please.” You gestured in the said direction.

“Just, uh walk in then, huh?” Charlie asked.

You smirked with a nod, eyes sharpening though she seemed oblivious. “Good luck!” You waved with a twiddle of your fingers, watching her leave. “You’re gonna need it~” You spoke quietly, watching the doors shut behind her. You shook your head releasing a sigh.

Within the next hour you remained at the desk within the Embassy, awaiting the poor girl’s exit. No doubt going on and on about her silly little rehabilitation idea. Though her confidence was thick and made you admire that.

Once a year this happened, and it was the same every time. Answer the ring, pop on down, sign in whomever was visiting, and leave. Typically it had been Lucifer. But it seems that he’s sent his daughter to do it to avoid talking with you. Ever since, well… Last time, he just didn't want to see you. You huffed, sad that you wouldn’t get the chance to talk out the incident. Not that you would even know what to say.

The doors opened, a flash of red was twirled out of it and you saw Charlie land on the floor. Papers scattered around her as she tried to stand. The unnerving guitar of Heaven’s representative rifted throughout the building. The girl stood and walked towards the closing doors.

“Um–Wait, didn’t you–” The last thing she saw was the devious smile of Adam before she was left in darkness. The last sliver of light snuffed out. “Awh, shit!” She slammed her fist against the heavy gold.

You rested your cheek against your hand, smirk ever prominent as you watched the whole thing play out. The girl was breathing heavily, head now leaning against the cold material. “Sooo, how’d it go?” Your voice was ever cheerful, dripping with a knowing cynicality.

Charlie groaned out in response as she began picking up the drawings she originally presented earlier.

“Yeah, that’s what most people say after meeting Adam.” You snickered. “Heaven’s finest first man, an absolute angel.” You stood straight. “Don’t take it to heart, he’s like that to everyone~” You sang out the final word as Charlie stood, her papers neatly stacked in her arms before they disappeared. She looked up at you, seeing how your expression oozed with intent.

“You knew he would react like that?” Her tone raised, questioning your actions.

“Oh honey,” Your brows dipped as a slight pout appeared on your lips. “It’s Adam. Everyone knows. He literally calls himself the original–”

“–Dickmaster,” You finished together. “Yeah, yeah.” Charlie added.

“See! Look at you catching on so quickly.” Your hands clasped together as you brought them to your chest.

Charlie groaned, taking a few steps forward. “Why wouldn’t you warn me before going in there?” She didn’t seem angry as she spoke, more shocked, more frustrated than ever. “I could have prepared better, or shifted my presentation, I just–Ugh!”

“The real question is: Why wouldn’t your father? He’s met with Adam plenty of times before.” Your words made her inhale sharply, eyes widening. “Eeouh~ Daddy issues? It's okay, we all have ‘em.” Your wings opened, flapping a few times and raising you off the floor to sit on your desk. “As much as I would love to help, Sweetie, I got more important things to deal with on the up-side, so if you don’t mind.” Your arm swung out, hand presenting the exit that was in line of sight.

Charlie huffed before walking towards the exit, hand reaching out for the handle. You smiled as she opened the door and waved at her. “Come again!”

As the resounding slam of the door echoed throughout the chamber, that was your cue to take your own leave. With a flash of light, you appeared back into the holy grounds of Heaven. The large golden gates in your view and a familiar face standing atop of the podium.

“Y/N! Welcome back! How was the day down below?”

“Hi Saint Peter!” You greeted him, walking down the golden path to the entrance. “Same as always, super boring!” You waved a hand, sticking your tongue out. “Anyways, I’m off to pick up the notes from the meeting. Have you seen Ella?”

“Oooh, yeah. Sera asked her to cover the greeting party for new souls today and asked me, to tell you, that you’ll have to retrieve the notes from today.” His face seemed like he was in pain as he explained what happened to you.

Your form all but deflated at the news. “Wonderful.” You groaned out the word, watching the golden gate open. You trudged through, smiling at the post angel and waving, “Thanks, Peter!” You tried to remain cheerful, wings outspread and lifted you into the air. He returned your wave and as you left, closed the gates.

With Ella gone, her duties now shifted to you as requested by Sera. Which meant you had to go deal with the First Dick. You rolled your eyes as you flew above buildings, weaving through the other residents of Heaven until you reached Headquarters.

The area was a combination of large buildings, all placed neatly in a secure area for higher ranking angels. They were decorated with the overdone gold accents and white porcelain walls. Seriously, how did they not come up with anything a bit more original. You landed on the ground and walked into one of the higher bestowed skyscrapers, being greeted by others as you did. It didn’t take long to navigate towards the elevator and pressing the button to bring you to the right level.

You wondered why you felt the need to complete these tasks so quickly. Perhaps to feel the relief of the day being over; the chore having been finished. Just so you can enjoy the happy days of Heaven ahead. The days of the Holy and gifted, where nothing can go wrong and everything is perfect. Not a single thing misplaced or misused. Just… Perfect.

Once you arrived, your steps chorused down the long hallway. At the very end was a giant door leading to the one you were hoping to avoid. Just before it on the left was a smaller office that you stopped in front of. You knocked twice and waited for an answer. It swung open to reveal none other than–

“Lute.” You greeted rather blandly.

“Y/N.” Her eyes were widened but she quickly bowed her head, hand raising to her chest as she did so. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You strutted into her office, eyes looking around though uninterested in anything you saw, “Ella’s out and I need the meeting notes for my report.” You quickly turned to her. “That shouldn’t be an issue, I presume?”

She straightened, “Of course not.” She walked over to her desk, picking up the pile of papers before handing them to you. You scanned them, noting the diction used and how well they were written. Obviously not Adam’s doing. You sighed though you didn’t care if he wrote them or not. “Should I notify Adam of your arrival?”

“No! No, no.” You began walking towards the door, stepping through the threshold. “That will not be necessary. In fact, don’t even mention I stopped by, mmkay? Good. Bye-bye!” You smiled though it never fully made its way to your eyes. Your pace was fast down the hallway as you reached the elevator. Luckily no one had called it and it was still on the level.

The doors opened immediately and you entered, turning around to hit the button for the lobby. You released a heavy breath and waited for the elevator to react. As the doors began to shut, the large office at the end of the hallway began to open.

A familiar figure stepped out, “Hey! Danger Tits! when’s that dorky chick with the–” he saw you in the small gap that remained open. His body froze, mouth opened as his thoughts halted. He watched as the panels came closer together, his lips moving to utter the only thing he could process. “Y/N?”

The doors shut as you gulped. You exhaled heavily, feeling your body release any tension you had from seeing him. What a nightmare that would have been to deal with. You’ve avoided him as much as possible within the last year. Though with both of your positions, it was inevitable you run into each other from time-to-time. Quick exits and excuses were second nature to you now.

This moment for instance, you made your escape from the building and ventured over to the main one; having passed by other coworkers and fellow angels along the way. One of the final people on your list to see was Sera to hand over your report and the notes.

This wasn’t your ordinary day in Heaven but it was certainly the busiest out of the year. Heaven had a meeting with Hell once a year to discuss any necessary things and then it was left in the wind until the next one. It wasn’t your favorite thing to be in charge of, but then again you were rewarded nicely for it. Not to mention, it was recently adjusted that there will be meetings held twice a year now. Something about boosting morale with those below.

Considering how close the buildings were, it was fairly easy to make your way to Sera’s office. You knocked and heard a soft “Come in.” You opened the door and saw her having a cup of tea with Emily sitting next to her. The younger Seraphim grinned widely at the sight of you.

“Oh my goodness, Y/N!” She jumped from her seat and glided over to you. “How was your day? Did you have fun visiting Hell? Did you meet anyone? Please, tell me all about it!” Her joyous attitude reminded you of the new representative put forth for Hell. Charlie.

You gently laughed as she pulled you forward. “Alright, that’s enough, Emily.” Sera called out with a calming voice, pieced with a smile and causing the girl to release her grip.

She nervously chuckled, “Sorry~”

“Welcome, Y/N.” She glanced down at the papers in your hand. “I assume that is the report from today’s meeting?”

“As requested.” You held them up and they gently floated towards Sera before laying in her hands and disappearing into thin air.

“Your work today is appreciated.” She bowed her head towards you. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble visiting them. Please join us.” She gestured to an empty chair at the table.

“Not at all.” You sat, and Emily rejoined the two of you. “In fact, it was mildly entertaining this time around.”

“Oh! How exciting!” Em interjected, eyes awaiting for more information.

“As you know, Hell put forth a new representative this year.” You took a sip of the freshly poured cup of tea in front of you as you explained. “She was going on and on about rehabilitating sinners as a solution to the population problem they’re having.”

They both nearly spat out their drinks, each with an opposite expression. “That’s a great idea!” “That’s a horrible idea.” You chuckled at their different responses, spoken at once.

“But why not!” Em spoke up, “It could bring an end to the issue we’ve been dealing with for so long! Not to mention, it could bring us closer to those down in Hell–”

“Sinner Rehabilitation has no evidence of working.” Sera was quick to say, “If it were even possible, we would know about it. We must not question divine judgment.”

“But Sera–”

“That’s enough.” Her tone was stern, ending the conversation.

You took another sip of your drink, sighing into the tense air, “I guess it’s better than the extermination.” You hummed absentmindedly.

“What?” Sera was shocked at the mention of the word, her voice coming out sharply as she stared at you with wide eyes.

You turned to her. “You know,” Your hand twirled in the air as you explained. “The proposal that Adam gave forever ago but it was denied at the high council meeting.” You casually mentioned.

“I don’t remember that.” Em’s finger found her chin as she tilted her head.

You smiled. “Waay~ before your time. It was shot down before there could even be a discussion about it.” You answered. “Anyways, I’ve gotta fly. Meeting~” You explained bluntly and rose from your seat, turning to leave. “It was nice seeing you two!”

“Y/N.” Sera called out, causing you to stop and swivel your head. “Uh,” She glanced down at Emily. “A word, before you go.” She followed you out of her office, signaling the younger to stay behind. Once the door was shut, she cleared her throat.

“About the proposal,” She spoke quietly, calm eyes masking her shakiness. “That won’t be brought up to…” She eluded without saying.

You laughed, dismissing her worries with a flap of your hand. “Don’t worry. Rehabilitating sinners? Like they would be on board with that, am I right?”

Sera tried to join in, though she cleared her throat, “And… about the other one.”

“Other one?” You questioned before realizing. “Oh~ The extermination?” You scoffed. “Yeah, no. It was relayed a long time ago when it was initially discussed. No use in bringing up the past. It was declined for a reason.” You squinted at her. “Unless there’s something I should know about…”

“No! No, of course not.” She held a hand up, closing her eyes with a soft smile. “I just wanted to make sure all things are transparent between us and them.”

You instantly shifted, grinning at her answer. “Great! See you around.” You walked off though an uneasy feeling remained within your stomach.

Quickly, you made your way over to your own office, popping through the door and shutting it. Now, you waited. It was bound to happen soon, it always did after a meeting at the Embassy occurred.

You were chosen, hand picked as they admitted. And though the honor was bestowed upon you in all its glory, the burden you felt took its toll on you. As much as you felt gifted for being picked, there was no relief to the loneliness you felt in your position.

The gold necklace you wore began to glow, humming loudly as the light grew brighter by the second. It was starting. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. A flash of white encapsulated you and you appeared into a familiar office.

A desk was placed some feet in front of you, the luxurious chair turned away from you. All you could see were the crossed legs of a sat figure, long and dainty, angled just slightly to the right. Cladded in white dress pants, he stared out the giant window that silhouette him.

“Long time, no see…” He leaned forward, blonde hair peeking past the backrest of his chair. “Y/N.”

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin hotel insert #hazbin hotel fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel adam x reader #angel support services

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kitten4sannie · 2 months

Text

ʟɪꜰᴇ ɪꜱ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ, ʟɪꜰᴇ’ꜱ ᴀ ʀᴀᴄᴇ

ʜᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴇx/ʜᴀɪʀ ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ➠ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

pairing: seasoned model! seonghwa x newcomer model! reader (fem) x models! woosan feat. director! hongjoong

genres: modeling au, smut

summary: walking for this season’s collection means everything to you, and you’re not about to let anyone get in the way, especially not a man who’s dead set on taking your place, no matter how insanely pretty he may be.

w.c: 4.8k

warnings: everyone’s an asshole here lol, use of drugs/alcohol, dom! seonghwa, bratty sub! reader, dom-ish poly! woosan, usage of the word ‘mommy’, mutual masturbation in the back of a limo, handjobs, tension, name calling/pet names, degradation/praise, brat taming, manhandling, choking, thigh grinding, kissing, brief spit play, hair pulling, marking, nasty hate sex in a club bathroom, creampie, brief breeding/bulge kink

a/n: i wanted to write like 10k words for this fic bc modeling aus just make me lose it fsr esp when ateez is involved 🧎🏻‍♀️maybe i will one day <3 i had sm fun with this one arrghhh!! alsoooo i can’t believe there’s only one more story left to share with you all like huhh ??? 😺time flies man ;~; anyways please enjoy xx

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ᴘɪɴᴋ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʙʏ ɪꜱᴀᴀᴄ ᴅᴜɴʙᴀʀ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

Modeling, for some, was about being a part of something bigger than them — the head-turning brands, the constant development of fashion and what was considered to be hot and new, the runways, the avant-garde collections, the hazy after parties that supplied them with drugs, alcohol, and sex. All the excess, the gaudiness of it all, kept your cohorts going, kept them content, kept them chained to the modeling world, all the while they scratched at their pearl-adorned necks and begged for more.

All of that was fun, sure, but what kept you on your hands and knees, what fueled you to continue dragging yourself up through the ranks, what gave you the strength to bow down and service executive after executive, what propelled you to treat your body like the ultimate temple, was the glory. The moment you were up on that stage, basking in the blood and tear soaked limelight, cameras flashing, rendering you blind, your dear director’s arm hooked securely around your waist, your perfect face ready to be displayed on every magazine cover; that’s why you sacrificed everything. That’s why you gave all of yourself to the fashion beast — let it consume you whole, spit you out, and mold you into something they wanted. And you weren’t about to let anyone get in the way.

On the way to your esteemed director’s latest show, you let your mind go blank in the back of the spacious limousine, resting your half-empty glass of champagne in between your legs, not paying any mind to the boisterous conversation your modeling friends were having from either side of you until one of them suddenly grabbed onto your arm and tugged on it.

“Hey, baby, you’re gonna want to hold onto your tits…” San, your best friend since your first real shoot, warned you, before popping a few pills into his mouth and downing them with some sparkling champagne.

“Why? What’s going on?” you asked concernedly, not ready for anything bad to happen on your big night.

“Look at this…” Wooyoung, your ride-or-die, who was a part of the package deal when you initially met San, spoke up beside you, leaning across the padded seat to show you something on his phone.

You took a slow sip from your glass, your eyes studying the large, obnoxious headline that sat at the top of the celebrity news article, having to cover your mouth to keep yourself from spraying champagne all over.

Fashion Icon Park Seonghwa Joins Kim Hongjoong’s Spring Collection Due to Last Minute Inspiration

You started to read more of the article but you felt sick to your stomach with the way they were giving Seonghwa that Samsung spin cycle sloppy toppy 9000 through their embellished wording. “This cannot be happening…Tell me this is a joke!” you gasped, grabbing onto Wooyoung’s silk sleeve and San’s leather-bound pants, pleading with both of them with your teary eyes. “If he’s going to be there, everything will be fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.”

“Everything will be fine, doll.” Wooyoung pressed his plump, glossy lips to your cheek and lips, trying to calm you down, running his fingers through your hair. “Just relax for me…”

Your rigid body slowly began to relax, leaning further into the kisses he gave you, almost forgetting around your second counterpart, until he placed a gloved hand around your upper thigh and squeezed it, causing you to face him. “Sannie…”

“I’m sure you’ll still be the center of attention, baby.” San continued to rub your thigh, his hand moving further and further up your bare leg, compelling you to look down at the logo engraved on his expensive glove until it disappeared underneath your tiny skirt. “I mean, look at you,” he continued in a low tone, giving you a perverse smile, motioning to the tight, sleek black designer dress you were wearing, one that Director Kim himself created for you, his star pupil.

“He’s right, doll,” Wooyoung agreed, bringing his pinky up to his nose to snort something powdery, before leaning over to kiss you on the neck, his own hand making its way to your other thigh, pulling it open just as San did, their fingers slipping up and down your bare cunt from underneath your skirt. “You’ll always be everyone’s favorite…Our favorite too.”

You basked in your modeling friends’ depraved attentiveness like you always seemed to do, all three of you just drinking in the pleasing sight of one another, your hands rubbing over their hardening cocks through their expensive clothing, eventually finding your way underneath it, much to their enjoyment.

With one hand around each of their cocks, you jerked them off with frightening accuracy, knowing when to squeeze around their glistening cockheads and what vein to rub at with your thumbs to make them whimper and whine in your ears, using their leaking pre-cum to lube them up. “Aww, does that feel good? Are you two going to cum just for me?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Wooyoung let slip out in a shaky breath, his wrist starting to cramp up from how hard he was finger-fucking you, leaving messy kisses across your collarbone.

“Gonna cum for my favorite girl,” San exhaled into your pierced ear, pinching his gloved fingers tightly around your clit, watching you spasm with a smirk on his flushed face, his pretty pink lips forming an ‘o’ as soon as his cock began to throb.

All three of you began to shudder and jolt against each other and the leather seats behind you, finishing your typical pre-modeling ritual with a much needed, drug-enhanced orgasm.

Once San and Wooyoung began to fix their clothes and hair using their phone cameras, taking a few pictures of themselves to capture their alluring afterglows, you reached forward to knock on the partition that separated you and the driver.

The window slowly rolled down, bringing you face to face with the seasoned driver. “We’re just around the corner to the venue, Miss.” His eyes widened slightly when you held your hands up in front of him, his soft, jovial expression forming one of shock.

“Napkins, please,” you requested softly with a cordial smile, as if you didn’t have your friends’ cum dripping along your manicured fingers down to your 24k gold bracelets.

࿏࿏࿏

“If Director Kim gives the final walk to Seonghwa, I’m going to kill him…” you hissed through gritted teeth, not able to look directly at Wooyoung or San when you spoke, instead having to look upwards so that the makeup artist could properly run their brush along your lash line.

“Director Kim or Seonghwa?” San perused, immediately sucking in his cheeks a bit, the person in front of him brushing more contour along his already sharpened cheekbones.

“Seonghwa…that beautiful prick…” Your eyebrows furrowed together, picturing the irritatingly gorgeous man in your mind’s eye with your eyes closed shut. “I swear to god if he takes what’s mine, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” you heard someone say in a silky smooth voice, one that made your heart just about burst out of your chest. “What is the pretty little new girl going to do, besides talk shit behind my back, hm?”

You opened your eyes just in time to see Seonghwa standing behind you in the mirror with one hand on his hip and the other swishing around some bubbly alcohol inside a champagne flute, his infamously piercing gaze settled entirely on you, your jaw practically on the floor.

“Face crack of the century…” Wooyoung whispered to San, the both of them grabbing onto each other and flipping out, waiting impatiently to witness what was about to go down between two of Director Kim’s most prized possessions.

Seonghwa carefully ran his ringed fingers through his hair, taking a few steps closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it somewhat roughly, looking down at you like you were the mouse he had just pinned underneath his claws. “Is this what they consider to be hot these days?” he grimaced, eyeing you up and down, running a finger along your jaw, knowing exactly how he’d get under your skin. “Times certainly have changed…”

You suddenly stood up and got in Seonghwa’s face, your stilettos giving you enough leverage to almost meet your sworn enemy at eye-level, pressing a finger into his chest plate through his perfectly tailored, button-up blouse. “You may be one of the hottest people in here, but you’re old news, Seonghwa. The only reason you’re considered an icon is because of Director Kim’s influence, okay? Let’s not kid ourselves.” Noticing the way Seonghwa’s face flinched, you knew you struck a nerve. Now it was time to deliver the final blow.

Seonghwa’s hand clenched tightly around his glass, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He took a step closer to you, so close now that his breath hit your chin. “You better watch your fucking mouth…”

Your friends let out silent screams, hardly able to let the makeup artists do their jobs with the way they were shaking each other. A few other models had stopped in their places to figure out why there was suddenly so much tension in their beloved workplace, their eyes on the both of you, whispering amongst one another.

You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side, ready to project your own insecurities onto Seonghwa for the sake of making him look so bad, he would hopefully decide to just storm out. “Why are you so mad, Seonghwa?” You reached up to run your fingers through his silky, wavy hair, giving him a fake pout. “Is it because everyone knows that the only reason you got into this show is because you let the director fuck you like all those times before? We’ve all seen the photos, you know. They got leaked everywhere.”

It wasn’t until Seonghwa threw a full glass of champagne on you, that everyone around you let out an even bigger gasp. Your hair was wet and sticky, your mascara began to trickle down your contorted face, and worst of all, the outfit you were going to wear down the runway in a few minutes was completely ruined. Filled with a sudden sense of hatred that bordered arousal, you grabbed Seonghwa by the collar, tugging him toward you, your lips almost touching. “You…fucking…cu–”

“Oh, sweetie…” Seonghwa reached his hand up to caress your cheek with an odd gentleness, smearing his thumb down your cheek just to ruin you a little more. “There’s no need to be jealous of me. It’s okay that you’ll never be Hongjoong’s favorite.” He gave you a sweet smile, one that was so angelic, you almost missed the devilish look in his eyes, his thumb now pressing into your bottom lip. “No matter what you do, no matter how much executive cock you suck, you’ll never be me. Accept it and you’ll be less angry…You’ll have less wrinkles too.”

It was just then that the director himself came strolling up with a few members of his frantic entourage, gasping in horror at your disheveled appearance. “Y/N, jesus, what on earth have you done to yourself, darling?” Hongjoong pulled at your sleeves and parts of your garments, tsking every now and then, absolutely appalled with your appearance. “There’s no way in hell you’re walking down my runway like that.”

“Director, please, I haven’t even gotten a chance to walk in tonight’s collection yet!” You shook your head adamantly, getting drops of water onto Hongjoong’s pristine clothes, causing him to grab your shoulders and squeeze them, giving you a look that made you shut up and accept defeat. For now.

Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, his grimace being replaced by a radiant smile, reaching up to twirl a lock of the model’s shiny hair in between two fingers. “I can’t have problems like these in the middle of my show…Take over Y/N’s place for me, will you, sweetheart?”

Seonghwa gently grabbed Hongjoong’s wrist and pressed a kiss onto his knuckles, leaving a lipstick print behind. “Anything for you, darling.”

Hongjoong blushed and walked away with Seonghwa, his entourage following close behind them, fawning over them in a way that made your blood boil. That should’ve been you, not Seonghwa, not someone who already had their chance in the limelight.

“Y/N, are you okay after… all that?” Wooyoung asked softly, rubbing your shoulder, frowning a bit at the small nod you gave him.

“Yeah, that was brutal to watch…” San mentioned, getting smacked in the shoulder by Wooyoung, pausing to give him a look, before bringing up a cloth to dab it against your dripping face. “You’ll bounce back from this, baby, don’t worry.”

After a few moments of silence, you suddenly pulled the both of them closer to you. “I’m going to be the final one walking down that runway, if it’s the last thing I do.” You leaned in to press a kiss onto both of their lips, looking up at them with big, teary eyes, your bottom lip jutting out. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

Your friends gulped and looked at each other for the consensus, then back at you, their pretty faces full of the same mischievous tenacity you displayed.

࿏࿏࿏

Seonghwa never felt more alive than when he walked down the long, lit-up runway, sashaying his way to the end of it and doing a small elegant turn to the side, smiling ever so softly at the sounds of cheers and clapping coming from the vast crowd, their phones flashing as they eagerly captured the moment and posted it to their socials, most definitely gushing over Seonghwa’s beauty combined with his director’s creative vision, his body swathed in form-fitting, eye-catching cloth. Knowing he took that moment from the bratty newcomer and got to savor it all to himself was simply the cherry on top.

Even when he made his way backstage and sat down to have his hair and makeup redone, the buzz didn’t seem to leave him. The attention didn’t seem to either, his eyes flitting to the side when he began to tune into Wooyoung and San’s conversation as soon as he became the topic.

“Talk to him already,” Wooyoung encouraged, pushing on San’s broad shoulder to get him to move. “You wanna fuck him or not?”

“I’m too shyyy,” San whined obnoxiously, giving his best friend a pout, before covering his face.

“Oh my god, I’ll fuck him then.” Wooyoung casually moved his chair over to Seonghwa, draping one of his hands over the seasoned model’s thighs once he sat down again. “I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly hot you were when you put Y/N in her place earlier…It made me want a turn.”

“Is that so?” Seonghwa studied Wooyoung’s enticing features, his gaze settling on the mole that graced his glossy lips. “What exactly got you all hot and bothered?”

Meanwhile, San meekly sat down on the other side of Seonghwa, gently pressing one hand into the older man’s thigh like he was making biscuits. “For me, it was when you threw the champagne in her face…That got me hard…”

Seonghwa turned to look at San, nodding at his pretty, feline-like face with approval, before his chin was grabbed by Wooyoung, his fingers pressing into his cheeks. “For me, it was when you called her out for being a whore…All I could think about was you making me your whore instead…”

“Me first,” San whined, leaning on Seonghwa’s shoulder, trying to pull Seonghwa’s attention from Wooyoung, who gave him the evil eye.

“You cum too fast, San. He should fuck me first,” Wooyoung countered, smiling smugly, wrapping a lock of Seonghwa’s hair around his finger. “I’m versatile, by the way. We can do whatever you want to, baby.”

“Mm, tell me more…” Seonghwa requested, bringing his arms back and around both of their shoulders, enjoying the feeling of being fawned over by two extremely attractive models who seemed to be competing over his attention. Of course they would be. He was an icon.

At this point, the makeup and hair stylist had wandered off to take care of the other models, not having nearly enough time to care about Seonghwa’s current quest in getting his dick wet.

Your plan had all been riding on whether Seonghwa would be self-serving or not, and much to your relief, you spotted him whispering things into the ears of your friends from across the large room, taking the opportunity to fit yourself into the black form-fitting blazer that was matched with a simple black trouser, a few silver necklaces hanging from your exposed collarbone. As it was made for Seonghwa at the last second, the blazer had nothing underneath it, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination. It was explicit, to say the least. You already knew in your heart that your director would love it.

And, just like that, Hongjoong came back around the corner with a coffee cup in hand. Upon seeing you, he gasped loudly, stopping dramatically in his tracks, taking a long swig from his cup and handing it off to one of the nameless people next to him, causing everyone around him to look at you, including Seonghwa and your partners in crime. “Darling. Look. At. You.”

“Do you like it, Director?” you asked softly, running one of your fingers along the perfectly stitched lining of your breast pocket.

Hongjoong stood in front of you, placing his hands on your shoulders, letting them slowly slide down the sides of your arms, his eyes surveying your perfect form, unable to take his eyes off of your exposed chest. “This is going to turn heads…This is…going to change everything,” Hongjoong sighed out, dollar signs in his eyes and inspiration pouring out of his very soul. He suddenly turned you to face the crowd of people, clutching your shoulders, ready to shed a tear. “Do you see this, everyone? We are witnessing a new era in fashion occur in front of our very eyes. Out with the old, in with the new.”

Your director continued on with his inspiring, soul-gripping speech, which resulted in a sea of tears and a wave of applause from your roused colleagues — yet you couldn’t hear a single thing. All you could focus on was the way Seonghwa’s dark eyes bored into you, his lips screwed into a deep grimace, his fingers gripping his chair so tightly he left indents. He was just waiting for the moment he could tear you apart. And for some odd reason, you welcomed it with open arms as you walked past him with your dear director’s arm hooked around your waist, blowing him a kiss on your way to the main stage to be on display for everyone to see the collection’s final jaw-dropping look.

࿏࿏࿏

“Y/N, baby, you’re trending!” San exclaimed loudly, having to raise his voice so you could hear him over the loud, thumping music that was blasting through the club’s speakers, repositioning himself on the large leather couch you all sat on. He kept his arm securely around Wooyoung’s waist, leaning across him to show you countless posts that showcased you strutting down the runway.

Wooyoung squeezed your shoulder, taking a drink from his glass, giggling to himself. “I think at least five million people have seen your tits already.”

“And, here’s to five million more,” you mused, holding your own glass up to clink it against Wooyoung’s and San’s, and a couple other drunk models that sat around the VIP lounge. After you downed your drink, you got up, wobbling a bit. “I have to piss. I’ll be right back.”

“Hurry back, okay? We have to take more celebratory shots!” San shouted at you as he watched you give him an ‘okay’ sign, before you disappeared into the large, sweaty crowd.

Little did you know, a cat and mouse game had begun inside that overcrowded club, your trek to a bathroom that didn’t already have someone pissing or fucking inside it no longer a solo adventure. Seonghwa weaved in between patrons, following close behind you, his dark gaze alone deterring anyone from trying to stop him and get in his pants.

It was when you found a lone, empty bathroom that he knew it was his time to strike, to teach you a much needed lesson, to show you who was really on top.

You barely had a chance to check the current state of your makeup when Seonghwa came barging in, pinning you to one of the sinks before you could catch your breath. “S-Seonghwa? What are you doing here?”

“Don’t act surprised now, you slut,” Seonghwa spat, shoving one of his thighs in between yours, his high heel clicking lightly against the tile floor below. He leaned in so close you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You thought you could beat me, yeah? Thought you could parade around like a whore and take my place? Take what’s rightfully mine?”

The more you tried to resist him, the more he shoved his thigh into your barely clothed core, the friction causing a small gasp to leave your lips. Not wanting to give in, you reached up to caress the huffing man’s cheek, smiling sweetly up at him. “Oh, sweetie, is this about Hongjoong? Are you upset that you can taste my wet cunt on his cock when you suck him off?”

Seonghwa suddenly grabbed you by the throat, his grip just tight enough to make your head go fuzzy, leaning in just close enough that his lips ghosted over yours, chuckling lightly at the strained moan that escaped your parted lips. “You’re such a goddamn brat…Why is that? Is it because you want me to put you in your place, Y/N?”

At this point in time, you were so wet, you were actively leaving a wet patch on Seonghwa’s expensive suede pants, unable to keep more sounds of pleasure from bubbling out of your tight throat when Seonghwa grabbed your hip with his free hand and began to actively drag your cunt across his thigh, able to feel his straining cock pressing into your heat.

“Answer my question, whore…Or are you that empty-headed already? Got cock on the brain?” Seonghwa questioned, hooking his fingers into the hem of your pants and pulling them off of you, not surprised to see your cunt in all its glistening glory, positioning you back onto his thigh so that you could eagerly grind yourself along it.

“Please fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me, Seonghwa,” you asked in between breaths, holding desperately onto his shoulders, incidentally pulling his thin blazer from his shoulders, revealing his perfect, glowing skin underneath.

“I do hate you. I hate your fucking guts,” Seonghwa growled, suddenly ripping your blouse completely open, grabbing and groping at your tits, squeezing your nipples roughly between his ringed fingers.

“Then rearrange them,” you growled back, grabbing either side of his jaw, the both of you meeting in the middle, your heated kiss consisting more of teeth and tongue than anything else.

Seonghwa lifted you up onto the sink, fumbling with his designer belt, encouraging you to reach down and help him pull it off for him, feeling his heavy cock drop into your hands. He groaned into your open mouth when you began to jerk him off, breaking the rough kiss to begin attacking your neck, making sure he left you with pretty purple bruises on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Seonghwa…” you moaned, hooking your thighs around his impossibly slim waist, feeling him starting to rub the length of his cock across your aching cunt, the pronounced ridge of his cockhead repeatedly hooking onto your clit. “Do you have a condom?”

Seonghwa shook his head, cementing one hand around your waist, guiding the head of his cock into your tight entrance, your inner walls straining to take someone of his size inside. “You’re going to take my cock like a good slut, yeah? Going to let me fuck you raw, aren’t you?”

“Nnngh, n-no one fucks me raw, not even Hongjoong,” you whimpered pathetically, wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him impossibly close, unable to do anything but take Seonghwa’s hot, pulsing length inside you inch by inch, about to melt into a puddle by the time he was fully sheathed inside you.

“Well, aren’t I a lucky man?” Seonghwa purred softly into your ear, just as he began bucking his hips up into you, reaching up to create a makeshift ponytail with your hair, tugging it each time he brought you down onto his cock, unable to keep himself from letting out a few breathy laughs of pure satisfaction, due to watching you completely fall apart inside his arms. “You like this, brat? No one’s fucked you on their cock like this, have they? No one’s ever treated you like the shameless cum dump you are. What a shame…”

“S-eong-hwa…!” you gasped, unable to speak with the way your breath was getting punched out of you each time the furious model slammed himself back into you, swearing he was going to bruise your cervix with such rough treatment — and you couldn’t have been wetter. “Please…!”

“Please, what? No, you know what? I don’t even want to hear what you have to say. Now, open your fucking mouth,” Seonghwa grunted in between brutal thrusts, reaching up in between your sweaty, disheveled bodies to force your jaw open, sending a wad of spit directly down your throat, feeling your cunt clench around him when he did. “Oh, you like that? Of course you do.”

“Aaah,” you whined, letting your tongue hang out of your mouth, feeling almost completely blissed out when Seonghwa sent another wad of saliva onto your tongue, the both of you watching it drip down, before you swallowed it. “Gonna cum…”

“Course you are, you pathetic little cock slut…” Seonghwa reached down to rub his thumb roughly against your clit, still pounding into you with so much vigor, he had to time his breathing so that he didn’t get too lightheaded, routinely blowing wet locks of hair out of his focused eyes. “I’m going to cum too…going to fill this whore cunt with my load. Fill you up so deep, I’ll knock you up…I’ll own you…”

It was then that you began to cry, holding onto Seonghwa so tightly your fingers cramped up, your lower half cramping up in a similar fashion, feeling your warm arousal soak the both of you, allowing Seonghwa to slip in and out of you even easier than before. “Cum…inside…make me yours, Seonghwa…” you whispered, finally submitting to the man that you had been fighting with for who knows how long, about to willingly let him pump a baby into you.

If only your friends could see you now. They’d probably livestream it and give the audience a play by play from the sidelines, those sick fucks. You loved them for it.

“Hey, eyes on me. Don’t fade out just yet, not while your tight little slut hole is milking me dry,” Seonghwa mumbled against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip to catch your attention. He slid out fully and slipped back in one more time, holding you completely still, letting out groan after groan as he pumped his cum into you, not stopping until every last drop made it into your womb. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to your heaving abdomen, making you feel the pouch he created inside you, giving you butterflies from the sensation. “Feel that, Y/N? That’s the proof of my ownership. You’re no longer a mindless slut for just anyone’s cock, are you?”

“No…” you murmured, shaking your head, so dizzy from being fucked into submission that you simply leaned forward and rested your head against his heated shoulder. “I’m yours, Seonghwa…”

Seonghwa felt a sudden swell of pride inside his chest, his brain and body tingling with pleasure, like he was back on stage again, surrounded by a crowd of people that praised him, that so desperately wanted what he had to offer. He hugged you close, pressing his lips against your ear, his lips forming a soft smile. “Say that again.”

You smiled into Seonghwa’s neck, almost not wanting to let go of him, an unfamiliar warmth that rudely accompanied your hatred now present within your chest. “Now, let’s not get carried away.”

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#cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #wonderlandnet #ateez #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez seonghwa #ateez san #ateez wooyoung #seonghwa smut #san smut #wooyoung smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez scenarios

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mirohlayo · 6 months

Text

MOONSTRUCK | LN4

moonstruck (adjective)

unable to think or act normally, especially because of being in love.

( you just made lando loose all his senses )

warning : none, fluff

word count : 886

note : looks like an etablished relationship but no, just lando crushing on you lol. wrote something short for this one bc i think it suits much better. also kind of related with wonderwall post.

!! english not my first language !!

a great race.

it was such a perfect day. time seemed to stop for a while, like people had to enjoy every single minutes of this unreal moment. ends of races were often filled with happiness and a sense of pride always won over fans and racing teams. it was the amazing sport of formula one.

the drivers always celebrated their podium. with friends, race team, engineers, family and any others close people. it was an overload of joy mixed with lot of positive emotions, and these were such precious moments that must be cherished at all costs. but not everyone has this chance. this chance to say you did a great job, to say you drove well. when you feel like you're just not good enough. your being hurts you so much as if you were stabbed everywhere. no one wants to feel like that. and luckily, that wasn't the case for lando.

he did an amazing race. a fantastic job. as soon as he jumped out of his car, his race team congratulated him and praised him for his podium. p2, that's just incredible for the mclaren team. and of course, oscar was proud of his teammate. just like you. you were so proud of lando. you never stopped believing in him, you were always the one to cheer him up. that's why today he hugged you a bit longer than usual, his arms wrapped you tightly against his warm body. in that moment, everything seemed perfectly perfect. the rays of the sun dazzled only you two, in each other's arms, like a reunion of two souls who had been separated for far too long. it felt just like him and you against the whole world.

and with heavy hearts, the pilots had to separate from their favorite person to return to the one final task : post race interview. so as did lando. he gave you a soft smile filled with an amount load of love and let you out of his embrace. he took place in front of the interviewer, and kept his concentration for the race questions. the spot was that the mclaren team was still in front of him a few meters further, so he could still see the people he loved celebrate the efforts of both mclaren drivers. he saw lots of wide smiles, sparkles in all eyes. everyone was still cheering and lando's heart felt full of happiness and love.

his mouth was speaking words, answering bunch of questions about how was the race and stuff like that. a noisy background, filled with laughters and cries accompanied deep lando's voice as he was still talking to the interviewer. his eyes scanned everywhere, sort of a habit he have every times it was post race interview time. he looked from the mclaren engineers to his tired but proud teammate, from the fans of the paddock club to the others drivers. and then he saw you. your person.

his gaze immediately softened, as if he had found reassurance in you. his eyes laid on you so effortlessly because every time a weird but pleasant sensation seized him, as if he was hypnotized by a stunning thing. you were shyly laughing with his manager, charlotte. a crystal clear sound escaped from your mouth which turned into a beautiful smile. the way your eyes slowly squinted, shiny sparkles in them, your cheeks' lines came out and embellished even more your face. your perfect side profile that lando's couldn't help to look at. the sun rays colored your skin in an orange-pink shadow. now it seemed like the world stopped. he captured an unreal moment of you. wow. you just looked like a goddess. a pure gem he wanted to chase after and keep it for himself. and just with this glimpse of you, he started to loose all his senses.

now he was stuttering. he acted clumsy, saying dumb and incoherent things. he stammered on his words, let little "huhh" "hmm" out of his mouth while he was thinking about what he have to say. but he couldn't think because now all his attention was on you. nothing came into his mind but only this picture of you. he even started blushing and a shy smile took place on his lips. god why he was so fucking lost every times it comes to you ? it's just unfair how much effect you did to him. but soon the interviewer finally saw his awkward position and finished quickly the interview.

then he ran to join his team, especially you. you turned to face him, and without any hesitation you hugged him tightly. because it is never enough hugs. oh how his heart craved for your touch. your body pressed against him, your breath on his neck. he was for sure so in love with you. and whenever you would ask him why he acted so clumsy around you, he always had the same answer. "you just stress me that's all" he would shrugged. but actually, the most correct answer would be "i just don't know anymore how to act normal because of you, your person and your presence. because after all i think i'm just a bit too much in love with you".

yeah, it was the perfect answer. and that without any doubts.

#lando norris imagine #f1 imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #ln4 imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 #ln4 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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belokhvostikova · 4 months

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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.”

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported.

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had.

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you.

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together.

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you.

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner.

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought.

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients.

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self.

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!”

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed…

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together.

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything.

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.”

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster.

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance.

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.”

“I’m fine.” You gritted.

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache.

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage.

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors.

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.”

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?”

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.”

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to.

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified.

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.”

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him?

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to.

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite.

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid.

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered.

“You used to.”

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago.

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth.

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality.

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled.

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos.

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running.

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.”

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though.

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.”

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.”

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face.

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana.

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you.

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year.

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours.

And it worked out… surprisingly.

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together.

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie.

Because he changed.

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all.

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat.

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-”

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose.

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body.

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then.

And he hadn’t seen you since.

Until now.

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet.

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you.

But it didn’t have to.

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny.

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you.

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength.

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain.

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating.

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation.

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him.

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance.

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?”

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so.

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again.

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him.

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in.

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation.

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged.

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye.

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.”

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open.

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest.

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness.

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further.

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes.

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.”

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously.

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face.

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood.

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off.

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand.

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you.

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger.

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door.

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.”

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you.

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you.

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them.

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours.

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist.

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of.

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him.

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie.

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit.

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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jiminjamms · 4 months

Text

sex therapy :: 25. messed up

chapter tags/warnings: naoya fucks toji's ex-wife again. aggressive sex. creampie-ing. misogynistic! naoya. hurt/comfort. naoya views women as nothing but a hole. broken marriage. heavy angst. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. manipulation undertones. corruption.

word count: 4.1k

notes: thank you always for all the support! on to the plot for our final arc! this beginning excerpt is a rewording from a line in “spy x family” (any fans out there?) that i believe captures the dynamics in our characters as well. enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

❝ Every person has a self that one conceals, a side not shown to anyone else. Not to friends. Not to lovers. Not even to family. Behind lies and painted smiles, individuals shield their true natures and desires…and, in doing so, the world thus maintains its thin veneer of peace. ❞

Who in the world was Toji Zenin?

The Toji that you had always known was Toji Fushiguro, so what was your husband’s cognomen doing besides your sex therapist’s first name on the latter's university diploma?

Even Google seemed to deny that Toji Zenin existed.

Showing results instead for ‘Toji Fushiguro.’

No, that was not what you wanted!

One step forward in understanding this enigmatic man might as well be three steps backward because, each time you thought you had learned something about him, you only come to the realization that nothing much had been discovered at all.

But as investigations via search engines, social media sites, and Wikipedia pages proved futile, sources that could quell your curiosity dwindled.

So, you turned to your last resort.

“Who’s Toji Zenin?”

“What—”

Across from you, the raspberry macaron in Mai’s hand stopped by her lips as the girl snapped her focus from the pastry to your unanticipated question, with Maki visibly turning stiff in the adjacent chair. The three of you sat surrounding a small table in the twin’s private lounge, located in the northern wing within the Zenin residence.

Visiting the central family property was not uncommon ever since your engagement and wedding earlier this year, but the architecture would never fail to impress you. The mansion itself resembled the Imperial Palace more than anything—an edificial centerpiece defined by the elegance and simplicity inherent in traditional Japanese design, with latticework embellishing the wooden exterior and, inside, carefully painted doors opening into tatami rooms.

Given that Mai and Maki were back in Tokyo for their summer breaks from universities abroad, the sisters established themselves as your close friends and had brought you into their tea room, adorned with European furnishings that would come off as atypical compared to the Japanese heirlooms elsewhere in the residence. On the table sat an imported tea set from England, at the center a French-inspired pastry tower prepared with caramel-topped croquembouches, chocolate-covered profiteroles, and the like.

In great admiration, the sisters had been barraging you with inquiries about your life back in your bachelorette days, asking about your volunteering trip to the Philippines or the charity auctions in Dubai.

Now, with the shift in discussion, the sisters exchanged an uneasy look.

An entire conversation appeared to be held in the way they traded glances. The usual sparkle in their eyes faded, which must mean the girls were remarkably uncomfortable, but Mai forced a polite smile as she placed down her macaron.

“Y/N,” she began carefully, “May we ask how you know Toji?”

Even though she tried to spin the question as casual curiosity, her apprehension could not be more obvious.

“I don’t know him, really,” you lied. While dishonesty went against your morals, watching the twins’ shoulders fall with relief was enough to assuage the guilt. “He’s just…” My friend, to put things in the mildest terms. “He’s just a name I have heard. That’s all.”

Maki dabbed at her mouth with a lace handkerchief, not making a big deal as she added, “Toji’s a cousin.”

So, the Zenin last name on his diploma was not a coincidence at all.

Such a groundbreaking discovery should have thrown you into a whole whirlwind but, to be frank, the realization did not come off as too surprising at all. If anything, Toji as a member of the Zenin family was the perfect explanation to why Toji seemed so astute, why he would talk like he knew more about Naoya than you, and—as Geto had once said—why Toji was ‘not where he could possibly be.’

While Toji’s reason for opting for the Fushiguro name remained a mystery, what you did know now was that he was indeed affiliated with the twins before you by blood, which—by extension—must mean that Toji would also be a cousin to…

…your husband.

Wait.

An unsettling chill ran down your spine.

“Cousins, as in,” part of you didn’t want to know the answer, “distant cousins? Or…?”

“No,” the older twin interjected matter-of-factly, not knowing the full background behind your seemingly innocuous question. “First cousins.”

Ah, so the closest type of cousins possible, which was exactly what you had hoped not to hear. With this additional information, you tried to hide the clamminess in your palms. What would be the best word to describe this void now? Did you feel disappointed? Misled? Betrayed? Toji certainly had known that you were wed to his younger cousin, yet he willingly chose to hide his background as he kissed you, touched you, and fucked you.

A reversal from your sentiments before, you currently felt both disgusted and hurt.

Why did Toji keep this information from you? What sick person derived satisfaction from having sex with his first cousin’s wife? You were so damn stupid for placing all your trust in him. Looking at the situation now, he was just another iteration of the same manipulative and disrespectful man you had been trying so hard to avoid.

“Are you close with Toji?”

Mai shook her head. “No. We don’t talk to him anymore.” Her comment struck as odd. Anymore? Had they once been, then? Before you could ask, her gaze darted around in caution before she leaned forward and said lowly, “For your information, Naoya got into a huge dispute with him earlier this year.”

That’s quite recent.

You understood that Mai and Maki had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped as they did not want to slander the family heir in front of his wife. Blissful ignorance was what the twins must be thinking, hoping to preserve the peace between you and your husband. However, what you had yet to reveal was the broken marriage that had been masked for everyone’s sake, disguised by a pretense that all was well.

Which was why, on that note, the timing could not have been more perfect as a tall young man with ombre hair and hazel eyes flung open the door in one unforgiving slam, rattling the fine china and startling the seated individuals inside.

“There you are, you whore!”

Your eyes widened with shock upon seeing Naoya Zenin in the entryway, your husband’s scowl icy and malicious. He came stomping toward you as his eyes held a dangerous hostility that was impossible to ignore, and you could oddly sense an impending doom when he stormed with zero regard for anything in his path, kicking aside a potted plant and toppling over a ceramic vase.

Standing up, you tried to hide the confusion that befuddled your already mish-mashed brain.

Today was Tuesday.

Was he not supposed to be at work?

“Naoya,” you began calmly, cognizant of the onlooking sisters behind you, “this is not the right place to—”

“You’re such a fucking desperate bitch, aren’t you?” His words were sharp and bitter, his glare filled with hatred like a fire doused with gasoline. Before you could request clarification, he stopped steps away and swung his right hand up, pressing a black business card to your stunned face, the paper crinkled from his intense grip and rendering you petrified in your stance.

No, this couldn’t be…

From your peripheral view, you watched Mai and Maki place their hands over their open mouths as they read Toji Fushiguro’s calligraphed name on the business card that also had in obvious words: 'sex therapist.' Shame racked your stomach. Merely minutes ago, you convinced the twins that Toji was to you nothing more than a name, and now, karma bit you back like a bitch.

With your voice evaporated, you croaked.

“Where did you find that?” You had been sure that you placed the badge away.

Naoya used his anger to crumple the card and tossed the now useless paper ball to the side. “In your purse,” he gritted, “How long were you planning to hide this from me?”

The ensuing guilt suffocated you. “I—” I don’t know.

Sensing the weakness in your will, Naoya burst into a maniacal laughter that cracked through the air, creating a disconcerting symphony. He bent forward, shoulders convulsing with every diabolic and mirthful guffaw.

“You’re so god fucking pathetic, woman. Do you have any idea who Toji Fushiguro is? That bastard is Toji Zenin, you ignorant slut—he is my cousin. Well, I guess I never told you about him, though, because he doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. I don’t know how you ended up crossing paths with him, but this is hilarious!” The man kept cackling and roaring like he had gone insane. “Were you two brewing shit about me? Actually, let me guess since you’d gotten hold of this business card: did you have sex with him? Did you have sex with Toji? Going around fucking your husband and then your husband’s cousin is nothing to be proud of. Tell me, did you meet the other sex therapists as well? Did you get stretched out by them, too? Whose dick did you like best? Whose? Whose? Is that what you like, being passed around and used like some sick trophy? What a fucking animal! How dare you disrespect our marriage. How dare you disrespect your own hus—”

Your hand lashed out before you could suppress the impulse and delivered one resounding slap across Naoya’s face. You watched him shut up and stumble backward, clutching his cheek.

"Ow!"

For a moment, the world seemed frozen still: the sisters gaping in complete stupefaction, your husband staring at the ground wide-eyed, and you heaving from the incoming emotional onslaught.

”How dare you…How fucking dare you disrespect me!” The coalescence of anger, agony, and resentment—bottled up in your heart for months upon months—was now being released as you dissolved into tears. “What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you say such messed up things? You are sick in the head, Naoya, you know that? Out of respect for myself, how could I possibly respect you?!” The only sound echoing in the room became your uncontrollable cries, sobs that escaped past your lips in raw and muffled bursts. Torn apart by sorrow, you could hardly breathe from how constricted your throat had become, your knees wobbling and weak. “Y-You have no idea how lonely and miserable I have been since I walked down that aisle. For the past six months, you—as my husband—have done absolutely nothing but make me feel like a rat in my own home, a mistress in my own marriage!”

“Fantastic! Exactly what I wanted to hear, I am glad I have made your life horrible!” Naoya snarled, not caring for how everyone else’s eyes widened at the scathing statement. Unbelievable. Truly, painfully unbelievable. Did your husband really just say that to your face? He could not give a shit that you wept pitifully, instead catching your shaky wrist in the tightest grasp possible as he added on, “My only regret is that I had not made your life even worse.”

“What the fuck!” you heard Mai gasp as a gut reaction.

What the fucking fuck, indeed.

While you had been subject to Naoya’s verbal harassment during these many weeks, for him to tell you that he wished he had tortured you further was beyond heartless. The searing ache that burned your skin might as well be fatal because your respiration turned erratic like someone had trapped you inside a bubble.

Hyperventilating, you subsisted on shallow gasps.

“Don’t go around thinking that you’re any better, alright? You’re calling me pathetic for sleeping with your cousin, but have you considered that I had been placed in that position because, since the start, you’ve been cheating on your wife?”

Yelling at his face allowed you to release more tears from your lachrymose eyes. Now, Mai and Maki must truly be appalled at all these revelations. What happened to the fairy-tale marriage you had told them about? Well, that never existed to begin with, and with these thoughts in mind, you found a sadistic satisfaction in watching your lawful spouse fume with deep-seated rage.

“That’s right,” you mused with derision, “we’ve been two sides of the same coin all along.”

Naoya clenched his hands at his sides, disgusted to have been compared to you. “Do not put me on the same level as—”

“No. No, you don't get to talk! All you have done since we have been married is for you to talk and complain and bitch about everything, but now, this is my turn,” you screamed in return. “I…I hate you!” and you pointed right at him, “In fact, I despise you. You never tried to see what I had to tolerate to stay with an asshole like yourself because you had been too busy sticking your dick into another woman while you could hardly look at me! No wonder your cousins worried about me. No wonder Toji told me to file for a divorce. Because you, Naoya Zenin, are a total piece of shit!”

His momentary pause hinted at the tiniest self-actualization that flickered within him. Perhaps he finally realized how you had been feeling now that you freely spat out all the turmoil that had been chaining your soul. He took one additional step toward you, torn between whether he should keep up with his anger or succumb to remorse for hurting you.

But, knowing this man, he—of course—opted for the former.

“I never,” he seethed lowly, “wanted this marriage.”

Maybe you truly have become deranged or maybe you genuinely found his statement funny, for you began to emit tearful cackles in your laughter.

“Now, that is one big fucking lie.” Since your earliest encounter, Toji had suggested that Naoya solely regarded you as nothing more than ‘a sweet, innocent fuck,’ and the longer you had stayed with your husband, the more you began to acknowledge how these accusations were all true. “We all know that you’re going to be nothing without me. A CEO who could hardly keep his wife for half a year? What a loser. What makes you believe that I wanted to be married to you? Who do you even think would want to do business with you after this? You never had respect in the real world because all that respect rests upon me.”

While you never fully understood Naoya, your words must have snapped a particular chord in him because he suddenly lunged forward.

“Fucking cunt—”

But before he could get too close, you darted away from him. “Don’t touch me!” you shrieked, voice shrill from the top of your lungs. “Do not ever touch me again. If you want to lay your dirty hands on someone, go touch your girlfriend instead!”

That’s right, he had another woman who he doted on far more than he could appreciate you. This wedding band, this engagement ring on your left hand meant absolutely nothing. Toji had been spot on—why the hell did you cling onto stupid shit like this, twisting the jewelry as if that would save your messed-up union? Without further empathy, you slid off the two rings and hurled them toward your husband’s chest before the circlets clinked upon hitting the ground.

At first, Naoya scoffed. He watched the ludicrous scene with a comical gaze, and when his brain processed what he just saw, he quickly fell onto his knees. All at once, he tossed his head back and let out a chortle—a full-bodied cachinnation that took the room completely aback—as his hysteria mounted.

“Good, good, good!” His screeches were like those of a maniac, his chuckles haunting, throaty, and lacking in sanity. “I’m glad that you’ve come to show the witch that you have been all along! Look at yourself! No wonder no one wanted you!”

Unable to be a bystander any longer, Mai stood up and hurled toward her cousin. “Shut the hell up, Naoya!”

But the said man was quick, using one powerful movement to punch the older twin first. “You shut the hell up, scum. Unless you want to be pummeled to the point where people will feel sorry to look in your direction.”

“Watch what you say!” and when Naoya turned to the new voice, the evil glint gleaming from his brown eyes appeared ablaze.

“Oh? Someone’s bold, too. Shall I bully you first then, Maki?” the timbre in his disdainful laugh crescendoed into unhinged amusement. “Say one more word, little girl,” he taunted, his imp-like face riddled with mockery. “C’mon. I dare you. I will throw you into the courtyard and beat your ugly face up. That’ll bring back warm memories from the good old days, huh?”

The younger twin gritted her teeth, her sister reaching for her arm as a signal to back down and stay levelheaded.

Meanwhile, once Naoya rose from the floor, he nonchalantly kicked at the rings because those emblems of your union had always been meaningless garbage anyway.

“If wanted to leave this badly, then fucking leave,” he deadpanned, his tone the calmest he had been this whole time. “I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Those were your husband’s last words as he walked away, leaving you sobbing and shuddering with a lost soul and sore heart. While weeping and gasping, you had to endure watching his figure fade from view, all while wanting to stop the uncomfortable distress that heightened with his departure. You were huffing, panting, trying to stop your trembling.

The second Naoya slammed the door behind him, Maki ran up to your side and embraced your shaking form, all while you bawled and clutched at yourself. Her expression remained strong, but her palms were damp as they pressed onto your back, her arms quavering slightly as she soothed your cries.

“Sh, don’t cry. My sister and I are here, okay? Mai and I will protect you. Everything will be alright.”

Despite her reassurances, she sounded nearly as broken as you appeared, especially when your hand violently trembled because nothing could save you from the agony that drowned your tattered soul. You felt the disgusting urge to throw up—you were completely broken inside. In a futile attempt, you sought to regulate your breaths with one deep inhale.

Yet, at some point, Maki peeled back and she mouthed something.

Was she talking to you?

Why…why could you not hear her?

She sounded so muffled, as though you were underwater.

Why did everything sound so far away?

With your throat constricted, you could not breathe. Gagging. Gasping. Big, huge gulps of air, but the oxygen failed to enter your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. You could not fucking breathe.

You gripped the fabric by your chest and your other hand sought for something else to hold, but you ended up on the ground anyway. Choking. Coughing. Was something foaming at your mouth? Something warm and wet spilled from your orifices. Were you vomiting? Why were you vomiting?

Holding your body upright, Maki was the only reason that you had not remained on the floor like a fool, but even she stared at you with concern and…horror? Why did she look so scared? Was she screaming? She looked like she was screaming, but her face appeared all contorted like you were looking at her through a fish-eye lens.

After a while, you could not even see her or her sister anymore because your vision turned spotty and then black.

See!

Open your eyes, and see!

Why could you not see?

When your hearing returned to some degree, the sounds that filled your ears were frantic shouts and endless clamor.

“Call Toji! He’ll know what to do. Hurry, where is your phone?” It was Mai. Scrambling. Bags were being opened. Items being tossed. “Call Toji, now!”

A phone started to ring.

Buzzes and buzzes and more buzzes as the waiting intensified.

Then voicemail.

Hello, this is Toji Fushiguro.

“He is not picking up!”

Unfortunately, I am unable to pick up the phone right now.

“Get…”

But please leave your name and number—

“Get Megumi.”

—and I will return your call as soon as possible.

“What about Tusmiki?”

“Tsumiki is still in London at university, idiot! Call…Call Megumi!”

“Okay. I know, I know! I’m calling him already!” someone screamed back. Was this Mai? Was this Maki? You could no longer tell, but the same person shouted, “Wait, wait. He is calling back. Toji is calling me back.”

“Then pick up the phone!”

“Toji…” one of the twins started, the cracks in her tone making her sound like she was weeping too, and her words composed your last bits of memory before the world dissolved completely. “Please…help us.”

Even labeling Naoya Zenin as ballistic would be far too much of an understatement.

The rage, wrath, and sheer indignation that swelled in his every capillary surpassed the twenty-five years' worth of virulent rancor that he had for his fucked-up family.

Since when did you get so goddamn arrogant? Naoya wanted to hurt you, ruin you, and do everything in his power to sabotage you.

Not just you, though. Because that would be too easy.

But also his father, his cousins, his ex-coworkers, and—most importantly—Toji.

Such ill feelings were what led the Zenin CEO to practically leap into the Mercedes-Benz that awaited him at the entrance to his family home, and he immediately ordered his chauffeur to press on the pedal toward a very certain condominium several kilometers away.

Fifteen minutes later, a very surprised Mari opened her door and an enraged Naoya greeted her, shoving her against the wall and colliding his lips into hers for a fierce kiss. His actions lacked passion, only charged with aggression as he stripped her and threw her onto the living room sofa. He could hardly care that he treated the woman as though she was nothing more than a prostitute, while the latter mistook her boyfriend’s rage for desperation, and she begged for him to pull at her hair and force his tongue down her mouth.

At some point, Naoya drove his mistress’s face into the couch cushion and dragged her hips to have her ass raised high. He was too clouded by fury and too blinded by anger to think twice before he forcefully penetrated the woman. He fucked her raw and held her close, jostling her body as though she was a ragdoll, eliciting her loudest mewls that cried for his name.

“J-Just like that!” she whimpered, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he pummeled into her dripping hole, paying no mercy for destroying her with his ruthless pace. Her knees gave out from under her, and she crumbled from the sofa and into the carpet, only for him to tumble too to follow the socket he needed to keep his dick soaked.

“I need to break you,” he hissed.

Fuck, he was going to come soon.

His nails left crescent marks on her flesh, his hands burning her scalp as he tugged her strands and met her buttocks with hard thrusts, and he knew he was going to come.

Feeling the first of his seed trick into his mistress’s life-giving cavern, he toyed with the idea of giving Tsumiki and Megumi a baby sibling. That would be fun. He could then imagine the subsequent mortified reactions from his deplorable cousin and from his wretched wife (whom he would hardly call himself married to anymore, anyway). The fantasies, everything that he would do to spite those who had wronged him, had Naoya cackling as his viscous cum spurted from his tip and deep into his mistress’s womb.

He pulled out once he made sure that every single drop had been milked from him, his ejaculate dribbling from her pussy like someone had taken a bite from a cream-filled donut.

Rolling into the carpet and onto her back, a panting Mari took two fingers and pressed his precious seed back into her cunt. “That was so hot.” A lazy smile pulled across her face. “Thank you for the unexpected visit.”

Naoya completely dismissed her comments as he tucked himself back into his pants, not in the right mood to respond.

“Cool. Clean this mess up,” he demanded instead, “I’m leaving for work.”

He ignored the woman’s ensuing pleas to stay at least five minutes longer. Unlike her, he had better things to do, and he rushed out as he fetched his phone from his back pocket and surveyed for any messages he might have missed while he had been away.

But when he turned on his screen, his most recent notification had his blood turn cold.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The absolute fury in the argument, the complete panic between the twins, and the maniacal temperament in our husband…so much packed in this chapter! If you can’t tell already, my favorite POV to write from is Naoya’s, ha. Also, I took some creative liberty here to convey the intense emotions, so let me know what you think! Hugs to all.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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vampsywrites · 10 months

Text

forest boy.

synopsis: you are tsakarem (tsahik-in-training) of the metkayina clan, promised to ao'nung. however it seems that things take a turn when you catch the attention of a certain forest boy.

tags: fluffy drabble, fem! metkayina! reader, a test post to see if this fandom still lives lol, jealous! ao'nung, pining! neteyam, love at first sight! neteyam, subtle tsireya x lo'ak, reader and ao'nung are parallels of ronal and tonowari

part 2 here

The bellow of a horn echoed throughout the village, accompanied by the fluttering of an Ikran's wings. Both you and Tsireya halted your light conversation, laughter dying down as your attention was drawn to the exotic mountain banshees flying above. Sharing a curious glance, both of you moved towards your Ilu's, making haste towards the sandy shores.

From afar, you could see how a family of forest Na'vi dropped down to the sands. They seemed apprehensive, led by a tall man dressed in exotic gear.

"Isn't that the Olo'eyktan from the Omatikaya clan?" Tsireya whispered, her voice barely audible. "What could possibly bring them here?"

"I have no idea," you replied, dismounting from your ilu as you approached the shore, Tsireya mirroring your actions.

As you dipped your head in the water, you pushed yourself upward, breaking through the surface. With a graceful motion, you brushed aside your damp hair, allowing it to cascade down your shoulders in a shimmering display.

Just then, your eyes locked with one of the strange forest people. Almost immediately, he bowed low, gesturing to you by placing his fingers on his forehead and extending one hand down. Smiling, you gestured back, returning the greeting with a nod of your head. The forest boy seemed pleased by your response, and his eyes sparkled with interest.

As Neteyam's gaze fell upon you, he couldn't help but become entranced by the mesmerizing shade of aquatic blue that adorned your skin, gracefully accompanied by flowing white stripes resembling gentle waves. The captivating allure of your large, penetrating blue eyes seemed to delve into the depths of his soul and he found himself speechless, mouth running dry.

Taking in your petite stature, the fin-like formations on your arms and legs piqued his curiosity, evoking images of elegant aquatic creatures. Your attire, intricately woven and embellished with coral, shells, and delicate trinkets, complemented your features perfectly, adding to your captivating appearance.

"You're staring, skxawng," Lo'ak snorts, playfully knocking his brother's side. Neteyam huffs, feeling a tinge of embarrassment as he quickly averts his gaze. "Shut it," he retorts, trying to brush off the moment.

As their father engaged in conversation with the newcomers, a group of boys broke away from the crowd, heading towards the brothers. Lo'ak and Neteyam exchanged quick gestures of greeting, but received no response in return.

Neteyam's gaze sharpened as he observed the group encircling them, a hint of caution in his eyes. One of them then laughed heartily, pointing at their tail, "What is that? Is that supposed to be a tail? How are they supposed to swim?"

"Do not!" Tsireya hisses, swiftly moving to smack Roxto's hand away. Sensing the tension, you saunter towards them, joining Tsireya in scolding the boys. "Be nice," you chide firmly.

Neteyam's attention shifts, his gaze locked on you as you approach Ao'nung and place a firm hand on his bicep.

In that moment, Neteyam witnesses a silent conversation unfold between the two of you, communicating with nothing but your eyes.

'You are being mean again,' you assert, raising your eyebrows and fixing your intense gaze upon the Metkayinan boy. Ao'nung blinks slowly, a dull look on his face. With a click of his tongue, he shuts his eyes and huffs in resignation. 'I know,' he concedes.

As all four of you shift your attention back towards the newcomers, Tsireya beams with enthusiasm, her warm greeting echoing once more, "We welcome you."

Lo'ak acknowledges her with a nod and a mumbled greeting, and you can't help but notice Tsireya's endearing reaction. Her cheeks flush, and her smile turns almost bashfully giddy as she glances down at her feet, clearly charmed by the interaction.

Months had passed since the Sully's integration into your village. You couldn't help but admire their quick learning, seamlessly adapting to the ways of the water in less than a month. As you spent more time training with them, your bond with the siblings grew stronger, particularly with endearing little Tuk, who always seemed eager to drag you along the shore to play.

'This is going to be interesting.'

Amidst the camaraderie, not everyone got along. Fights frequently arose between Ao'nung and the two Sully brothers, resulting in heated scuffles, both physical and verbal. And while Ao'nung and Lo'ak seemed to have made some progress in improving their relationship, the situation with Neteyam remained…unresolved at best.

"Ao'!" You gasp out, flinching back when he tackles Neteyam to the ground. The two boys exchange hits with fervor, their fists flying in rapid succession as they grapple with each other.

"Oh, you skxawngs!" you huff, unable to contain your frustration any longer. You grab hold of Neteyam's tail, pulling him off Ao'nung and breaking up the fight. "What is wrong with you two?!"

"I told him to back off!" Neteyam snarls, his hand pressed against a blossoming bruise on his torso. Ao'nung clicks his tongue, rolling his shoulders as he stands up, his expression defiant. "Maybe you should back off my mate."

The tension in the air remains palpable as emotions run high, leaving you caught in the middle of the escalating conflict. You don't miss how Neteyam's shoulders drop, his mouth agape as his eyes dart between the two of you.

Confusion fills his gaze as he stammers, "Mate?"

"I am Tsakarem," you affirm, taking a step towards Ao'nung's side to assess his injuries. "But it's bold of you to claim that I'm your mate," you add, clicking your tongue disapprovingly. Neteyam, catching your mocking tone, seems to perk up and grin

"Don't get too excited, forest boy," Ao'nung grumbles, his gaze drilling holes into Neteyam's head, "She is still promised to me."

Sighing you tuck your head into his shoulder, begging him to shut up.

May Eywa help you.

#💫—vampsywrites #avatar the way of water #avatar #ao'nung x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x reader x ao'nung #neteyam x metkayina!reader #ao'nung x metkayina!reader #neteyam atwow #ao'nung atwow #ao'nung #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam sully #tsireya x lo’ak #aonung x reader

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mydreamdecors · 2 years

Video

🦋 Leave a little Sparkle ✨️ wherever you go 🦋 #etsyseller #butterflies #glitterslimes #sparkle #goldbutterfly #handmadelife #partydecorations #michaelsmade #embellishment #mydreamdecors #goldpaper #etsyﬁnds (at Milpitas, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CePICsiFf2P/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#etsyseller #butterflies #glitterslimes #sparkle #goldbutterfly #handmadelife #partydecorations #michaelsmade #embellishment #mydreamdecors #goldpaper #etsyﬁnds

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bby-deerling · 4 months

Text

'tis the season (zoro x reader)

my turn to write a cute mistletoe fic before christmas!

technically part of my platonic sanji & zoro's partner!reader series (and my zoro x artist!reader series as a whole), but as always can be read standalone!

ft. fem!reader, mistletoe, kissing, sanji being sanji, background frobin, pranks

wc: 1.0k masterlist

Upon passing through the doorway and entering the kitchen for lunch, a lithe, well-dressed body blocks your path, dangling a sprig of leaves and berries in the space between you.

“Get that thing away from me, blondie.” you laugh, playfully smacking the plant in the cook’s hand away from your face. He feigns a deep wound, clutching his chest and pouting at you in dismay.

“Are you really so cruel as to deny me the sweet pleasure of participating in this island’s special tradition, sunshine?” he asks, dropping to his knees and clasping his hands around yours, looking especially pathetic as he begged for crumbs of affection from you. Eyes sparkling and brimming with an excessive amount of manufactured sadness as he looks up at you, upping the dramatics in an attempt to gain a pity kiss on the hand or forehead.

“Fine, Sanji. I’ll give you a kiss—on one condition.” you say, sly smile on your face as your eyes dart towards Usopp. Sanji’s expression turns from one of pleading to one of complete shock, face nearly beet red, as he insists that he’ll do anything to feel the sweet saccharine touch of your lips against his. Worming your hands out of his grasp, you slip the plant out of his fingers and into yours as you flash him a smile.

“Close your eyes.” you command with a grin. Tossing the plant over to Usopp, you silently motion him over, both of you trying to stifle your giggles. Making a few gestures to communicate your plan with him, the sniper copies your pose, holding the mistletoe above his head, placing his other hand over top of his lips and leaning in to “kiss” Sanji.

As the palm of Usopp’s hand makes contact with the cook’s lips, the blonde lets out a soft moan, severely testing your composure as you fall to the ground trying to suppress a fit of laughter. The sniper’s face contorts into a pained, screwed up expression as Sanji’s tongue runs across his hand, covering it in a layer of passionate, tobacco-laced slime. Cringing even further, you shoot Usopp a thumbs up as the cook’s hands grasp his shoulders; you're barely able to keep it together as a few giggles sneak out of your throat—thankfully, Sanji is too worked up and deep in the throes of passion to notice.

The clunking sound of heavy boots and clumsy footsteps reverberates through the floorboards as Zoro enters the kitchen; upon seeing the display unfolding before him, Sanji’s tongue making love to Usopp’s hand, and you on the floor, hand clamped over your mouth, trying desperately not to make a sound as you grasp your sides, he can’t help but laugh harder than he has in quite a while.

“Didn’t know you felt that way about Usopp, pervert cook!” he teases with a sneer, clutching his side from laughing so hysterically. Sanji’s eyes snap open with a start and he jerks away violently upon realizing he’d been played for a fool.

“Cruelty! Betrayal from such a beautiful, beguiling woman! What have I done to deserve such a fate, ma belle?” he cries, words muffled as he tries in vain to scratch the germs from Usopp’s palm off his tongue.

“It’s sweet revenge, Sanji—you’ve been a menace with that mistletoe all morning!” you say, laughter still ringing out and bouncing off the walls of the kitchen.

Robin, who had been silently watching the ordeal unfold, spawns a hand out of the wall and snatches the plant from Usopp and tosses it towards herself. “I’d say it’s time to place this plant into a set of safe hands.” she says slyly, slipping it into her pocket as the rest of the crew files in for lunch.

The tale of Sanji’s passionate lip lock is twice as hilarious as Usopp repeats it with his added embellishments, making Luffy and Nami laugh so hard they nearly choke on their food and leaving the cook flushed and burning with humiliation. Entertaining yourself by taking in everyone else’s reactions, you don't catch the dark chuckle emanating from Robin at the other side of the table, dark eyes sparkling with a plan for a prank of her own as she whispers to a smirking Franky.

Between bites of your delicious lunch spread, something light tickles the side of your head. Looking up, you both sigh as you see a large arm dangling from the ceiling, holding the mistletoe between you and Zoro. “You people and this stupid plant…” Zoro grumbles as he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close enough to press his lips against the top of your head before going back to his meal. “Happy?” he asks with a mouthful of food, eyes narrowed at Robin as she giggles behind her hand.

“Hardly…” Sanji grumbles under his breath, clenching his jaw and stabbing at the croutons of his salad with such force that his plate nearly shatters.

Zoro smirks, amused at the cook’s petulant display of anger and jealousy; though neither of you felt comfortable kissing in front of your crewmates under most circumstances, his need to get under his Sanji’s skin currently trumped the principles he held about privacy and decency. “Oi—" he says, poking your shoulder, “—looks like the cook isn’t satisfied. Think he wants us to kiss for real.” Eyes widening into saucers, a dusting of pink blossoms across your cheeks as you process his words and take in the tantalizing smirk on his face. Taking the dreamy smile on your face as permission, calloused fingers brush against your jawline and guide your lips to his.

It’s chaste, and quick, and leaves sparks dancing across your skin all the same—and leaves Sanji literally burning up, flaming kicks clashing against Zoro’s swords. Embarrassment creeps into your face, feeling your pulse thumping in your cheeks as Franky teasingly whistles at you.

“SUPER CUTE!” he cries out, as both he and Robin give you a thumbs up—multiple thumbs ups in Robin’s case.

Giggling at their encouragement, the discomfort you feel washes away like chalk on asphalt after a heavy rain.

Maybe some rules are meant to be broken—after all, ‘tis the season!

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #one piece scenario

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watermelonsugacry · 1 year

Note

Harry pulling y/n on stage with him to honour her with his AOTY award!!!!!!😭😭😭😭🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

#myheartwillburst

GRAMMYS 2023

A/N: student teaching and uni work are really giving it to me so thank you all for being patient with me! 💚

SUMMARY: Highlights from the first award show that YN and Harry attend as a married couple.

GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn, married ynrry

SINCE 2010 masterlist

As soon as Harry steps off his side of the Range Rover, he’s immediately extending his hand out to his wife. A loving smirk graces his face at the fact that over her pink embellished gloves, YN wears her wedding ring on her finger. This is the couple’s first major outing since they announced their new martial status online and being at the 65th Annual Grammy Awards only added to the excitement of the night. They’re easily the most anticipated guests of the night; it’s no question since every social media site and news article has named them the couple of the century.

As usual, the couple first needs to take a couple pictures on the red carpet as individuals for promotal purposes before they can take some together.

As they both take their stances at the red carpet, out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see how elegantly she poses for the screaming crowd of men in front of her. She smoothly shifts her head around the flashing lights with a smile that can make anyone’s knees weak. It’s difficult to not even spare a glance at her direction and in turn, YN can’t even hide the way she gives her husband loving looks. He looks absolutely amazing in his pastel patterned jumpsuit, possibly showing off more skin than she is but it’s not like anyone is complaining.

When it’s their time to shift over a spot, YN playfully makes a shooing motion with her hands as he just stays there standing, full on gawking at her. He just shakes his head and pulls her to him and the blinding, flashing lights only increase as they capture the happy couple looking at one another like love-sick teenagers.

“Wait, then lemme stand on your left.”

“Why?” Harry questions as his love shuffles over to his other side, but a boyish smile overtakes his face at her response.

“So I can show off me ring.”

She says it so nonchalantly before placing her hand on his tummy but her words cause such an impact for him. While she looks back towards the paparazzi, he just continues to stare at her that one can practically see the hearts in his eyes. For a good chunk of his life, he’s dreamed of a moment like this: just him and YN on the red carpet, head-over heels in love with each other, and their relationship out in the open. And they’re not here as bandmates, secret lovers, or any of that—they’re here married. Seeing the way her wedding ring sparkles from the flashing lights before them, he could almost cry from how happy he is.

He can’t believe that this is his reality. So instead of questioning it further, of reminiscing in his daydream, he tugs her closer to his side and basks in this stomach flipping, butterfly-flapping feeling.

...

“Oi, I know you!” YN beams at the curly haired photographer who did her Glambot for the past Grammy shows she’s attended.

“I know you,” Cole Walliser teases back as he watches the couple take the short steps up to the platform.

“V’brought a friend this time around,” She jokes and huffs out a laugh when she sees her husband’s dramatic, confused face.

“Friend?”

“Alright, do you guys have any idea on what you both want to do? I think we need this one to be you two together.”

“We can do like, a serious pose that turns into a silly one?” YN suggests.

“I love that idea! Alright, let’s do it,” The photographer claps his hand. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Styles.”

Harry brings YN over to stand closer beside him on the designated mark. With her back angled towards the camera, he places a hand on her exposed lower back while she places hers right where the fabric over his tummy ends.

“Hear that, Mrs. Styles,” Harry says lowly in her ear, making her smile. “Friend my ass.”

“Alright, 3...2...1!”

As the camera moves quickly in front of them, the couple share the same ‘I own you’ face that their fans can’t get enough of. After a quick second, Harry breaks out into his dimply, open-mouth smile and his infamous peace sign. YN widely sticks her tongue out with her right eye scrunched closed.

...

“May the best man win,” Harry extends his hand out to her with a smirk.

“Or woman,” His wife gives him a sly smirk of her own as she takes his hand in hers. She can’t help but give him a fond smile when he brings her hand to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

The couple’s nominations are mainly in the same categories. While they joke and jest about how they’re no winner or loosers, another part of them knows that their egos are just too big to not let their competitive sides simmer off to the side.

Even then, as they announce that Harry’s House is the winner for Best Pop Album, nothing but pride and happiness overtakes YN for the man next to her. She’s practically a blubbering mess as she watches Harry take his second Grammy to add onto his shelf.

“Making the album from start to finish has been the greatest experience of my life...aside from getting married, of course,” He huffs out a laugh while looking at his wife. The ceremony cameras turn to YN in between Lizzo and Adele. The two other women laugh and squeeze her a little tighter as she wipes away at the happy tears.

“YN should be up here with me like I asked her to but she insisted that she was the competition so,” He teases as the audience chuckles. In all honesty, when he asked if she could come up with there with him if he were to win any of his categories, she told him that it’s his win, not hers. While she played a major part in making his music, she’d rather have all the attention, all the love, and all the cheering be for him. “From making it with two of my best friends and my YN to playing it to people has been the greatest joy I could have asked for...”

...

“Dare,” YN ultimately decides with a challenging raise of her eyebrow and a tempting smile.

As exciting as these awards shows can be, there are loads of downtime in between commercial breaks or stage performance set ups or even when the host begins to interact with one of the other celebrities in the audience.

As a way to pass the time—and to help calm down their nerves for their upcoming categories—the couple has decided to play an innocent game of Truth or Dare. Well...as innocent as a game can get with the size of their egos. So far, Harry has been dared to cuss in his next acceptance speech, YN has admitted to running off to talk with Cardi B backstage instead of coming to be seated with Harry right away, and Harry revealed that had a wedgie the entire red carpet.

“I dare you to...” Her husband pinches at his bottom lip while his eyes scan the room. She eagerly watches as he looks to somewhere behind her and a dimpled smile overtakes his face. A giggle tumbles past his lips before he says, “I dare yeh to go over to Bad Bunny and ask him if the fruit on the table is real.”

“Hmm...okay.”

Harry tries to cover up his laugh with a cough to his fist as he watches his wife get up from her chair next to him and makes her way over to Bad Bunny. The famous Latin artist is immediately getting up from his seat and greeting her with welcoming arms.

“Hey, you,” YN says in Spanish. “How are you?”

“I’m doing amazing, my love. And you? You look absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you. I’m good, I’m good. Your performance earlier was absolutely amazing.”

It’s true, when he took the stage for the opening of the ceremony, she was already on her feet and moving her hips to the upbeat music. She even pulled Harry out of his seat, held onto both of his hands as she guided him to the beat of the song. She’d be lying if she said that he wasn’t getting better at dancing—this becomes more and more apparent every show on tour he does.

Benito puts a hand over his heart with a shrug, “Thank you, I try. That’s an honor coming from you.”

“You’re too sweet. Hey listen, can I ask you something?”

“Anything you want.”

“So...are we allowed to eat those?” She nods towards the array of delicately sliced and decorated fruits scattered around the center of the small table. “Like are they even real?”

“I think so, my love,” He nods reassuringly with a furrow of his eyebrows, clearly confused by her question but he doesn’t want to come off as rude.

“Cause I’m starving, man, but I don’t want to get in trouble or anything.”

When Bad Bunny leans over the table to get a better look at the fruit, YN playfully widens her eyes at her husband a little bit away, a smile threatening to break out on her lips before she regains her composure once the artist stands upright again.

“Here you go, mama.” YN coos and cups her hands as he hands her slices of cucumber. He takes a thin slice and pops one in his mouth, “They’re all good, sweetheart.”

“Aw, thank you so much. I love you,” She leans closer to him and plants a kiss on both of his cheeks. It’s an odd experience for Harry to feel only a flicker of jealousy at the sight of his love and another man because despite his possessiveness, seeing her walk back over to him, pushing a cucumber slice past her cheeky lips with her wedding ring shining under the roaming lights is enough to dose the same flame.

“If the camera happens to pan over to us, I dare yeh to just dead stare at the camera.”

“Want one? They’re real,” His wife teases before the speakers announce that they’ll be live in 10 seconds. As Trevor begins to prepare to speak with one of the cameramen in front of him, YN leans over to Harry and whispers in his ear, “Truth or Dare?”

His brows pinch together for a second, really seeing if she wanted to continue their little game despite the show starting up again. One look at her tempting smile is all the confirmation he needed, “Dare.”

“And we’re on in three...two...one...”

“Truth or dar—”

“Dare,” A cheeky smirk tugs on his wife’s lips.

“I dare you to do it with me.”

Soon enough, Twitter and every other social media site blows up with people recording the bottom corner of their TV screens to capture how the newlyweds just stare at the camera with a furrow in their brows for an unsettling amount of time.

...

“I have the very special honor of introducing this next performer. I’ve known this man since we were merely sixteen years old and it’s taken him 12 years to finally put a ring on it,” YN smiles and takes a second to let the audience members have their laugh. “This man has made a tremendous impact on me life and to the lives of many others through his heart-touching music to promoting how the world can be a better place if we all show each other just a little bit of kindness. Harry, you are an inspiration to so many people and just know that your kindness does not go unnoticed. Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for my husband, Mister Harry Styles!”

...

“Harry and YN YL-Styles are here tonight, everybody!” The camera captures the way the couple sits happily together. Harry has his right hand securely and protectively resting on YN’s knee. After giving a brief wave to the camera, he secretly boasts when she places her left hand on his to show off the rock on her finger.

“That's right. I mean what can you say about these two that hasn’t been said? Incredible albums, mind-blowing tours, both men and women alike throw their pants at these guys!” Thankful for their media training, they huff out a dry laugh making it seem like a genuine one. It was a silly thought to assume that the host wasn’t going to make a jab at the couple given the way he’s been cracking jokes all evening.

“Easily the world’s sexiest couple. There’s no competition. Sex symbols of the globe. Especially now since they killed off the Green M&M. Give it up for the newlyweds! Congratulations to you both. Come on, another round of applause for these guys!”

The couple give him a polite nod of gratitude and once the cameras and Trevor walk away, Lizzo leans over to them and lets them see the dramatic roll of her eyes. They chuckle at their friend’s reaction and are eternally grateful for her acknowledging the inappropriate comment. Not like the comment like that was new to them, they’ve been receiving that type of commentary ever since they were sixteen years old. One could say that it’s part of the job, of the industry they decided to enter into, but it’s 2023 now. One would think that those comments would be dead at this point. Clearly, it’s not.

“Just to ease all the gears turning in yeh head,” YN leans close to her husband’s attempt to disclose his irrated face (an outsider would assume that nothing’s wrong but she can tell). “I think you were sexy way before they killed off the Green M&M.”

“Fuck off,” Harry huffs out a laugh and it ignites one from her. His one distraught expression is replaced with his eyes squeezing shut, his dimples digging into his cheeks and his nose scrunching up cutely.

...

(performance audio!)

“65th Grammys!” YN’s sweet voice rings throughout the arena. She stands at the center of a grand staircase in her minimal and revealing outfit with a crowd of background dancers around her. “Let’s go! Whoo! You might think I’m crazy, the way I’ve been craving, if I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies...”

The cameramen are able to capture the way a sea of celebrities are all on their feet as they watch YN perform: Lizzo and Adele dance with their hands in the air as they sing along to 34+35, Taylor Swift bounces to the beat of the song with a content smile, Beyonce claps along and mouths along to the lyrics.

And of course, the camera never fails to record how Harry holds a fond dimpled smile as he watches his wife take the stage. All he can think of when he watches her is how good of a performer she is. As nervous as she was to perform at this prestigious award show, she’s absolutely killing it, treating this with the same about of love and passion as any other show on her tour. The audience feeds off of her positive energy and it shows as the entire room dances and sings along.

As the bridge of the song comes on, YN keeps her eyes on the distinguishable white blazer among the crowd. She lowers herself to do her floorwork dance routine with her four core tour dancers and the crowd goes crazy at her sensual moves. Especially when she lays on her tummy while doing the splits, resting her head in her hand while her leg slides across the floor with a bounce of her bum.

Despite the loud crowd, she can hear the ear-piercing whistle from her husband. She can help but huff out a laugh, trying to keep her composure but failing.

...

“And the Grammy goes to....YN, Need To Know!”

YN’s dreaming, she must be. Life certainly doesn’t seem real as she walks up the steps of the stage and hugs non other than Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson after he announces that she won for Best Pop Solo Performance. After hugging her husband and the other two women within her category, she finds herself holding yet another Grammy award in her hands.

“Holy shit!” YN beams. “I have so many people to thank for this award but this one—hands down—goes to me fans. I—” She lets out a genuine laugh, the kind where a snort slips out. The audience members laugh along with her, feeding off of her bubbly energy.

“The fans made this song what it is. I—this song wasn’t even supposed to be on me album! But it got leaked and when the fans gave it so much love, they made it into a single. Never in a million years would I think that this song would get this much love, let alone get one of these so, thank you to all me fans. I love you all very much!”

...

Harry stands beside her at their designated table but rather than looking out at the performers, his eyes are set on YN. A fond smile graces his lips as he sees her dancing and rapping along with every artist that comes out on stage for the 50 Years of Hip Hop Tribute.

He gives her an amused smile when she turns to look up at him, pointing at him aggressively as she sassily raps along to Queen Latifah’s U.N.I.T.Y.

He laughs at her reaction to Busta Rhymes taking the stage. With her eyes still glued to the stage before them, she grips on the flap of his blazer with a shocked, excited smile. She lets out a laugh mixed with a squeal when Rhymes raps his verse from Look At Me Now at lightning speed. Her fingers cover her temples, completely blown out of her mind at the absolute magic that is happening right in front of her.

And when Missy Elliot comes out, YN sways her way in front of Harry. With his arm resting over her shoulder, she takes his dangling hand and while leaning over she moves her hips to the beat of the female legend rapping, “rump shaking” over and over again. She gives him a cheeky look over her shoulder while she does it and when they hear Lizzo and Adele cheering her on, the couple bursts out laughing.

For the rest of the performance, Harry has her back pressed to his chest, arms secured over her shoulders and chest as they lightly bounce together to the beat of the songs.

...

Although neither Harry nor YN won Record of the Year, they both couldn’t be happier that Lizzo was the one to receive the award. As soon as her name was called, the married couple were quickly on their feet, cheering and whistling loudly in celebration for their good friend.

“I also want to thank my girl, YN, over there!” Lizzo points over to where the couple stands with a loud laugh. YN yells out an Oi! Oi! with her hand up, a big smile gracing her face as she looks at one of her dear friends. “Miss m’am, you’ve been such an inspiration to me and I just wanna give you a shout out for helping produce some of my songs. This girl is the one who said this song should be my single!”

The camera turns back to YN as Harry tugs her to his side, throwing an arm over the tops of her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

...

“I see your point,” Riley puts his hands together in an understanding way from his spot at the round table, trying to be as polite as he can towards the elderly woman. “But have you considered listening to his former band mate turned wife’s album MY FUTURE?”

“Hi, I’m Riley and I think YN YLN’s album MY FUTURE is the Album of the Year. I have been a Directioner since the band first started and have been YN-ie since she went solo.”

A vertical video clip plays of an over-excited tween Riley at the barricade of the Take Me Home tour stage. Nineteen year old YN stands as close to the edge of the stage as she possibly can with her arm out towards the superfan. She blows him a kiss and gives him a twiddle of her fingers before walking back over to where the rest of the boys are lined up in a row.

Another clip shows YN decked out in her iconic sparkly blue bodysuit from her current tour standing at the end of the catwalk and pointing to Riley with a beaming smile, recognizing him from the shows he’s been to for the past couple of years.

“Her music is that light at the end of the tunnel, you know? She’s a bad B and sunshine all wrapped into one.” He moves his hands in front of him as he speaks passionately about his favorite artist. “She speaks to everyone through her music—it’s truly for everyone. She has grown so much as a songwriter, a producer, a human being over the past couple of years and this album is a true testament to that.”

...

It’s one thing to be nominated for Producer of the Year for a second time but it’s another to win it a second time. So imagine YN’s utter shock to hear her name be called for possibly the most significant award of her career.

“I would like to thank the academy, my wonderful team, me mum, me fans. And last but not least, I would like to thank my better half, my husband over there—” YN huffs out a laugh when the audience goes into a fit of cheering as the sight of Harry standing and blowing her kisses. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have never chased my dream of becoming a producer. That man has supported me and just encouraged me to work hard and to make music that makes me happy. I love you with all my heart and thank you so much.

To win this award a second year in a row—the first and only female to be nominated and win—” YN takes a step back with her eyes watery, her laughter ringing through the arena as the audience gives her a standing ovation. She can hear Harry’s whistle over all the cheering and clapping, and she couldn't be any happier.

“This is the highlight of me career and quite frankly, the coolest fookin’ thing to ever happen to me. Thank you so much and this one is to all the female producers out there!”

...

“And the Grammy goes to...” Trevor looks among the superfans behind him. He passes by Riley and says to the older woman that she can read out the winner.

”H-Harry! Harry’s House!” Reina yells out in utter excitement.

Harry puts his face in his hands as he’s overcome with emotions. Never in a million years would he ever think that he would win the award for Album of the Year and yet here he is with his name being called as the winner.

Meanwhile, as soon as her husband’s album is called, she puts her hands up in the air and screams at the top of her lungs. There are no bitter feelings of jealousy in her. He deserves it. She knows more than anyone that this ball of sunshine has been working his bum off to create the music that he loves and this award just proves that he’s doing something truly special. She puts her hands on Harry’s shoulders and tugs him close to her, him still covering his face as he digs his head into the crook of her shoulder. She beams and laughs along with Lizzo, reaching over to meet her high-five.

After the initial shock is over, he’s standing up and immediately pulling his teary-eyed wife into his arms.

“Congratulations, baby,” She lovingly says into his ear as he rocks them back and forth, gripping onto her as he’s afraid she may suddenly disappear. She sees his beautiful dimpled smile before cupping her face and planting a kiss to her lips. Both of them are so overjoyed, so blissfully overwhelmed by this award that they’re just floating on Cloud 9.

After she hugs the other producers—her teammates for this project—Harry quickly grips her hands and nods towards the stage. She shakes her head, wanting this to be his moment, but he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. The other two producers get behind her so she can’t go anywhere else and Harry has her arm looped through his as he guides them towards the stage.

Once they make it to the stage, her heart nearly bursts when Harry playfully makes his way over to the elderly woman, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame and jumping up and down. It’s such a sweet sight and it occurs to YN how special and rare these moments can be.

Before all of the superfans can make their way off the stage completely, YN quickly jogs over to Riley and he immediately accepts her warm embrace.

This is one of the first times where she can express her love to one of her fans, to show a tiny bit of appreciation for all the love she has for her fanbase—people who have been by her side since the very beginning. It’s not an easy feeling to come to terms with the fact that she will never know all of her fans on a personal level, to individually thank each and every single person for all that they’ve done for her.

Riley’s jaw is on the floor over her shoulder and when she pulls back, she takes his face in her hands, “‘Fank you so much, Riley. Love you, babe.”

After planting a kiss on his cheek, she rejoins her co-producers behind Harry. The two men welcome her embrace in a group hug and once Harry can see that she’s behind him, he begins his speech.

“Shit. Well, shit! Man, I’ve just been so, so inspired by every artist in this category with me. I listen to every single person in this category. I think on nights like tonight, it’s important for us to remember that there is no best in music.”

As Harry continues his speech, fans can see the way that YN’s eyes are glossy and how she bites down on her bottom lip, one breath away from truly bursting into a fit of tears.

“This is really, really kind. I’m so, so, grateful. I...this doesn't happen to people like me very often and this is so, so kind. I would like to thank my wife, YN, who I made the majority of the album with,” The audience collectively coos as he turns his attention to his love behind him. “You’ve been my biggest supporter, my best friend and the love of my life for as long as I can remember. Thank you for helping me make every album I’ve ever made and for this one in particular. This album is for you and so is this award.”

YN puts a hand over her bright smile as he passes her the Grammy with a kiss on her cheek. The audience cheers and claps in excitement as she comes up to the microphone.

Before she can even get a word out, she looks down at the Grammy in her hands and huffs out a light laugh of disbelief.

“Erm, I think Harry said it best in that we don’t make music with the intention of us getting one of these. I’m so unbelievably honored to have worked with Harry since the start of our careers in the band and beyond that.

My love, I want to thank you for the trust that you’ve given me when we make music. Every second that we’ve worked on this album has been incredibly special to me. It’s...I’m so incredibly over the fookin’ moon right now. I want to pass it onto my wonderful collaborators who helped make Harry’s vision come to life.”

While the other producers give their brief ‘thank you’ speeches, fans are more focused on the couple behind them.

When YN passes the Grammy off to Kid, she’s immediately engulfed by her husband. Her hands grip onto his shoulders as he digs his forehead to the middle of her chest and shakes it in disbelief—an action that looks like he’s motorboating her if taken out of context. She takes his face in her hands and gives him one of her breath-taking smiles. Although their conversation doesn’t get picked up by the microphones, fans can read her lips as she mouths “I love you,” and “So proud of you.”

She closes her eyes with a smile when he digs his face back into the crook of her neck and rocks them from side to side. The faint sound of her giggling is picked up as he mumbles something against the shell of her ear.

If it were any other situation, the couple probably would have tamed their public displays of affection in front of so many watchful eyes. If.

...

After the award ceremony has come to a close, everyone takes their turn doing a photoshoot with their Grammys.

YN certainly has her arms full trying to hold her four Grammys in her arms. It’s not long until she holds her Grammy for being one of the producers for Harry’s Album of the Year Award along with Tyler, Kid, and of course, her husband.

“Do the two of you want to do one together? Let’s do one together!” The photographer decides without the couple’s imput but they certain don’t complain.

Soon enough, Harry sits on the fancy couch they have set up for them. While he holds his two Grammys in his hands, YN holds two of her own before sitting down on his thigh.

“Is this seat taken?” YN teases with a wiggle of her eyebrows. The photographer’s assistance places her other two awards beside them on the couch.

“Never,” He smiles up at her and a flash of light washes over them at the photographer taking a candid picture of them.

When YN posts one of the pictures on her instagram, it’s YN in Harry’s lap with their collective Grammys sat on the couch with them. She’s cradling one of the awards like a baby and they both look at it with playful, exasperated love.

She captions it with: We’re just one big happy family.

I write for free so if any of you lovies would like to help a college girl out and buy her a ko-fi i would greatly appreciate it :) 💚

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