#Part 2 is complete and will be up Saturday

[lotus-n-l0ve]

CHAPTER 4

— Onychinus Leader!Sylus Qin X Mother! Female Reader

She Ran To Protect Their Child. He Built A Kingdom To Bring Them Home.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : She was the daughter of his enemy. He was the king of a criminal empire. They fell in love, but when she found out she was pregnant, she vanished-fearing the life their child would inherit. Seven years later, Sylus finds her. And he's not here for revenge. He's here to take back what's his.

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNING & TAGS : Dad! Sylus, mom!reader, mafia, rivalry, second chance, secret baby, exes, time skip, past lovers, alternate universe, angst, fluff, romance, love, mature language, stalking, threats, run away! y/n, mentions of pregnancy, blood, gore, dark romance, lovers to strangers, enemies to lovers, their daughter Elea, nightmare, mention of blood, y/n almost drowned, 10.7k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ LOTUS NOTE : Took me so long to do this part. Thanks to everyone who has been patient for the updates. Do let me know what y'all think about it. Also we completed 1000 followers today. The way I screamed 😭

*⁠.⁠✧— NAVIGATION // LOVE & DEEPSPACE MASTERLIST

➥ KISSED IN POISON : THE SERIES

➥ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6

➥ Heart Divider's By @/cafekitsune

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. MINORS DNI, IF YOU DO THEN IT'S YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

Surprisingly, Luke and Kierran didn’t ambush you the very next morning like you’d originally expected. You thought you’d open the curtains and find one of them clinging to the window like a lizard or hanging upside down from the balcony like a bat.

But no — they waited — a few days.

It was Saturday — Elea’s day off. The sky was bright and blue, soft sunlight pouring into the kitchen through the half-open curtains. The house was quiet — peaceful. Upstairs, you were still sleeping with Elea snuggled tightly into your chest, her little fists curled into your nightshirt like she never wanted to let go.

Downstairs, Sylus was flipping pancakes with focused precision. His hair was tousled, his sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he moved like someone who had done this many times before — because he did. For you. Many times when both you were playing hide and seek with each other — on the rare occasions when you got to wake up with him.

The pan hissed, the smell of vanilla and warm batter filling the space. He glanced toward the staircase, half-hoping to see you groggily padding down with Elea on your hip. Just the thought made something ache — sweet and dangerous — in his chest.

SCREEEEEEECH!

A loud screech of tires tore through the morning silence like a chainsaw through birthday cake — messy, annoying & stupid. Sylus blinked once. The spatula paused mid-air, halfway through flipping a golden pancake that now looked offended by the interruption. He didn’t need to look out the window. No one gets to make that kind of noise in his neighborhood. Especially not while his girls were sleeping.

He turned the heat down with all the grace of a man holding back the urge to commit a felony. Upstairs, you were buried in blankets with Elea tucked against your chest like a warm little burrito, the two of you blissfully unaware of the chaos outside. And Sylus planned to keep it that way.

He didn’t storm. No, that would imply emotion. He marched toward the door with the deadpan focus of a man who had made peace with violence long ago. His hair was a little messy, his sweatpants slightly low, and the dark circles under his eyes promised nothing good. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was already planning where in the yard the bodies would go. Front lawn or backyard? The backyard had more shade.

If it was a delivery truck, the driver was getting punched. If it was a neighbor, they were getting evicted. And if it was Luke and Kierran doing some dumbass twin thing again? Well... he'd need to start charging them for the amount of brain damage they caused him on daily basis.

Sylus threw open the front door with all the enthusiasm of a man expecting a home invasion. And lo and behold — there they were. The chaos twins. The agents of disorder. The reason his blood pressure had a gym membership.

Luke and Kierran stood in full dramatic glory at the foot of the porch, decked out in all-black casuals like they were about to drop a surprise album. And of course — because God had favorites and Sylus was clearly not one of them — they wore those damn crow masks. Matte black. Beaked. Ominous. Absolutely ridiculous and attention seeking. Like a goth bird cult had decided to start a boy band.

One of them — probably Luke, judging by the chaotic energy radiating off him like cheap cologne — clutched a wild bouquet that looked like it had been snatched mid-run from a garden someone definitely didn’t own. The other held a ridiculous bunch of balloons shaped like ducks. They stood there grinning, probably — who could tell with the masks, like this was a completely normal, rational way to visit someone at seven in the morning on a Saturday.

“Surprise, Boss!” The duck-balloon twin sang out, lifting the bouquet over his head like it was a sacred relic and not half a dandelion tied with what suspiciously looked like a shoelace.

“We handled that stupid task you gave us.” The other one added, voice muffled under the mask, “So now you have zero excuses to keep us from meeting our baby niece.”

Sylus didn’t say anything at first. He simply stared. The kind of deadpan stare that had once made a man confess to a crime Sylus hadn’t even been investigating. Behind him, the smell of pancakes continued to waft from the kitchen. Inside, his soulmate and baby were sleeping like angels. And yet, here he stood — at the gates of madness — staring down two fully grown men who had apparently taken a blood oath to test his patience before sunrise.

He sighed, long and slow, the kind of sigh that carried generations of trauma.

“It’s seven a.m..” He finally said, voice low enough to scare a bear.

“But it’s Saturday.” They said in unison, like that was a federal excuse for trespassing and public nuisance.

“You can’t gatekeep her forever, Boss. That’s emotional hoarding.” Added the other one, pointing a dramatic finger at Sylus’s chest.

“You’re both mentally unstable.” Sylus deadpanned.

“Still more stable than your love life.” Kierran shot back with zero shame.

“Life was going so smoothly.” Sylus muttered like it was a prayer, or maybe a funeral eulogy for the breakfast he’d never get to eat warm again, “I had my wife, my baby, my pancakes—”

“Look at him.” Luke whispered, nudging his brother, “Already cracked. Just let us hold the baby and we’ll leave you two to your Romeo Juliet meltdown.”

Your voice sliced through the circus with all the grace of a guillotine.

“What on earth are you doing this early in the morning?”

Three grown men froze like children caught stealing from the cookie jar. Sylus turned slowly, like a man preparing for judgment. You stood in the hallway, hair tousled, one slipper missing, clutching a very drowsy Elea against your hip — both of you blinking in betrayal at the noise pollution in your home at this ungodly hour and the .

Elea rubbed her eyes and pointed a chubby finger, “Who are they, Mommy? Are they robbers?”

Luke looked genuinely offended, “Robbers? Excuse me, tiny madam, we are uncles. Dashing, delightful, emotionally available uncles.”

“Emotionally damaged.” Sylus corrected under his breath.

Before you could even process the fact that these two men had somehow infiltrated your house with the stealth of wrecking balls, they shoved past Sylus with all the elegance of a parade float crashing into a convenience store.

“Back up— what do you think you’re doing—” Sylus started.

“Introducing ourselves like civilised men.” Luke said cheerfully, nearly tripping on the rug as he balanced a grotesquely oversized bouquet that looked like it had robbed a florist at gunpoint, “Also, hi, Elea. I’m your coolest uncle.”

“I'm literally standing right here, you ass-hat.” Kierran muttered, not to be outdone, setting down a cluster of helium balloons that immediately floated up and began assaulting your ceiling fan.

“Correction.” Luke added smugly, “One of the two cooler uncles.”

Elea, blinking owlishly in your arms, suddenly smiled a bright, sleepy grin, “You brought balloons?”

Your soul left your body.

“Only for you, sunshine.” Kierran wiggled his fingers at her like he was greeting royalty.

“And we brought snacks too.” Luke added proudly, holding up a suspiciously crumpled paper bag, “but we got hungry and, uh… sampled everything. For poison. Safety first.”

Kierran nodded solemnly, “You're welcome, by the way. We saved her from a suspiciously violent-looking cupcake.”

Elea giggled. GIGGLED. Like she hadn’t just called them robbers 45 seconds ago, “Mommy, can they stay?”

You sighed and pressed a kiss to Elea’s forehead, “Of course they’re here for you, sweetheart. Who else could inspire such... dramatic entrances?”

Elea beamed, cheeks still warm and puffy from sleep, then began to squirm with growing excitement.

“Down, Mommy! I wanna show them my castle!”

Before you could respond, she wriggled free like a determined jellybean and hit the floor running — grabbing both Luke and Kierran by the hands without an ounce of hesitation, as though they’d always been part of her tiny kingdom.

“Come on, Uncles! I have dragons! And a tea party! And a glitter pony that eats mean people!”

Luke looked over his shoulder at you, utterly smitten, “She’s perfect.”

Kierran clutched his chest, wiping away an invisible tear, “She’s the chosen one.”

Sylus leaned against the wall, arms folded, his face unreadable but his tone dry, “Try not to destroy anything.”

“No promises!” Luke shouted as Elea dragged them away like a pint-sized general leading her newly recruited army into battle.

And just like that, your quiet home descended into delightful chaos — balloons tangled in light fixtures, laughter echoing through the hallways, and two overgrown children worshipping the floor your daughter walked on.

The house had gone still again — or as still as it could be with Elea's delighted shrieks trailing down the hallway like fairy dust. Her laughter echoed in the corners, clashing perfectly with the scent of something vaguely… burned.

You stayed frozen where you were, arms loosely crossed, trying to ground yourself in the chaos. You should have smiled. Should have felt joy at the sight of your daughter, radiant with happiness, pulling Luke and Kierran into her world like they'd always belonged there.

But instead, you felt the dread crawling back in. It settled low in your stomach, twisting.

“You’re quiet,” Came Sylus’s voice — calm, even. You hadn't noticed him come up behind you until his warm palm settled on your shoulder. He rubbed gently, slow and firm, like he knew you needed anchoring and not coddling. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You inhaled, held it, then let it out slowly — like maybe that would keep the panic from bubbling over.

“I’m scared.” You admitted, almost too quietly.

Sylus stilled. Then his voice dropped lower, more serious, "You know Luke and Kierran would never hurt her. Or you."

"I know." You said quickly, almost defensively — then softer, "But if they found out about her... what makes you so sure others won’t? Your enemies? Mine? The people who’d use her against us?"

You weren’t even looking at him and still you could feel the way his body responded. Protective. Sharp. Like a soldier hearing war drums again.

“I can send them away.” He said gently, “if that’s what you want. But listen to me — I would never let anything happen to you or Elea. Not ever.”

His voice had changed. It wasn’t cold like it used to be when he was hiding things, and it wasn’t soft like he wanted something in return. It was earnest. Too earnest. And that scared you more than anything.

Because for a second, just a second, you believed him.

You felt yourself leaning back, like your body remembered that it once found safety here. That once upon a time, this was home. That you had let yourself hope. Trust. But then— you jerked yourself upright.

No — no, no, no. You weren’t here for him. You weren’t his anymore. You weren’t that foolish girl who thought love was enough to hold back betrayal. You stepped away from his touch.

Sylus’s hand dropped. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“This isn’t about trust.” You said quietly, “I didn’t let you back in for me, Sylus. I let you back in for her.”

"Fair." He said. Quiet. No argument. No plea.

You hated how that made it harder to stay angry. You cleared your throat, looking toward the kitchen, desperate to shift the energy. And you found the perfect excuse. Too perfect.

"Something’s burning."

Sylus panicked — “Dear God, my pancakes.”

He spun on his heel so fast he nearly slipped. You followed, slower, arms crossed, lips twitching despite yourself.

From the stove came a horrifying sizzle-pop and a dark plume of smoke. Sylus yanked the pan up like it was an enemy combatant and stared down at the offensive stack of charred batter bricks.

He let out a soul-deep sigh, “They were meant to be strawberry-almond. Now they’re... charcoal trauma.”

You arched a brow, “How long were they in there?”

“Too long—” He glanced toward the hallway Elea had vanished down, “—damn Luke and Kierran. Should’ve known the second those two showed up it’d be a domestic crisis within the hour.”

You leaned against the counter, watching as he jabbed the spatula beneath the smoking mess. The pancakes resisted. They had become one with the pan.

“Pretty sure this one’s legally classified as a biohazard now.”

Sylus scowled, trying again. “Not my fault.”

You sighed, shaking your head at the mess, “Alright, move over. We’ve got a tiny dinosaur and two grown-up vultures to feed before they start raiding the pantry.”

Sylus stepped aside dramatically, hand to his heart, “Are you offering to cook for me again? Be still, my heart.”

You gave him a flat look as you grabbed the mixing bowl, “Don’t push it.”

He grinned anyway, grabbing a fresh pan and placing it on the stove with all the seriousness of a man preparing for war, “You know, cooking together is statistically the third most romantic domestic activity.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Right after folding laundry and arguing over thermostat settings.”

You couldn’t help it — your lips twitched again, dangerously close to a smile, “Is that what you fantasize about now? Domestic warfare?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low and shamelessly smooth, “Only with you.”

You ignored the heat creeping up your neck and poured the new batter into a bowl, “We’re making pancakes, Sylus. Not confessions.”

“That’s a shame.” He smirked, reaching for the vanilla extract, “Because I have a lot of those lately.”

You didn’t respond, too busy whisking like your life depended on it. Sylus, however, didn’t stop.

“Do you remember that time you were craving chocolate pancakes in the middle of the night?” He asked, carefully measuring the milk and pouring it in.

Your hands paused. Just for a moment.

[9 YEARS, 7 MONTHS AGO, CHANSIA CITY]

It was a few minutes past midnight.

The room was hushed, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the fogged windows. Shadows painted slow-moving murals across the walls, broken only by the golden halo spilling from the bedside lamp. Its glow kissed the sheets in soft amber, illuminating sweat-slicked skin, tangled limbs, and the dazed aftermath of want finally surrendered to.

Under the rumpled covers, your bodies were still pressed together — chest to chest, heart to heart.

Sylus hadn’t moved yet.

He was still hovering above you, arms braced on either side of your head. His skin was warm, damp, flushed with the fading heat of what had just passed between you. His breath came in slow, uneven waves, brushing your collarbone. His hair hung messily over his eyes, and a few strands tickled your forehead where your faces were almost touching.

Your thighs were still locked around his hips, unwilling — or maybe unable — to let go.

Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty. It pulsed with everything left unsaid — the hunger, the ache, the tenderness neither of you could name without ruining it.

Sylus’s eyes were on you, drinking you in like something sacred. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent, as if mapping the memory of your moans from earlier. You felt it in your bones — the way he looked at you. Like he wasn’t ready to come down from whatever world you’d just created together.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” He whispered, voice hoarse and low, so unlike his usual teasing.

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, lips parting on a shaky exhale as your fingertips grazed along his spine — lazy, featherlight. You could still feel the tremor in his muscles beneath your touch. He was always composed, always smug in his elegance. But not now. Now, he looked wrecked. Undone.

And it was because of you.

A slow smirk touched your lips, “You?”

“We've had many nights, darling.” He murmured, lips brushing your skin with every syllable, “and each time… each time it's something positively ruinous.”

You rolled your eyes — or tried to. You were too boneless to manage the full effect, “Ruinous?”

“Devastating, really.” He kissed your neck, slow and lingering, “You’ve reduced me to rubble.”

You giggled, sleep tugging at the edges of your bones, but hunger now creeping in. You shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position — but your stomach betrayed you first with a low grumble.

Sylus lifted his head, eyes gleaming with a mix of concern and amusement, “......Was that you, or is the building collapsing from the sheer force of what we just did?”

You smacked his arm, laughing softly.

He leaned in again, kissing your cheek, “Hungry, sweetheart?”

You gave him a sleepy nod, cheeks warm, “A little.”

“Well then.” He said, his voice that charming baritone drawl again, “I suppose I’ve no choice but to feed my lady.”

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the kitchen — or rather, wrapped around the man in it.

Sylus stood in front of the stove in nothing but a pair of loosely tied charcoal pajama pants, the low-slung waistband barely hanging onto his hips. His back was sculpted marble beneath golden lamplight, every muscle shifting as he flipped the pancakes like it was second nature. You could see the mole at the bottom of his spine.

And you — well, you were naked. Completely bare. Skin still flushed, lips swollen, legs a little unsteady. You hadn’t even bothered to wrap a sheet around yourself.

You stood behind him now, arms wrapped around his torso, cheek pressed to the warm space between his shoulder blades. Your fingers moved lazily across his chest, drawing invisible shapes, dipping lower each time — just enough to make him twitch beneath your touch.

“I said I’d make you breakfast.” He murmured, voice rich and impossibly deep, “Not be made into it.”

You smiled against his back, the curve of your lips brushing his skin, “I’m just watching. Learning. Observing.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but didn’t look back.

“You’re misbehaving.” He said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice, “Again.”

“Distracted, Sylus?” You whispered, letting your lips trail along his spine, then his shoulder. Your fingers slipped just beneath the waistband of his drawstrings, testing the edge.

He froze — only briefly but it was enough.

“You are trouble.” He said, his voice lower now, huskier — like it had dipped into something darker, “Wicked little thing.”

You hummed.

“I’m hungry.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, your fingers moving just a little deeper beneath the fabric, “Starving, actually.”

“For pancakes?” He asked, dry and deliberate.

“…Maybe.”

He set the spatula down — slowly, precisely — and turned in your arms, movements fluid but heavy with intent. His hands settled on your bare hips, thumbs brushing circles just below your waist as his eyes found yours, molten with heat and something far softer, far more dangerous.

“I’ll make you pancakes...” Sylus murmured, lowering his head so his breath ghosted over your lips, “...Once I’m done devouring you.”

And just like that, the pancakes were forgotten. And burnt......maybe.

[ PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

You were barely done with pancakes when Luke and Kierran announced they had to leave for some important work. And you had no intention of inquiring about it. They broke the news as if they were leaving for war.

“I don’t want to go.” Luke groaned, dramatically slumped across the couch, face buried in a throw pillow, “I feel ill. I’m actually ill.”

“You were just fine two minutes ago when you broke my China vase.” You said flatly.

Kierran stood by the door like a man awaiting execution, clutching his coat like a lifeline, “Tell baby Elea I said goodbye. If I don’t make it back, burn my journals. Not the leather-bound one. The other one. You’ll know.”

“Elea is right here — tell her yourself — and we don't have any of your journal.” You replied, unbothered.

“You are so cruel, miss boss." Luke muttered, “So heartless just like boss. Stay away from humt.”

Elea, seated at the table with a cup of juice far too maturely held in both hands, looked up from her coloring book.

“You two are so dramatic,” She said with the quiet judgment of a weary mother, “You’re worse than daddy.”

You fought the smile, watching as Elea tiptoed between the two grown men, placing a small, deliberate kiss on each of their foreheads like a mother sending her sons off to boarding school.

“Return soon.” She instructed seriously, patting Kierran’s cheek like he was the one who needed comfort.

Luke looked like he might actually cry this time.

“I love you.” He whispered, clinging to her pinky finger.

“I know.” Elea replied, giving him her soul healing giggle, before turning around and walking away like a queen who’d just done charity work.

You pressed your knuckles to your mouth to keep from laughing. Kierran gave Sylus one last betrayed look, then opened the door.

“If anything happens to us.” He said gravely, “Tell our stories.”

Sylus didn’t even glance up from his cup, “You went to a logistics meeting.”

“And we may never return the same.” Luke added, dragging himself out like he was being exiled.

The door clicked shut.

You—or anyone, really—might’ve thought Luke and Kierran were being dramatic. That is, of course, if they hadn’t met Sylus Qin.

Because if the twins were theatrical in their departures, Sylus was something else entirely when it came to possessiveness. Dramatic didn’t even begin to cover it. You could almost hear him growl anytime a man so much as breathed in your direction. And this morning was no exception.

It started—innocently enough—with the delivery man.

Sylus had been in the kitchen, kneeling beside Elea’s little unicorn-themed backpack, carefully packing her school supplies like he was disarming a bomb. Pencil box. Lunchbox. Water bottle with matching glitter stickers. He even double-checked the tiny note he’d tucked inside her tiffin, signed with a barely noticeable heart.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

You answered it, humming as you opened the door to find the usual delivery guy—Mike. Friendly, middle-aged, harmless Mike with his baseball cap and clipboard. Just as you signed for the delivery, Elea peeked her head out from the living room, eyes bright.

“Is it uncle Mike, mommy?” She asked cheerfully.

You smiled, “It is.”

Elea grinned, then turned to Sylus—still crouched by the bag—completely unaware of the thundercloud brewing behind her.

“Daddy, did you know uncle Mike brought flowers for me and Mommy on Valentine’s Day?”

You didn’t even get the chance to look back before you felt his presence—looming, quiet, dangerous.

A chill slithered down your spine as the air behind you thickened with a very specific kind of masculine energy—the kind that usually preceded bloodshed in bad crime novels or ancient war epics.

“Flowers?” Came Sylus’s voice, low and eerily calm. The kind of calm that had warning sirens blaring inside your head.

You forced a smile at Mike, whose own smile faltered immediately. The man took a subtle step back, shifting nervously behind his clipboard like it might protect him from a dragon.

The poor guy looked like he was about to wet his pants. His eyes darted between you and the towering figure behind you like he was trying to calculate the odds of making it back to his van alive without being impaled on a spear—or a death glare.

You quickly threw him a hastened smile, trying to salvage the moment.

“See you later, Mike!” You chirped, far too brightly—your voice about three octaves higher than usual.

He gave a jerky nod, mumbled something that sounded like “y-you too.” and stumbled backward down the front steps like he couldn’t get away fast enough. His clipboard clattered against his leg, keys slipping from his hand as he fumbled with the van door. You could hear how shaky his breath was as he slammed the door shut from the outside, practically peeling rubber down the driveway.

Then—before Sylus could take a single step forward or even flex his jaw—you swung the door shut. Firm. Final. Like you were locking away a dragon in his cave.

You turned around slowly, pressing your back to the door like it was the only thing keeping the beast at bay.

Then you hissed in a low, scolding voice—barely above a whisper, sharp enough to cut— “What were you gonna do? You can’t just go after every guy just because he gave flowers to your daughter.”

Before you could blink, Sylus was on you.

His hands grabbed your waist with a bruising kind of urgency, pinning you between him and the door. His body caged yours completely, warmth radiating off him in waves. One of his knees nudged between your legs slightly—just enough to make your breath catch. His eyes burned, volcanic, feral, fixed entirely on you.

“Not just my daughter.” He growled, voice so low and rough it vibrated through your chest, “My wife, too. While I was halfway across the damn realm—deprived of my family—some other lowlife was giving flowers to my daughter and my wife.”

Your jaw dropped a little, “Sylus—he gave flowers to everyone. Even sixty-year-old Adam down the street. You know, the one with three cats and a knee brace?”

His eyes narrowed, “That’s even worse.”

You blinked, “How is that worse?”

“My girls deserve priority” He said, like it was the most obvious truth in the universe, “Not... some after thought charity.”

You stared at him, speechless.

“I missed birthdays.” He whispered, brushing your hair back gently, “I mussed recitals, anniversaries, valentines. I missed everything. And now I come home and find out some discount Cupid’s been filling my shoes?”

He leaned in closer, voice curling around your spine like smoke, “He got to see you smile. While I was gone.”

You wish you could go back to the days when you could blindly believe his lies. When his possessiveness felt like protection and not penance. When the absence didn’t weigh heavier than his arms around you.

A sharp remark sat poised on your tongue, bitter and honed. Maybe about how flowers weren’t the only thing he let someone else deliver. Maybe something crueler—something honest.

But then—

“Daddy!” Elea’s voice rang from the hallway, small and bright like a bell cracking through the storm, “Did you pack my glitter pen? The pink one with stars?”

You swallowed the words that could have scorched both your mouths. Sylus blinked. You felt him freeze—like the air was suddenly lighter and heavier all at once. His hands loosened at your waist, just a little.

Then he called over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off you, “I packed both of them, sweetheart. Even the one Mommy said was ‘too sparkly for humans.’”

From the living room came a victorious squeal. You should’ve laughed. Once, you would have. You would’ve leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and whispered how ridiculous he was. You might’ve even let him carry you to bed.

But now? You just nodded once and ducked under his arm. The hallway felt cold despite the summer heat outside. You could still feel the phantom press of his knee between your thighs, his breath on your skin, but your spine was steel now. Elea ran up to you, holding up her pen like a trophy.

“I knew he wouldn’t forget.” She beamed.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “Of course he didn’t. Daddy always remembers the important things.”

Sylus didn’t say anything. Not when you helped Elea put on her shoes. Not when she looped her little arms around his waist and made him promise to wave until the bus disappeared. Not even when her bus pulled away, and she pressed her forehead to the glass, watching the two of you get smaller and smaller from her window.

He just stood there, arms folded, face unreadable. You didn’t meet his eyes. Just turned on your heel and walked back into the house. By the time he shut the door, you were already in the bathroom. Lock clicked. Clothes peeled off like a second skin.

And then the silence settled over you again.

You slid into the tub—warm water enveloping your body, the smell of lavender rising into the air like a memory you didn’t have the heart to chase. Your head leaned back against the cold edge of the porcelain. Eyes closed. Not sleeping. Not thinking.

Just... breathing — or trying to.

The soft drip of the faucet echoed louder than it should. The pipes clicked somewhere in the walls. The house felt unfamiliar today, like you’d stepped into a replica of your life—too quiet, too curated, too distant.

You let your hands float above the surface. Tried to focus on the feel of the water.

Tried not to think about the way Sylus had looked at you this morning—like you were still his, like the months apart hadn’t happened, like he could will the distance to disappear.

You heard the bedroom door open and close and the bathroom door knob rattling before everything went quiet. You slowly and gradually submerged into the void.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The warmth was gone. Just cold metal beneath you. And something sticky at your back. Your breath hitched. Shallow. Raw. Your throat burned like it had been screaming for hours. But no sound came out.

Your belly ached. Tight. Unnatural.

Your hands were bound — you could feel the bite of rope or leather or something that stank like oil. A low hum filled the air. Fluorescent lights buzzed. A vent somewhere rattled above you, but the air wasn’t moving. You blinked. One eye didn’t open fully. Swollen.

And the room — Too white. Too red. Was that… hair? Strands of it stuck to the side of your face. Damp. Dark. Oozing. Yours. You tried to sit up — A sharp cry tore from your throat. Pain. Deep and rooted. Like something inside you was wrong.

“..e’s ..... con.....s....”

“.... it .p. L.... ... .. ... b..by ... ...... . ...... ..re ......”

You couldn’t scream. Just a breath. A broken, wet sound.

“S…y…” The syllable cracked in your mouth. Not a plea. Just a ghost.

A blurry figure moved across your vision. Black gloves. A vial. Something glinting.

“You ...... ... ..... d......”

You curled around your stomach as best you could, even tied down. Instinct. Protection.

“...ll… kill… b…by…”

“... .., .. ne.. ... .li.e. .... ..rely.”

Something pierced your neck. Ice ran through your veins. Your limbs gave in. Floating. Falling.

“.... ..ke ... .et. .... ... don..”

Your body trembled.

“... .... lo..k...ng ... .... ... him. .... .... watch ... rot .... ..... ..ne.”

Darkness. You slipped into it. And then surfaced again. Over and over. Time didn’t pass here. Only pain did. You opened your eyes — And for a second, you saw your reflection in a rusted mirror on the wall. Pale. Bloodstained. You didn’t look like a person.

Just a vessel.

.

.

.

.

You returned to reality choking.

Water poured from your lips as a strong pair of arms hauled you out of the tub. You didn’t know which way was up — the world was spinning, your chest tight, your throat raw. Cold air hit your skin like a slap.

Your legs buckled, but Sylus caught you before you could crumple.

“Breathe.” He commanded lowly, voice strained, “sweetie, breathe.”

You gasped, eyes wide, lashes dripping. Water clung to your hair, your face, your arms — your whole body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.

Sylus set you down onto the bathroom stool with a towel around you, his hands gripping your arms to steady you, firm but careful. His shirt was soaked. His jaw was locked. His eyes — furious, but not at you. At himself. At something else. At everything.

You couldn’t look at him.

The nightmare still clung to you like a second skin. The smell of blood. The echo of that voice — We are not done yet. We need them both alive. Let's see if the baby can tolerate a little more today.

“I—” Your voice broke. You weren’t even sure what you were trying to say.

He knelt in front of you, hand curling behind your neck to keep you steady. His palm was warm. Real. Present.

“What happened?” He asked quietly. Not demanding. Just trying to anchor you.

You blinked at him. There was no white room. No restraints. No needles in your neck. No blood in your hair. Just Sylus. Just this. But your stomach still hurt. Your hands still shook. You curled forward slowly, your forehead brushing his shoulder, chest hitching with a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I just…” You started, but the words collapsed in your throat. You swallowed hard, gaze unfocused, “I just fell asleep.”

Sylus didn’t move.

His hands stayed on you — one steady at your arm, the other still braced lightly behind your neck — but his entire body was still, rigid, like he could sense the lie bleeding through your voice.

He exhaled slowly, “Asleep?”

You nodded, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor, “Yeah.”

Silence. The kind that filled up a room like smoke. Suffocating. Heavy. Your throat — constricted.

He didn’t press you. He never did. That was almost worse. Because it meant he was thinking. Weighing. Waiting. Trying to put the pieces together without making you run.

Water still dripped from your hair, soaking the towel and the hem of his jeans where your legs touched his. Your breath had steadied, mostly. But your hands hadn’t. And you knew he could feel that.

“I’ll get you some dry clothes.” He said eventually, rising slowly, methodically—like he didn’t trust himself not to say something wrong.

You caught his wrist. Not hard. Just enough. He paused.

“I’m fine.” You murmured, even though you weren't. Even though you were still sitting in a towel with half your soul trapped somewhere in a dream that wasn’t entirely a dream, “I just want to sit here for a second.”

Sylus let you be.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t protest. Just looked at you for a long moment — gaze unreadable, heavy with thoughts he didn’t voice — then rose and stepped out of the bathroom. The door didn’t close all the way. You knew that was deliberate.

You sat there, unmoving, the towel wrapped around you starting to chill against your skin.

The silence was too loud.

You heard it then — not your own breath, not the hum of the heater — but him. Just outside. Shifting his weight. Breathing through his nose like he was trying to calm himself. Like the image of you choking on water was still playing behind his eyes.

You hugged your knees. The nightmare had felt too real.

The smell of that room, like rust and ammonia. Your limbs too heavy. Your belly, still barely showing, aching like something inside had clawed its way through your skin.

Sy… ow…er.

The voice had been familiar. Too familiar.

You reached for your robe, trying not to think too hard, trying not to panic. You opened the door a crack. Sylus was sitting against the wall beside it. Arms resting on his bent knees. Eyes half-closed, but he wasn’t sleeping. He looked up the second the door creaked.

“I didn’t leave.” He said quietly, “Just in case.”

You nodded, “I know.”

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, flickering — unreadable — before he stood.

“Change into something warm.” He said gently, like he was speaking to something breakable, “I’ll make you tea. The herbal one.”

You nodded again, barely aware of your surroundings. The nightmare clung to you like wet fabric — heavy, suffocating. Your hands moved automatically as you stepped back inside, slipping into the robe, eyes unfocused.

You didn’t see the way he paused as he turned. Didn’t notice the slight tremble in his fingers as they brushed the doorframe. Didn’t see how long he stood in the hallway, just breathing, grounding himself, shoulders stiff with restraint. You didn’t notice the way his throat moved, like he was swallowing something back. Or how his fingers curled briefly into fists before he walked to the kitchen.

You only heard the soft click of the kettle being set, the muted shuffle of his feet. Those small, normal things. They made the air feel a little less sharp.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the robe in your lap. You were cold. But you didn’t feel it. Your heart was still locked in that room — the smell of metal, the blurred voice, the pressure on your chest. It clung to your skin like ink that wouldn’t wash off.

You didn’t hear the way Sylus exhaled in the kitchen. Didn’t see his jaw tense. Didn’t feel how scared he was. You were too busy trying to piece yourself back together. One breath at a time.

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© 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐒-𝐍-𝐋𝟎𝐕𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to LOTUS-N-L0VE. do not plagiarise any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

[theothermaidoftarth]

World on Fire

Chapter 1 (of 3)

M/16+ | Nettles x Cregan Stark

Full list of cw on ao3

Excerpt:

One of the Northmen closest to her breaks her concentration, hefting a broad two-headed axe with ease in his large hand. “What was that!”

She leaves the cocoon of the roots to stand before the man, her back to where Sheepstealer shall appear. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” He’d take it as a threat to her, since she can’t turn him away.

The grizzled old lord scowls at Nettles speaking to him as if he were a boy reaching out to touch a hot pot. “And who are you?”

She circles closer slowly, near enough so his horse sidles away from her, away from the smell of dragon. For every step forward she takes, the horse trots back. A wicked amusement tickles her at the flash of unease upon the rider’s craggly face. Such a rush this power is, potent as mead on an empty stomach. And her stomach has been empty more oft than not. “You ain’t heard o’ me?” She locks eyes with the quiet lord she can now see wears a pale cloak trimmed with grey. Ah, of course. He is still; watchful… Almost as if — “He knows who I am.” She tips her head to him in ironic imitation of a bow. “Lord Stark.” This had not been how Nettles planned on making the Lord of Winterfell’s acquaintance but the gods did so laugh at the plans of mortals. She might as well laugh with them.

Read on ao3

@richardsthirdnipple, @witheredoffherwitch, @snowprincesa1, @arcielee, @emilykaldwen, @hieronymph, @zae5 @tremendouswolfsaladranch, @lawolfe, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @aifsaath @pebblume @strangedragonqueen, @acrossthesestars

[mxdotpng]

time for eden posting. nope, not that one. not that one either. yes, the other one. the final fantasied one. the one that split his soul into halves and then survived the sundering because he got locked in a box. and then the box got eaten by a space whale. that eden

[deepspaceclawstation]

This is just me being kinda obnoxious but being good at a certain subject at uni sucks because you then end up having to become an unofficial (and hence unpaid) TA for the rest of your class, or else you earn the reputation of being a stuck up bitch. Uni doesn't reward talent or hard work, it just means you get more leaches attached to you

[wilting-fl0wer]

been cooking up some Mia lore, i'm not anywhere near finished yet so have this meme i made in less than 2 minutes in the meanwhile

and a lil sneak peek too

[xwiredearbuds2014x]

[emacrow]

Visit from Great Uncle Danny

Riddler was gleefully smiling as he watched in triumph that Batman was currently stumped in his trap after replicated decoy rooms he had set up to trick robin into thinking he was in a certain trap room worked.

"Now that I have your attention, Batman. You have only mere hours away until-" Riddler, stop speaking for a moment, glancing back to something, playing a jingle in the background, sounding like phantom phantom.

Batman saw Riddler's face went white as paste as he scrambled to grab an odd riddler theme phone before cursing something.

"Well, Batman, I believe we'll have to raincheck our fun time, Robin is in the private hidden room between the 6-7 door behind a locked mechanism behind the wallpaper. the word code is OFTEN." Riddler closed the coms as he was undressing his riddler costume a bit frantically, but before the screen went black.

A glowing green portal emerge out of thin air with a white glow hand coming out.

Edd nervously held his hands together as his great Uncle Danny came to visit him. It was game time with the grandkids Saturday, and it completely slipped his mind today.

He just barely made it to clean the Fenton made washable black dye from his orange curly hair just now as Danny fully emerged from the portal.

He hasn't yet told great Uncle Danny about his side hobby/job as a villain, though he thought Nana would break it down for him last visit.

Apparently, not after his baby cousin pretty much told the whole family that she accidentally made some sort of assassin cult because she saved from dude in Egypt during a mission from clockwork that got too intertwined in the timeline.

He know Great Uncle Danny has some sort of issue with his own dark side, Dan but he is reform and is better now.

Edd already calculated most of the probability on what if he gone rogue fully, but Clockwork and Nana on his side to held him back considering Nana will break him down in one disappointed glance and drag him back to therapy with Cujo again.

Part 2 -> here

[whateverloomis]

🖤 Dilf!Billy Loomis x AFAB reader (Stepcest)

🖤 Part 2

Warnings: Stepcest, predetermined family, fingering, teasing, p in v, roughness, infidelity, unprotected sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight degradation, mentions of Stu, age gap (middle aged Billy and reader in their 20s,) AFAB reader (no pronouns,) unedited

Your mother had never been shy with her love life. She's had multiple partners after your dad passed away. Random hookups with attractive older men happened pretty often too. You're sure it's all been to fill the void and drown the unwanted emotions.

You've never really had the best relationship with her, you bud heads a lot and have grown distant since your biological dad passed, not to mention the countless arguments about every little inconvenience.

For that reason and many others you haven't been secretive about the attraction towards your step father, Billy Loomis. You don't care if he actually loves her or not. You'll let any selfish thoughts cross your mind and oh boy, you want that man inside you as soon as possible.

He's been living with you and your mother for 2 years and as time went by it got more difficult to contain yourself around him, especially since he openly flirts with you and you swear that one of these days you're going to jump on his cock the second you find a chance.

One particular day your mother left for the weekend on a business trip. You were more than sure that she'd been cheating on Billy with his best friend, Stu Macher. They've worked together for years and it's so obvious that they've got something going on.

To be completely honest, you wouldn't mind having Stu as your next step father. He's just as hot as Billy and you never miss the way that he checks you out whenever you're around him. Gosh, if you could have both of them at the same time you know you'd cum the second they both lay hands on you.

Being alone with Billy for the weekend was going to be difficult. You haven't hooked up with anyone in so long and touching yourself isn't satisfying anymore. The way he shamelessly walks around shirtless with sweatpants that highlight his cock drives you crazy and you don't know how you'll survive around him.

Because of that you were feeling bold. You wanted to risk it all, and you did.

It was a Saturday morning and you wake up ready to take the day off to relax after a long week. After you brushed your teeth and showered, you went to the kitchen in just a thong, a thin cotton crop and knee high socks. You knew Billy would walk in the kitchen any second after hearing the water turn off in the shower and were ready to pounce at any moment.

"Well good morning to you too." The sound of his deep voice instantly sent shivers down your spine.

Billy was standing against the countertop behind you shamelessly looking at your exposed ass and gorgeous legs. His hair was damp from the shower and slicked back. No shirt on. Grey sweatpants. He was out to hunt and you were his easy prey.

Turning around, you smiled innocently at him and pointed at the stove, "You want pancakes? I'm making myself some."

Billy could see right through you and he wasn't playing your games.

At your question he chuckled and walked towards you. His hands instantly found your waist and his eyes captured yours, "I'm hungry for something else," he said and squeezed your flesh slightly, his eyes lingering on your tits before scanning your face.

He was driving you mad. You couldn't help but bite your lower lip to suppress a pathetic moan that threatened to come out of you.

Billy seemed to notice and smirked at your reaction, "I don't think your mother would like knowing you're walking around the house looking like that while I'm here," he said and it was your turn to chuckle at his nonchalant comment.

"I don't think she'd like to see her husband grab me like he is right now but here we are," you answered and he lost it.

Billy ran his hands down and under your ass cheeks before picking you up. He sat you on the counter and positioned himself between your legs. His large hands rested on your thighs and he occasionally squeezed them.

"Don't use that tone with me," he said half serious and you laughed teasingly as his words.

"Why? Is daddy gonna ground me? Hm?" you teased further and Billy grabbed your face with his right hand under your jaw, making you look into his eyes. You smirked at him and that was enough, the man crashed his lips against yours and kissed you hungrily.

You were desperate. Both of you were. Your hands were tangled in his hair and he was holding you impossibly close to his body. He groped your ass as you rocked against him slowly.

He was hard and needy before, but having you like this was going to make him cum right then and there if he wasn't careful.

Billy slid one of his hands from your ass to your hip, down your inner thigh and finally over your core. He felt the wetness through the fabric of your thong and he gasped at you mockingly, "I've barely touched you and you're already soaked," he said and you whined softly. So desperate to feel him inside you. Your body ached for his cock.

The man couldn't contain himself much longer. He was already pulling your panties to the side and playing with your cunt. Rubbing your sensitive bud in circular motions and running his fingers down to your throbbing hole, dipping them just enough to pleasure you but not enough to satisfy the craving. He was torturing you. Torturing himself.

"Mm... Billy please," you moaned and grabbed his big hand, pushing his fingers all the way inside you and whining at the feeling of finally being filled up. It still wasn't enough but fuck did it feel amazing when he started to fuck you with his fingers.

You throbbed around him and he groaned at the feeling.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good... I bet you'll feel better around my dick," he whispered in your ear as you fucked yourself with his fingers.

You grabbed his cock and felt how big he is. Gosh you were so right when you imagined him as you rode your dildo in your room alone at night.

"Mmphh... Please fuck me," you begged and Billy pulled his fingers out of your cunt, sucking on them teasingly and moaning at your taste.

He pulled you towards him by your thighs and you wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively. He held your legs around his middle and carried you to his and your mother's bedroom.

After he released you, you crawled on the bed and positioned yourself on the edge on all fours, giving him a perfect view of your behind. You slowly removed your thong for him and revealed your glistening cunt.

Billy groaned at the sight and pulled his sweatpants down just enough to release his throbbing cock. He wanted to eat you up and taste your whole body but right then he couldn't handle the sight of your waiting hole. He'd been wanting to bury himself inside you for so long, and when he finally did you both moaned at the same time.

He didn't bother to wear protection and you honestly didn't give a fuck at that point. You didn't care if your stepfather knocked you up, as fucked up as it sounds.

"Ahh fuck... Harder Daddy, harder!" You nearly screamed, and to that he complied.

Billy grabbed your hips harshly and pounded you hard enough that you felt his cock all the way up your stomach. He pressed your head against the mattress, your back arched perfectly for him and the sight of your ass cheeks bouncing against him was nearly enough to make him cum inside you, but he was smarter than that of course.

"Getting fucked by your stepfather, who does that?" He shamed you and it made you throb around him. You were nearly going to cum just by hearing his words, it was a chase for release between the two of you.

After a few more thrusts the knot inside you finally broke as his tip brushed against your gspot. You came around him and screamed at the feeling of the intense waves that were coursing through your body. You had one, two, three mini orgasms after the big O and fuck you needed more.

Billy nearly bust his load inside your sweet pussy, but he managed to pull out and cum all over your back. He took a mental picture at how good your body looked covered in his seed.

"I'll clean up the mess for you," he whispered teasingly before giving you a lingering kiss.

As he walked into the bathroom you heard the front door open. Your mom and Stus voice echoed in the living room.

Fuck.

"I'll take care of it..."

•

I know I know, we hate cliffhangers but I love teasing y'all :p ;)

Hope you enjoyed reading <33

[gutsby]

Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.

Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.

Word count: 10.5k

Read on AO3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.

These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.

Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.

Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.

You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.

“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.

“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.

She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:

“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”

That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.

Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.

“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.

How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—

“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.

The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.

And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.

Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.

“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”

Frank grinned at that.

“No shit?” he yelled back.

“Yeah. I really am that horny.”

From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.

And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.

Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.

“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”

You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.

“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”

He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.

“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.

You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.

And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:

“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”

The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.

“FORTY-ONE!”

It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.

Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”

“What?!”

Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.

You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.

In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.

“I said, ‘I love that’!”

“Yeah? Love what?!”

Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.

Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.

“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.

Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.

It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.

Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.

Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.

“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.

That wasn’t good.

You pointed up.

“First door on your left. Do you need any—”

But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.

Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.

Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.

You looked up and cursed.

Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.

Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.

You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.

Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.

“Lucien Flores!”

Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:

“You fucking prick.”

Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:

“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”

Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“Good to see you, too, Tess.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Theresa.”

You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.

The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.

Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.

Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.

Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.

You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.

“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.

You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.

More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.

An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.

So much for those morning beers with Tommy.

His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.

Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.

You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.

He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.

“Hey—” you started.

But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.

Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.

Stop shaking.

You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.

You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.

You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.

Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”

It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.

You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.

“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.

“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”

He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.

“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”

And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.

“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.

You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.

“Will you stop?”

Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being—”

“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”

“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.

You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.

You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.

Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.

You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.

“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.

Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’

You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose

“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”

His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.

“What else is there to say?” you snapped.

“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”

“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”

“Like block all of my calls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”

“Just tell me why.”

“Fuck. You.”

Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.

“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.

Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.

Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.

“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.

Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.

Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.

Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.

“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”

You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.

Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”

Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.

You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.

Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.

“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”

You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.

“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.

“I am.”

Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.

“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”

He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.

He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.

Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.

“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.

Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:

“I’m fine.”

“Are we?”

“You lied to me!”

And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.

In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.

“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.

“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was my place—”

“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.

You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.

If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.

“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.

Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.

Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’

You nodded to confirm that you were.

By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.

Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.

Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.

His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.

“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.

His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.

“Want…what?” you murmured back.

You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you

Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.

And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:

“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“W-Why? For what?”

“To say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t—”

But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.

“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.

Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.

Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.

His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.

Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels

“Wait. Wait—Tess?”

“Napping in the tub.”

Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.

You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.

Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.

The spot where you landed was soft, though.

You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.

Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.

Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.

What the fuck am I doing here with you?

That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.

“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”

“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”

You were about to speak, but Joel continued.

“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”

You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.

“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.

At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.

Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.

It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.

“I’ll go,” he choked out.

“Alright.”

You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.

He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.

And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.

“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.

You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.

“Mind opening that?” you asked him.

Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.

“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts

Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.

“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.

After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.

Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.

Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.

Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.

“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.

“Give it.”

“Make me.”

“Kid, don’t start.”

Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.

Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.

He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.

“Joel?”

The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.

His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.

“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.

“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”

Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.

“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”

You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.

And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.

You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.

Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.

“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.

You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.

“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.

“I’m old.”

“No shit.”

“Watch it.”

For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.

“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What was the question?” you returned, careless.

But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?

The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.

It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.

That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.

“You know exactly what question I meant.”

What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.

“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”

Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:

“I would do it again.”

And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.

Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.

“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.

“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.

It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.

“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”

Please.

The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.

You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.

“Here?” It left you more like a breath.

“Here.”

Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down

Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.

His hands shook like yours had earlier.

He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.

You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.

Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.

Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.

And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.

You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:

“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”

You choked.

“What?”

Joel blinked.

“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”

Just wondering.

After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt

You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.

But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.

“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”

“It did.”

And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.

Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.

You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.

“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”

“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.

“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.

“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’

“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”

His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.

“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.”

Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.

“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.

“Wh—”

“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”

It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.

“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.

“Nope. Just you.”

Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.

You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.

Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.

The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.

Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.

“I missed you, baby.”

It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.

“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.

With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer

He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.

Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.

He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:

“See how good we fit?”

Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.

Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.

“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”

Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.

Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.

“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”

That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.

Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.

He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.

“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”

His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.

“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.

You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.

It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.

Or maybe just since you’d been away.

You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.

���Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”

All okay.

Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.

You wanted to tell him something.

You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.

The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.

A snap.

A dizzying blow.

Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.

Intimate, again.

You couldn’t help it.

With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.

“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.

Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.

You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.

And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.

Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.

Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”

Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.

He followed.

He reached out.

“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The sound almost drowned all other noises out.

At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.

No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.

“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”

“I—”

“Need to go.”

You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.

Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.

The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.

You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.

“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”

“Come with me. We have to talk—”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“But you—”

“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”

He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.

The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.

The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.

You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed

Leaving was for the best anyway.

If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.

Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.

Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep

And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.

“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.

You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?

“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”

Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there

“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”

Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.

“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”

“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”

You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.

Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.

“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”

For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.

“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.

“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”

“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.

“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”

While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.

“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”

“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”

Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.

You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.

The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.

Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.

You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.

“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”

“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”

Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:

“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.

Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.

His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”

“Like now,” you said quietly.

A beat.

Tommy scratched his neck.

“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”

In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.

‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.

Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.

You couldn’t make this work.

Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.

He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.

It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.

This would really suck.

You buried your face in his chest.

There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”

[aeristudios]

tell me, will we survive? pt. 2

𔘓 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: He’s trying. You’re listening. But sometimes being love just isn't enough. 𔘓 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: architect!Mingyu x artist!reader, mentions of Wonwoo and Seokmin 𔘓 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut, (a lil fluff this time) established relationship, college sweethearts, 18+ 𔘓 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a bit of heavy angst again, cursing, kissing, dirty talk, pet names (lots of baby), (f. receiving), hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, riding, Mingyu lifts you in the air and does his thing lol, creampie, multiple orgasms, 𔘓 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.2K 𔘓 𝐀𝐍: I want to thank every single one of you for all the love you gave me for pt. 1. It means so much to me that this little angsty series of mine is getting so much love 🖤 I want to give a huge thank you to @hannieween for letting me ramble a a bit about these two & @hannieoftheyear thank you for reading over this for me, hyping me up and catching all of my grammatical errors lol.

playlist: I could be forever- Hojean, Losing You- Christian Kuria, Can’t Get You- Jaehyun, Overlap- Offshore, Dopamine- Jackson Wang, Touch Me- Victoria Monet, Sienna- The Marias

part 1

The weekends used to be where you and Mingyu would thrive. You would visit museums, beaches, local events, or go far away—anything you could find, as long as you got to be with each other. You used to let the sun hit your skin, hold hands, and talk about anything and everything to your heart’s content. Your days were vibrant, full of bright colors that brought life to you and him. 

Now your weekends come and go in shades of beige. 

Grocery runs, laundry, and trips to miscellaneous stores. Mingyu spent Saturday scrubbing the baseboards “to stay busy,” while you sat on the couch pretending to scroll, your chest caving in with every checklist he completed without ever asking how you were doing. You tried to offer to help. He told you to rest. You wanted to scream.

Sunday was worse. He swiffered the floors and deep cleaned the house while humming some romantic songs under his breath; it almost made you cry. He is so good at maintenance, keeping up the house, and making sure you have the material things. But what about you and your needs? It’s like you have to cry like a child to get any attention. The feeling of being unheard in your own home was suffocating. 

It’s Monday again, and everything feels like it’s back to the same routine and rituals, as if Friday never happened. As if you didn't break down in front of him, and he didn't promise to do better while he was on his knees. Sometimes, you just have to laugh at the irony of it all.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu looks at you through the mirror, rubbing product in his hair. He was already dressed, sans his suit jacket.

“I’m fine, Gyu, just tired,” you said softly, rinsing the cream from your face. You felt far from okay, but there was no point in saying anything now.

“Okay,” Mingyu mutters, checking his watch anxiously. “Shit. I have to go; my 9 AM meeting can't wait.” He glances toward the kitchen, the smell of breakfast lingering in the air. “It’s on the table, baby.”

He kisses your head out of habit rather than tenderness, leaving the bathroom before you can respond. You hear shuffling in the closet before he emerges with his suit jacket and walks past you without saying goodbye—not even an "I love you" or a glance in your direction. It feels like just another transactional interaction.

You stared at your closet, taking in the space he had neatly created, one that left no mark of anyone having been there. You blink, the absurdity of it sinking in. A chuckle escapes your lips, soft and incredulous, as disbelief washes over you like a light mist, leaving you both amused and bewildered.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” 

You quickly dry your face and search for your phone, locating it on the nightstand, its screen flickering with a barrage of notifications. Clearing out of them without looking, you go to the contact of Seokmin, your best friend from college, and the only person who knows you as well as Mingyu and would have the right words to say. 

“Hey, are you in town? You want to go for lunch?”

You don’t wait for him to respond before you fire off the following message: 

“I need you to talk me out of something I may not be able to take back.”

Three dots immediately popped on the screen, pending his response. Then your phone chimes. 

“Pick the place and time. I’ll be there.” 

The sound of gloves hitting the punching bag leaves a deafening sound in the barely empty gym. Mingyu does not hold back, letting out his worries and frustrations as he repeatedly hits the bag, sweat clinging to his skin. It’s his lunch break, but he isn’t hungry; his stomach is too tied up in knots. 

All he can see is your face from this morning. You barely looked at him, your eyes were dull, and he knows it was his fault. He was the idiot who fell asleep instead of spending time with you, and instead of manning up and apologizing, he made himself busy with household chores and errands, not willing to hear the truth. 

In addition to today’s meeting, which he was almost late for, he discovered that he might be leading another project. He’s thrilled to be leading another project, but that means more time away from you. The lines between work and home blur even further, and he is exasperated. 

He mops his brow with a damp towel, then collapses onto the worn bench, his elbows resting heavily on his knees, head bowed as if weighed down by the effort. The air smells like a mixture of sweat and detergent. His skin is sticky, his heart pounding from the set he barely finished.

“Are you good?”

Mingyu glances up, blinking at Wonwoo, who has just finished his workout, handing him a bottle of water. Mingyu thanks him and takes the water, drinking it in one go. Breathless, he cocks his head back, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. His thoughts and feelings are at the forefront— his career, you, and what he wants his future to be. Why is it so hard to juggle the two?

“I thought you had meetings today,” Mingyu deflects. 

“I finished them already and decided to get a workout in before I leave for the day,” Wonwoo says, wiping his face with a towel. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s Krystal’s birthday, right?”

Wonwoo hums in agreement, taking a seat next to him. “We have a babysitter tonight, and I am going to take her out for a nice dinner.”

Krystal is Wonwoo’s better half, someone he has known since they were kids. When Mingyu met Wonwoo at the firm, he had just gotten married, and they were new to the city. They became fast friends, and Mingyu found he could lean on him through tough times. Mingyu and you have gone on double dates with them several times and attended the baby shower of their little girl, Lily. When Wonwoo talks about his family, his eyes light up with a joy that could fill the darkest places. He speaks of them with a tenderness and care that can only be seen from a man who truly values and loves his family. 

“Quit deflecting, Mingyu. What’s going on?”

Mingyu throws Wonwoo a look, followed by a snort. “You know what it is. I keep messing up at home.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s more of what I didn’t do,” Mingyu sighs. “I came home, apologized in more ways than one, and she asked me for some time with her when we got out of the shower.” 

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, waiting for the rest. “Okay, so what happened after that?”

Mingyu takes a deep breath, reliving his mistake in his head. “I fell asleep.” 

Wonwoo stares for a moment, then bursts into laughter, his eyes wide with shock. “Tell me you did not go to sleep on YN.”

“I did,” he hangs his head in shame. “And I kind of just avoided her all weekend with household chores and errands instead of talking to her about it.”

Wonwoo continues to snicker, shaking his head as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Do you even want to keep your girlfriend?”

Mingyu lets out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Come on, man. I already feel bad enough. She’s been trying so hard. Planning little date nights for us, cooking more, practically anything. I’ve been trying to phone it in, but I don't know how to manage both things at once.” 

“You mean work and home?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu sighs. “I really want this promotion. I’ve busted my ass for it, and I can practically feel it within my grasp. But every time I feel like I can breathe again, I forget to text her back, or I am home late, and she is already asleep. I can’t win for shit.” 

Wonwoo silently pulls out a protein bar from his bag, unwrapping it and taking a bite. The silence stretches as if he is trying to pull the thoughts from his head. 

“Look, I don’t think you are a bad person or even a bad boyfriend. You’re just distracted,” Wonwoo says. “I know you are working hard to upscale your lives and give her the world and then some. But don’t forget about her in the process. She is your partner in all of this, and it doesn’t make sense to do all this if you lose her.”

Mingyu stays quiet as he absorbs everything Wonwoo is saying. Once again, Wonwoo is correct. What is the point of working so hard if he has nothing to show for it, and you are no longer here? You are far too precious to him. When he thinks of you, it feels as if his soul smiles, as though he were made for you.

He thinks about your “I’m tired” from this morning. It was more than tired from a lack of sleep, and he knows that. He needs to show up for you and prove to you that he cares, that you still matter to him. 

“I’m going to leave early today,” Mingyu says suddenly. “I’m going to make her dinner and spend time with her. She deserves that.” 

“Is the big boss going to like that?” Wonwoo asks with a smirk. 

“She’ll deal,” Mingyu resolves. “I have more important things to take care of tonight.” 

You sit at the booth tucked in the corner of a small Vietnamese restaurant, the kind of hidden gem that only the locals and broke college students go to when they want a meal that's good from the goodness of someone’s soul. You’ve been coming here for years, and it’s your favorite place. The walls are painted a sun-warmed coral, mismatched lanterns hang like low-hung stars from the ceiling, and tropical plants line the windowsills with a sort of unbothered grace. A quiet playlist of soft pop in Vietnamese hums beneath the clinking of soup spoons and the sizzle of something cooking in the back.

You ordered your usual pho with a side of banh mi, the smell of lime, mint, and broth filling your nose. It smelled delicious, but your appetite was waning. Your stomach is in triple knots, and there is not enough delightful broth in the world that could fix the pain you feel inside. 

“You’re not eating,” Seokmin remarks, looking at your barely touched food. “You must be feeling really bad.” 

Seokmin is good for that. Always noticing things about you when you weren’t looking and keeping you on the right track. In this friendship, you are the high-strung, emotional, mood painter, and he is the carefree, attentive music producer who can talk you off a ledge. Sometimes you wonder how you managed to be best friends. 

You met him in your sophomore year in a photography class you took on a whim. He’d picked the seat next to you, made a dumb joke about shutter speed, and somehow—by the end of that week—you were shooting each other’s portraits in the park and arguing about composition over cheap street tacos. He was there before Mingyu and always saw you for who you truly were, even when you didn’t see it yourself at times. In return, you always kicked his ass in high gear if he felt insecure about his music and doubted himself. 

Seokmin is one of the most sought-after music producers in the world, but he always made time for you, his best friend. 

You wipe your face and lean back, embarrassed. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says gently, sliding a napkin toward you. “I wore the ugly shirt on purpose. Easy to cry on.”

You laugh, watery and fragile. “You’re an idiot.”

“And yet, here we are,” he shrugs. “Want to tell me what’s going on, or do you want to cry into my rice paper rolls first?”

You stare at the bowl of pho, the steaming broth rising. “It’s Mingyu.” 

You let out a breath, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes. “I don't know what else to do.  I’ve been trying so hard, Seok. I have been planning dates, cooking more, and staying up late for him. Hell, I even wore one of his favorite shirts with nothing underneath, and he barely reacted. What am I? Chopped liver?”

You take a deep sip of your iced tea, drinking until it’s nearly finished. “It’s like he’s here with me in body, but his mind is elsewhere. I feel like I’m drowning in the ocean; he sees me waving for help from the water and hears me, but doesn’t seem to care. Am I really that bad of a person? Is this who we are now?”

You finally meet his gaze, your voice sharp around the edges. “What if we don’t survive?”

You crumble in the dim corner of the restaurant, hot tears spilling down your cheeks, pooling on the tablecloth like unwanted guests. How did you get here? Why is it so hard to talk to each other? Why is it that every time he is near, it feels like knives stabbing your abdomen? You aren’t supposed to feel that about your partner of almost a decade, the person you started building the rest of your life with. 

You feel Seokmin’s warmth before his arms wrap around you, letting you cry into his shirt. He rubs your back softly, sitting there like a silent beacon of strength while you break down. 

“I’m sorry, Seok,” you sniffle, grabbing a napkin from the table. “I’m just so frustrated. I know he has been chasing this promotion, and he really wants it. I want him to have it, I really do. But what happens when he gets it? Are the nights going to be longer? Will he be even more distracted? I feel horrible complaining about this, but what else can I fucking do?”

Seokmin is quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in while you take another sip of your tea.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do. You know I’d support you no matter what. But,” he lifts a brow, “you and Mingyu built something real. You chose each other. That doesn’t just disappear. It frays, sure. But it doesn’t vanish overnight.”

“I know, but I feel like I am doing all the pulling and the heavy lifting,” you frown.

“Well, then, quit pulling and start talking,” Seokmin shrugs, leaning back into his seat. 

“Talking?” You blink. “Seokmin, all I do is talk.”

“No, I mean really talk. Tell him how you feel. You hold back a lot, and maybe if you had said something in the beginning, things wouldn’t have been this bad.”

Seokmin takes a deep breath, watching as your lip trembles under the weight of your emotions. “Look, I know he loves you and you love him. Tell him how you feel invisible, shut out, or whatever color words you want to throw at him. But if things don’t improve, then you know what you have to do… even if it tears your heart out.” 

You look at him for a long moment, mulling over his words. You know he is right, but are you ready to walk if you have to?

“Okay,” you nod, your appetite slowly coming back to you. “I will try to talk to him. Be more honest with him.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, cracking a soft smile. “Thank you, Seok.” 

“You're welcome, crybaby.” 

You let out a dry laugh. “Whatever.”

The remainder of your lunch went as well as could be expected, as you caught up with Seokmin about life and the new band he has been producing. There is a fire in his eyes when he talks about music; his passion is evident in every word he speaks. You experience a similar feeling when it comes to art and your paintings. Art consumes you and fills your soul, flowing through you as you sit in front of your canvas and create.

“I think I am going to go to the studio and work on something different,” you say out loud in thought. ‘I’ve been working on my project and I’m almost done, but this situation has me wanting to put something on canvas.”

You take your wallet out of your purse, expecting to pay, but Seokmin moves your hand away, giving you a look. “You know you never have to pay when you’re with me.”

“Oh, Seokmin, stop it,” you pout. “Let me pay for once.” 

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “Plus, I paid before you got here.” 

You throw him an annoyed look before breaking into a smile, reluctantly putting your card away. “I’m going to pay one of these days.” 

You slide out of the booth, waiting for Seokmin to leave his tip before leaving the restaurant with him. It’s after one, and the warm breeze sways your hair softly as the sun shifts to the west. Your heart isn’t as heavy, but it’s no light burden. You need to release stress, grab a paintbrush, and let your creativity flow. 

“Thank you, Seok, for listening to me,” you say wholeheartedly, hugging him. “You are always there for me. Are you still coming to my art show?” 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” he says, returning your affection. “What are best friends for?”

He gives you the warmest hug that soothes your spirit, promising to text you when he gets home. You get in your car and head to your studio, your body on autopilot as you drive the familiar streets that lead you to the pink flamingo colored building that you have called your workplace for many years now. It’s funky and has character, and it's the one place you always feel at peace. 

You step inside your quiet space, and the receptionist greets you as you walk in. Making your way into the backroom, you walk into your “chaos room,” as you call it, and survey what’s in front of you. It smells like linseed oil and old pencil shavings. Dust motes float through the golden light slanting in through the skylight. The far wall is covered in half-finished canvases—color bleeding into color, anger layered over beauty, confusion still wet in the strokes.

You pull on your apron, hair up, brush in hand. Your fingers twitch the moment they touch the canvas, aching to say something your mouth can’t. You don’t sketch first, you just begin, letting your spirit guide you as you mix your colors and drag your brush across the canvas. From the outside looking in, you appear erratic, your hands bold and unforgiving as you convey the feelings that have been plaguing you inside—heavy arcs turn to spirals, shadows bloom under your touch.

By the time your hand slows, your chest has loosened. You step back, the golden hour light shining perfectly on your art. The canvas is moody and abstract, full of motion and tension, as if something is straining to hold itself together.

You stare at it for a long moment before scribbling a title in the corner with your brush.

My Soul Is Tired

And for the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe.

“Where are we going, Mingyu?”

“You’ll see, baby.”

It was your anniversary two years ago, before everything was busy and the word “tension” didn’t exist in your relationship. Mingyu said he wanted to take you somewhere special—a place he had discovered while on a work trip—and it immediately made him think of you. He asked you to wear the dress he liked with a bathing suit underneath, and you did it happily. You were brimming with curiosity and excitement through the road trip, your eyes sparkling with wonder as the landscape changed around you. Each bend in the road revealed new sights—a breathtaking skyline, lush green valleys, and vibrant bursts of wildflowers on the roadside. You sketched as Mingyu hummed his favorite R&B tracks, occasionally rubbing your thigh to show affection.

Two hours later, Mingyu parked in a small lot that overlooked a breathtaking beach you had never seen before, in a town that you had only heard about in passing but never got a chance to visit. Ever the gentleman, Mingyu came around and opened your door, interwining his fingers into yours as he led you along the path to the beach. The waters were the bluest of blue, sparkling in the sunlight that made them look whimsical, like a fairytale. You were expecting to go to the beach and get in the water when he led you along the coast, leading you into a cavern that was in the barely visible cut.

“What are we doing here?” You asked as you surveyed your surroundings. 

“Trust me, baby, you are going to want to see this.” 

He guided you deeper into the shadows, where the fading light from outside began to vanish completely. For several moments, the only illumination came from the soft glow of Mingyu's phone, casting flickering shadows on the rough walls as he navigated the winding, darkened path. The air grew cooler and thicker, and an eerie stillness enveloped you, heightening every sound echoing in the distance.

“Mingyu—”

You stopped in your tracks when you saw that he led you to paradise. There was a hidden cove with crystal-clear cerulean waters; the sunlight from a gap in the towering cliffs allowed beams of golden sunlight to cascade down on its beauty. Rich emerald seaweed and schools of fish adorned the waters, creating the visuals that you’ve always imagined when you read novels as a kid. 

“I found this when I was away a couple of weeks ago for work,” Mingyu said. “I was walking along the beach trying to get a picture of this place for one of our upcoming projects, and I discovered it. Do you remember when you told me in our dorms that you wanted to see a hidden cove because of Peter Pan?”

You cast a fleeting, tearful glance at him and nodded, your heart softening at that memory. It was so long ago, you didn’t think he would remember something you said in passing while you were in his arms, half asleep. 

“I wanted to make one of your dreams come true,” Mingyu confessed, pulling you towards him. “I love you.”

“Mingyu,” you say with a shaky breath, barely holding your emotions together. “This is the sweetest thing you have ever done for me.”

You kissed him with a zeal that was heartfelt, needed, and so many unsaid words you couldn’t manage to say. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks as the kiss deepened, setting your soul alight. You didn’t have to tell him you loved him too; he knew it, felt it, and that was always enough. If there was a love that could be described as a forever-burning fire that never flickered but raged on, this would be it. He would be it. You two would be it. In that moment, you knew there would never be anyone who would love you like the way he could. And you hoped it would never change.

The house is quiet when Mingyu walks in shortly after six. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that was peaceful or comforting. It is the heavy kind, one that suffocates, and it disturbs his spirit. He slips off his shoes, sets down the groceries on the counter, and connects his phone to the speaker, turning on a R&B playlist he likes to listen to when he is cooking and wants to be in a good mood. He hums softly as he starts preparing his vegetables and getting lost in the music and the aromas around him.  See, Mingyu always believed that when you cook, you cook from the heart and with love. 

And he is deeply in love with you.  

He is going to fix this, or at least try. He bought your favorite red wine and purchased all the right ingredients to make your favorite meal—spaghetti and meatballs. He hadn’t planned this like some grand gesture. It wasn’t flowers or a speech. It was simple. Intentional. Homegrown.

Knowing that you weren’t happy, seeing the fire leave your eyes made him feel like shit. Mingyu promised always to make you smile and never be the reason for you to cry. You are perfect to him, precious, the one person who sees him for who he is and doesn’t have to fake anything. You always put his needs before yours and did it with a smile. You made this apartment a real home, and it would be nothing without you in it. He loves your mind, your chaos, your gentleness, and the way you love. He is going to earn your trust back and bring life back into your eyes again, if it's the last thing he does. 

He turns on the stove and fills the kitchen with warmth: garlic sizzling in olive oil, basil blooming under the heat, meatballs browning slowly in the pan. The sauce simmers, filling the air with a sense of nostalgia. He boils water, humming under his breath, nerves tingling in his fingers. As the pasta softens, he sets the table with candles, napkins folded into uneven triangles. A playlist low in the background—your old painting music. He even put his phone in the drawer.

He was all in tonight.

Just as Mingyu turns off the stove, keys jingle at the door, the lock turning clockwise before it opens, and you step in with a surprised look on your face. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say as you take off your shoes and slip on your slippers. “Are you cooking?”

“Y-yeah, I left work early today,” Mingyu replies nervously, fiddling with the kitchen towel. “I wanted to make you dinner.”

You walk into the kitchen, surveying the scene he has set. Your gaze softens, and a small smile forms on your lips at the sight of the spaghetti and meatballs. The look of satisfaction on your face makes him proud.

“This is nice, Gyu, and it smells great,” you compliment him. “Thank you for this.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says sincerely. “I should have been doing this. You deserve the world.”

He pulls out the chair near the window, your favorite place to sit. “Sit with me?”

You obliged, sitting down as he poured you a glass of wine. Mingyu shuffles in the kitchen while he makes your plate, the excitement mixed with nerves getting the best of him. He wants tonight to go so well, damn near perfect, that it makes you smile for the rest of your life. 

Setting down your dinner, you thank him as he takes a seat across from you, taking you all in. You take a few bites of your spaghetti, moments of silence passing by as the scraping of forks on ceramic plates and the pouring of wine into glasses fill the air.  Mingyu can’t shake the heaviness in the pit of his stomach, wanting to know what’s in that beautiful brain of yours and how he can fix this patch you guys are in. You are magic, his 7th wonder, the light of his life. 

“How’s your art show coming on?” He implores. 

“Oh, um,” you clear your throat. “It’s going alright.”

“Oh?” He leans in slightly, his interest piqued. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

You raise an eyebrow, a hint of surprise on your face as you lean back into your seat. “Really? You want to know about it?”

Your inquisitiveness twists the knots in his stomach further. Is this far you have drifted as a couple, where his genuine interest in your projects feels unexpected? Your passions?

“Of course, I want to know, baby,” Mingyu says, gently taking your hand. “I’m always going to be interested in what you love. You know that.”

“Do I?” You sigh, shaking your head slowly. “When’s the last time you asked about my art or anything remotely related to my interests?”

The ice in your tone makes him flinch, and there is nothing he could say to rebut that. You are right. He hasn’t had a real conversation with you in a while, nor asked about your projects. It was always about work, his projects, and his ambitions for that promotion; and in the midst of that, he indirectly left you behind.

“You’re right,” Mingyu admits, his eyes reflecting regret. “I haven’t been present, and I get why you may not trust me. But I do want to know about your art show and how it’s going.”

You pause for a moment, as if you are deciding whether he is worthy to know that part of you anymore. You bite your lip, folding your arms across and studying him carefully. 

“It’s going okay,” you straighten up in your chair. “Everything is going according to plan. I worked on a piece today and finished it all in one go. It was kind of a last-minute addition.” 

“That’s great, baby!” Mingyu exclaims, clapping his hands. “What’s it called?”

You shifted nervously, drinking the last remnants of your wine before you finally spoke. “My Soul Is Tired.”

The mood sours like milk that’s been out too long. The connotation was so blunt that he would be stupid to question it out loud. Tired. You’re weary of him. The guilt gnaws at him like a parasite; he fucked up so bad that you don’t even feel joy when you see him.  

You wipe your mouth on the napkin, returning your gaze to him. “I appreciate what you are trying to do, Gyu. Really. It means a lot to me that you made my favorite meal, and you are attentive. But this has been going on for almost a year. I am starved for your attention, affection aside from the transactional kiss on the forehead when you leave or the brief look you give me when I ask you a question. I want passion, romance, the tingling I used to feel just by being in your orbit. I feel all alone. I hate this. All of this.” 

You get up and leave the kitchen, making it halfway to your shared room when Mingyu panics, grabbing your hand and pulling you close to him. His heart is racing, the thought of a future without you in it bringing him to his knees.

“I love you,” Mingyu pleads, holding you at your hips. “I don’t want to lose this. Us. This life we have together. I admit I haven’t been the best partner to you, and I’m so fucking sorry that I make you feel alone. We’ve been together almost ten years—a whole decade. I want to marry you one day and have kids with you. Or pets. Whatever you want. Remember that New Year's Eve when we snuck to the roof on campus and watched the fireworks? I promised you that I would give you the world, and I want to keep that promise and put a smile on your face. I fucking love you.”

“Mingyu,” you sigh deeply. “I love you, too. But it’s going to take a lot more than ‘I’m sorry’ to fix this. You’re always sorry. I’m not going to keep putting up with this.”

Mingyu holds you tighter, resting his head on your stomach. He’s afraid to let you out of his grasp; you're precious to him. 

“Tell me what you want,” Mingyu looks at you with puppy dog eyes. “Tell me what to do to make it right.”

His hands start to slide up your dress, his fingers itching to feel the softness of your skin. You look down at him, your breath hitching as you watch him tug at the hems of your underwear and slowly pull them down your legs. Mingyu has this incessant need to make you feel good, to take away the pain that he’s caused. He’s enamored with you, obsessed, and it’s consuming his every thought.

“Gyu,” you murmur, biting your lip. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good,” he whispers, licking his lips. 

Taking your hand, he walks you to the couch, motioning for you to lie down as he lifts your dress. His mouth salivates at the sight of your core, pretty and perfect for him. 

“You’ve been carrying everything,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.” 

He licks so softly at first, his tongue playing with your delicate flower as he savors your taste. He moans as your body arches on the cushions slightly, your fingers finding his hair and whispering his name so sweet and broken, it almost undoes him. 

He’s desperate, groaning into you softly as his tongue laps your juices and drips down his chin. You are the best thing he’s ever tasted, and he can never get enough of the way you squirm at his touch, your thighs trembling as he delves his tongue into you deeper. You lower the straps of your dress and reveal your breasts, pinching your nipples the way that he likes. You’re driving him insane.

“Gyu,” you rasp desperately. “I need you.” 

“You want me, baby?” He cooes, his tongue flattening against your clit. “Is this what you want?”

 “I-I need you,” you breathe heavily. “I’m gonna.. I’m gonna…”

You come with a breathless cry, hand fisted in his hair, and he holds you through every wave. He continues to lick you while your legs shake, coming down from your high beautifully and serenely like the angel you are. Once he is sure you are good, he slowly rises to his feet and gazes at you, on cloud nine. You look dazed, but your eyes are clearer—brighter—and it makes something in his chest crack open.

You reach for him wordlessly, pulling him into a hungry kiss that is mind-numbing and cathartic. You tug at his pants, pulling them down and his boxers down in one go, revealing his hardened cock already glistening with precum. 

“Are you sure?” He asks softly, lifting you off the couch. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want you.”

MIngyu lowers himself onto the couch, guiding you carefully to his lap as you hike your dress up higher, sinking onto him slowly. He cocks his head back as your heat swallows him inch by inch, his hands on your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. 

“Fuck,” he curses. “You feel perfect.”

You move gently, your hands on his chest as you set a rhythm, your eyes peering into his soul in a way that sets him ablaze. You feel euphoric, almost forbidden, and when he feels you tighten around him, it makes him want to go harder, deeper. He picks up the pace, thrusting into you harder and pulling you into a deep kiss, the gushiness of your cunt being heard with each thrust. You moan against his mouth, matching his energy and fucking him back, tightening your hand around his throat. 

“Is this how you want it, baby?” He groans. “You want me to fuck you hard and deep until I feel you up with my cum.”

You nod fervently, clearly at a loss for words. But MIngyu will not accept that; he wants you to use your words. 

“Say it,” he grunts, slapping your ass. “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard and deep.” 

“Mingyu. YES! Damn it, please just—”

He snaps, lifting you abruptly and driving into you while he holds your legs, fixated on feeling you clench on his cock. He loves the way your face contorts into pleasure, each stroke he gives you pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He doesn’t let up, instead walking forward until your back is against the wall. Your hair is messy, you’re both sweaty, skin to skin, and to him, this is perfect.

“You’re close, baby.” his breath is shaky. “I can feel it. I know you.” 

You nod, biting your lip, and he kisses you with everything in him, relishing in your taste and everything you give him until you fall apart in his arms. He holds you through it, not stopping or letting go as his thrusts are becoming rigid, his impending release rippling through him like a storm. He comes with your name on his lips, holding you flush against him, breathing hard against your neck.

Mingyu feels everything at once—his love for you, his desperation to keep you, and your sadness at the relationship reaching this point. He kisses your temple, your nose, and lastly your lips, pulling out of you slowly and making sure you can stand on your own two feet. 

“I’m going to be better,” he whispers, kissing you again. “I promise.” 

You don’t say anything right away. You just pull him into a hug and hold him close. He feels the way your body relaxes and your heart slows against him, and he lets out a deep breath, full of relief. 

Maybe, just maybe, you might start to trust him again.

AN2: What did we think about part 2? I am so invested in these two and all of the events that are going to follow after :)

Part 3 will be coming soon! I have a project that is coming up that is due at the end of August so this series will not be updated as quickly this time :( but I will be working on it in between <3

taglist: @ameliamirabela @dmstoyangyang @codeinebelle @asasilentreader @dibidibidismynameisleeknow @shadowkoo @gyupremacy @superpietom @junplusone @cheolifyme @lovetaroandtaemin @babycaratdeul @junniesoleilkth @childish-fear @chykyu @gaslysainz @gyuwoosbabie @tacitanecdote @gyuguys @hoe4wonwoo @gyutheonlyone4me @ghostvx

[bluebnny]

👀 if its okay with you, could I request some smut of Law x reader who had long ago said if he needed he could fool around while they are asleep? Like him coming to bed late and just boom! Suddenly horny seeing his lover sleeping in his bed in his old yellow hoodie.

I am high key feral for this man 🥵

Yellow hoodie

Part 1 - Part 2

trafalgar law x reader

contents: established relationship. this is written with law’s POV, even though he’s still referred to in the 3rd person. law (drunk) sees reader (drunk) asleep in his hoodie and goes feral. reader wakes up. mostly rough, but with soft moments

warnings: dub-con (drunk sex, somnophilia), rough sex, multiple orgasms (reader), overstimulation, some fear play (law gets aroused when reader is in shock), slight pain in the beginning (reader), unprotected sex – it's mentioned that reader has a safe word, but it isn’t used – reader is mostly GN, but has a vagina

a/n: i had a blast writing this, as I am also high key feral for this man. hope i didn’t go too off the rails. the words just wouldn’t stop. it's long bc i used the beginning for a drunk sex fic i had planned but never finished. also i hope it's ok that reader wakes up. happy reading, i hope you enjoy <3 :D

word count: 2.753

There’s something very soft about Law when he’s drunk. The usual sharp glares smoothed down into something far more tender. His gaze directed only at you. And try as he might – he’s clearly trying his best – he can’t quite stop himself from looking a little love-drunk whenever you’re around.

He’s all slow blinks and ruffled hair, undeniably cute. And that’s exactly how he looks as he enters through the door of your shared bedroom.

It’s Friday, meaning the crew are having a few drinks to wind down from the week. Law always joins them. Not out of free will, of course; he just happens to be the only crew member for whom attendance is mandatory.

Some time ago, the crew had reached an agreement with Law about needing to attend a certain number of social gatherings, including friday drinks, holidays, and birthday celebrations. It even means that Law has to attend his own birthday, much to his dismay.

Law, being the way he is, and dealing with a heap of trauma, tends to shut himself off in his office to drown himself in work. He does so even more when his mental health spirals, making his depressive episodes completely unforeseeable and unmanageable. His friends have found that the most effective method of preventing them is to make sure he has regular social interactions to force his attention onto something else.

Law obviously finds this arrangement stupid, but the effect is undeniable. He will begrudgingly show up at 7 on the dot, have a few drinks, loosen up a little – sometimes going so far as to even smile – and then be tipsy enough to go straight to bed upon returning. It has the added benefit of making him sleep in on Saturdays, much to your delight, as it means morning cuddles.

So, as much as he tries to fight it, the rule stays. It really does do wonders for his mental health, which is apparent from the way he’s standing by the door, a little drunk, and clearly in a good mood.

But his good mood turns into something… else when he sees you. There you are, fast asleep in his bed, huddled up to escape the biting cold of the metal sub. The Polar Tang is submerged, letting very little light into the room, but Law can still make out the top of your head peeking out from under the blanket.

He hadn’t felt it before, too focused on making conversation with the crew. But now that he’s alone with you in the room, with nothing but your soft breathing and the fuzziness in his head, he feels that familiar pull in the pit of his stomach telling him he’s getting aroused.

Just as he’s about to tell himself to wait for morning, he remembers a conversation the two of you had some months ago. You had somehow gotten onto the topic of sex, sharing kinks and personal fantasies. Law distinctly remembers you saying you’d be ok with him doing things in your sleep. He was a little taken aback at the time but suddenly feels himself growing very fond of the idea.

He only stands still for a few more seconds before jumping into action. Eyes never leaving you, he hurries over to the bed as quietly as possible while taking off his clothes. He slides under the covers behind you; very carefully, so as not to wake you. The alcohol is getting to his head a little, but what really gets him riled up is the fact that you’re wearing his old yellow hoodie for extra warmth.

He lets out a quiet “fuck” when he sees it, and feels himself grow painfully hard. You’re not usually a heavy sleeper, but the alcohol must have gotten to you, too, seeing as you would normally wake up from his movements. He still decides to use his devil fruit powers to take off your clothes, though. Just in case. He wants to savour this. Having you completely defenceless under him.

With a flick of Law’s hand, you’re left in nothing but his yellow hoodie, and it’s taking everything in him to remain in control of himself. He gently moves his body closer to yours, willing himself to take his time. Telling himself that it’ll be more than worth it.

When his back is pressed completely to yours, Law wraps his free arm around your front and moves it down to your core. He almost lets out a groan when his fingers are met with wetness; but manages to catch himself just in time.

Law can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous about something. His heart is hammering so loud he’s afraid you might wake up from the sound alone. But he simply needs to see your reaction to being woken up stuffed full of him. So, although he wants nothing more than to shove himself inside you right now, Law decides to be patient for a moment longer. He skilfully finds your clit and rubs his fingers over it a few times, testing the waters of how far he could go with you like this.

He freezes when you let out a little noise and shift a bit, but it seems his actions aren’t enough to wake you just yet. With this, he decides not to push it further.

Law grabs his cock – throbbing with need, and rock hard – and aligns it with your soaking entrance.

He slides it in. Fast. Before you get the chance to stop him.

When you wake up, he’s already buried deep. Almost down to the base. The sudden intrusion making you clamp down so hard that it’s impossible for him to move any further. You squeak in surprise as you wake up, and the need inside him grows impossibly strong at the way your body jolts in alarm. He lets out a low groan of pleasure, trying not to get too lost in it just yet.

“Shhh, baby. It’s ok, it’s just me.” He shushes you, knowing this is probably quite a shock to you, despite having technically agreed to it beforehand.

“L- Law?” Your voice is a quiet whimper, and he can feel how scared you are. He feels bad for you, but the sound makes his cock twitch, and that’s currently the part of his body that has the most executive power.

“Yes, y/n, it’s me. Can you breathe for me, baby?”

He feels you suck in a shaking breath that you clearly didn’t realize you were holding, and your body relaxes slightly beneath his. He takes this as his opportunity to push himself even further inside your tight heat, making you let out another helpless whine.

His hand moves to your hip, thumb caressing your skin in soothing circles. It has the added benefit of keeping you in place, as he can feel you try to squirm away from the brutal intrusion.

“Go back to sleep, y/n. Let me use you a little, yeah?”

“O- ok.” Your body relaxes a little further into the mattress, but he knows you aren’t sleeping. Just tired, and very disoriented.  

“Fuck, you’re being so good f’me.”

When Law feels you squirming less, he lets go of your hip, burying his large, tattooed hand under the yellow sweatshirt that you’re still wearing. Snaking it around your middle to rest between where your ribs meet the bed, pulling you into him tightly.

Law rocks his hips into yours, slow at first, but quickly starts to thrust a little deeper when he no longer sees any traces of pain or fear on your face.

He keeps kneading your insides to accommodate him. Pushing himself in and out of your tight hole, while watching the look on your face slowly turn from one of utter confusion into pure bliss.

And fuck, he loves it.

There’s something about your expression that completely enraptures him. Your mouth hangs slightly open. Only closing to bite your lower lip when he forces a particularly deep thrust into you. The way your eyes are still a little unfocused from a mix of drowsiness, alcohol, and undeniable pleasure. Your eyebrows – restless – tense every time he bottoms out, easing slightly when he pulls back.

It's adorable.

He could stare at you like this for hours, closely studying every detail and movement of your face. Every subtle change in expression from how his actions affect you. But he’s snapped out of it when you give a high pitched yelp and start gushing around him, shaking in his tight embrace.

Law can only watch in awe as your body tenses beneath his. Reeling from the way your tight pussy spasms around his fat length. As you lose control of your limbs. Of your voice.

Did you really just cum? Already?

It’s only been a few minutes. Law is so taken aback that he almost forgets to keep fucking you through your high. But there isn’t much of an interruption. His hips started moving on autopilot the second he felt you clamping down on his cock.

He recovers quickly.

“Fuck, you like this more than you were letting on.” You can’t see it, as you’re facing away from him, but a devilish smirk spreads across your boyfriend’s face. He hears you let out a little whine, your hand coming up behind you to pathetically push at his hips.

“Aww, you need a break?” He coos, mocking you.

When he sees your tiny, pathetic nod, Law decides to have mercy on you. For now. Although you aren’t using your safe word, he knows this must be a lot for you, and is a little worried you might have forgotten it in the confusion.

So, he compromises by stilling his hips; but doesn’t pull out of you just yet.

“Hey, y/n. You alright?” His voice is still soft, but more serious this time, lightly nudging your head with the arm supporting it. He wants to show you he expects an answer and isn’t just teasing.

You slowly look up at him, and he almost melts from the expression on your face. You’re still glassy-eyed, clearly a little discoordinated, and panting hard. But you nod at his question, and he doesn’t miss the subtle way in which your mouth turns up into a weak – but very pleased – smile.

“Ok, good. Just making sure.” And he starts pressing kisses to your face and neck, partly to reassure you, partly to distract himself from the sudden urge to violently rut into you again. His hand, still under your side, caresses your heaving chest in lazy circles.

It’s only when you let out a satisfied, breathy giggle that he notices his actions. They aren’t purposeful, but your reaction makes him realize that you aren’t the only one who’s completely fucked out. Law is whipped.

He grumbles slightly. It must be the alcohol. He thinks, trying to find any explanation at all for his uncharacteristically lovey state. But he knows damn well it isn’t the alcohol making him grin back at you when you give him a dopey smile.

To compensate, he gives you a hard thrust that he knows must have punched you right in the cervix, judging by how your mouth is ripped open in a silent scream.

“Break’s over.” That’s all the warning you get.

With that, Law starts back up into a brutal pace, even rougher than before. He watches your eyes snap wide open again, and pulls you tighter against his chest. Knowing you’re about to try wriggling free from the overstimulation.

His fingers find your nipple this time, rubbing it in almost soothing motions that contrast greatly with everything else he’s doing to your poor, exhausted body.

Law keeps fucking you like this for a while, simply enjoying the moment through the fuzziness in his head. Both of you are completely delirious from alcohol, pleasure, and in your case, sleep.

The room is filled with sounds; harsh snaps of skin against skin, heavy breathing, blankets rustling, and your exhausted, broken whines drowning it all out. But it doesn’t feel loud to either of you, too lost in the moment to register anything beyond the sensations running wild in your bodies.

When you eventually try pushing away from him again, Law is prepared. Lifting the forearm resting under your head, he traps your neck behind it, forcing your shoulders to press into his chest. He isn’t applying pressure, only doing enough to keep you in place while his other hand roughly grips the soft plush of your belly.

Your back is arching from the pleasure, but unable to move further with your head and hips anchored to Law’s much larger torso.

It doesn’t take long before you start squirming in that specific way that tells Law you’re on the verge of another orgasm. He’s determined to push you over the edge one more time before reaching his own high, which is also fast approaching.

So, as much as he loves resting his hand on your soft stomach, he moves his fingers further down to once again attach themselves to your clit, rubbing it in messy circles.

The effect is immediate.

Although Law has barely touched you, you’re violently coming apart for the second time that night. He keeps snapping his hips into your soft ass, completely entranced at the sight before him. There’s something mesmerizing in how you helplessly writhe and squirm in his hold. Combined with the feeling of you desperately trying to clamp down on his cock that already has you stretched so wide, he knows he isn’t going to last much longer.

Trying to hold on as much as possible, he focuses on continuing his movements on your body, but it’s no use. The sight of your vulnerable form struggling underneath him with agonizing pleasure is simply too much. He sees your eyes roll into the back of your head before closing his own. Letting the high overtake him.

Law’s pace speeds up even faster than before as he tumbles over the edge. He keeps a searing grip on your hip again, keeping you firmly in place as he rides out his high.

It feels like flying and falling at the same time. He is fully aware of every nerve in his body, and at the same time too blissed out to fully register anything that’s happening.

Time seems to stand still. Or maybe it speeds up.

It’s impossible to tell, because his brain is not working like usual. The white-hot pleasure is coursing through his body like fire in his veins, shutting out all common sense. All he can do is to let himself enjoy it.

When he opens his eyes and slows down again – whether it’s been years or mere seconds, he doesn’t know – Law finally feels the exhaustion overtaking him.

His body is heavy against the mattress, and he can feel you trembling beneath him ever so slightly, which is what fully snaps him back to reality.

“Hey, y/n. Baby, are you ok?”

His hand is on your shoulder now, nudging it as gently as he can with the way his body isn’t fully back under his control yet.

“Yeah.” It’s very quiet. So quiet he would have missed it had he not seen your lips move. “I’m good.” You even smile weakly, but he can tell that it’s genuine.

He slumps down on his back in relief, a contented sigh escaping him. “Good. I was afraid it was too much for a sec.” But he can hear your breathing slowly even out, becoming deep and steady. And he knows you must have fallen asleep again.

The tiredness is overcoming him as well, impossible to escape, especially with the sense of profound relaxation that always remains after an intense orgasm. Every cell in his body feels tired, and the remaining fuzziness from the alcohol makes it impossible to resist sinking into the mattress.

…

Law doesn’t know how long he dozed off for. He jolts awake, sitting bolt upright, and looks over to your still sleeping form. He scrambles off the bed and picks you up despite how peaceful you look. He has more important things to worry about.

He doesn’t want to disturb your sleep a second time, but when Law is neither drunk, aroused, or angry, the only thing that remains is pure doctor. He carries you off to the bathroom, all while scolding you, even though he knows you’re too far gone to hear him.

“Y/n. You have to remember to pee after sex!”

thank you for reading!! I really hope you liked it <3<3 sorry the title is so rushed again, i literally always forget to think of one until the last second

(Dividers made by me)

(This is my fic, don't repost or use in any AI training programmes! Reblogs are always appreciated <3) Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

Part 1 - Part 2

[33lol]

Experiment - Part 2

Pazzi (paige x azzi)

SMUT

warnings: sexual content, some plot at the beginning, fluff, complete filth after, spitting, choking, biting, oral/strap sucking, slapping (tits, ass, pussy), strap usage, degradation, sex toys, squirting, being tied down and blindfolded, use of whip, handcuffs and restraints

MDNI

wc: 4.6k

Paige and Azzi woke up the next morning tangled in the sheets of Paige’s bed. Azzi’s face was tucked into Paige’s neck with her lips pressed against it. Paige had her hand across Azzi’s stomach, cradling her like she would somehow disappear.

The morning light began to peek through the blinds, stirring Azzi first, “Mmm so bright.” She scooted even further into Paige. Paige squeezed her hip tighter but couldn’t fall back into a peaceful sleep. She shifted slightly, grabbing her phone from the night stand, not moving too far from the girl next to her.

It was around 9:30 on Saturday, meaning they had nowhere to be. Practice was canceled, they didn’t have classes, and their teammates texted early in the group chat that some of them would be visiting home for the weekend.

Leaving Azzi and Paige having the whole dorm to themselves—just how they liked it. Paige took her hand and cradled Azzi’s face, running slow circles with her thumb across her cheek. “Baby wake up.”

Hearing “baby” coming from Paige’s mouth after the night they just had together immediately brought a crooked smile to Azzi’s face. “I like that word.”

Paige let out a soft giggle, “You are my baby. Especially now. Which is also what I wanna talk to you about.”

Azzi looked up at this curiously. “What baby?”

“I wanna take you out. I know we did things kind of out of order, which I don’t regret at all, but I still wanna make sure I do the rest right. So, I wanna take you out for real.”

Azzi looked at her, brown doe eyes meeting ocean blue ones—full of admiration and love. “Ok,” she said blushing. “That sounds nice.”

Paige smiled back at her. “I wanna do it as a day date today so we can have the evening to ourselves,” she said, smirking with a raised eyebrow.

Azzi blushed and hid her face with her hand. “Paige!”

“What!?” Paige said with a bright toothy grin feigning innocence. “I want today to be special. I’m going to make it special. Because you are special and you deserve it.”

“I love you P,” Azzi said softly looking up at her.

“And I love you.”

—————

When it hit around noon, Paige told Azzi to start getting ready. Paige picked their outfits, wanting them to coordinate. Azzi wore a light blue tank top with baggy black jeans—riding low on her waist showing off her belly button piercing that Paige was obsessed with—along with clean air forces. Paige wore a white cropped tank top with a black denim jacket over it and jorts. They also happened to be wearing each other’s favorite hairstyles—Paige with her slick back bun and Azzi having her goddess braids done.

Once they were ready, they walked to the car where Paige opened the door for Azzi. They got in the car and didn’t say much for a while, just marinating in each other’s company and vibing to some R&B. At some point into the drive, Azzi grew curious of what Paige had planned.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked looking over at Paige.

Paige answered, knowing Azzi didn’t like surprises because they made her anxious, “It’s a new restaurant about 20 minutes away. It’s supposed to be a nice outdoor spot with a pretty lookout view.”

Azzi smiled at Paige’s thoughtfulness of planning a fun date for them. She reached over for Paige’s hand and placed it on her thigh, resting hers on top. Paige kept her eyes on the road, but couldn’t hide the smile that bloomed on her face.

They got to the restaurant and were seated quickly, Paige having requested a table outside. It was nice enough outside that the sun was out but not beating down, and there was a breeze. At one point Paige saw Azzi shiver and gave her her jacket. Azzi didn’t protest, just smiled shyly and dipped her head.

Paige ordered for both of them—Azzi being extremely indecisive, Paige had done this for a while now. Azzi had a lemon chicken salad and Paige had chicken tenders with fries.

“You’re such a child,” Azzi laughed at her.

“I will change for no one,” Paige shot back with her lip quirked.

“Don’t. I love you as you are.”

Paige blushed and gave Azzi the smile that made her cheekbones pop. She got up from her seat and led Azzi to the lookout spot. They stood there looking at the view for a minute, but Paige was looking at Azzi more than she was the hills. She turned Azzi toward her and held her hips.

“I wanna ask you something ma”

Azzi looked slightly up at her, “Anything baby.”

Paige smirked, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Azzi’s face lit up and she jumped on Paige. Paige was taken aback but spun them around a few times and set her back down. “So is that a yes?”

“Yes Bighead!” Azzi beamed.

Later, when they were done and in the car again, Paige started driving in the opposite direction of their dorm.

“Are we going somewhere else?” Azzi asked her while looking out the window.

Paige smirked and turned her head toward Azzi, “I have one more stop on the list before we head back.”

They pulled up a couple minutes later to a building that was vaguely advertised and neutral in color called “Love Loud.” A sex shop.

“Where are we?” Azzi asked as Paige held the car door open for her.

Paige didn’t say anything and just guided her inside while holding the door.

When they walked in, Azzi's face lit up in shock. She turned to Paige who was just smiling and licking her lips. A worker greeted them and told them if they needed anything to ask her.

Paige leaned in Azzi’s ear, “Thought we could get some tools to help us out,” she said winking.

“Oh my god,” Azzi said giggling. Azzi pulled Paige’s hand and led them to a wall with different strap options. Paige pointed at a few different ones, but they ended up landing on one that had two different dildo inserts—one smaller and one larger, both being purple of course. It also had the option of an insert or vibrator for the person wearing it.

Azzi started looking around subtly. Paige noticed, “You wanna keep lookin around mama?”

Azzi just nodded while blushing.

“Ok, c’mon. If you see something, just point it out. I’m open to anything. And I mean that.”

Azzi held Paige’s hand, “Okay P. Same here.”

They made their way to a section toward the back of the store. They stood there frozen in place for a second just staring. Then Azzi looked at Paige with those eyes—ones she could never say no to.

“Pick what you want baby. I’m good with anything.”

They were in front of several whips, chains, and BDSM items. Azzi looked over the wall, thinking about what Paige mentioned the night before. She grabbed a small whip with cut leather strips coming off of it, as well as an adjustable bar to spread legs at different levels. She also picked out two pairs of handcuffs and a vibrator that went on the clit and inside. Paige saw a blindfold out of the corner of her eye that she got as well.

They checked out, eager to get back home. When they were in the car, they didn’t say much to fill the silence. They held hands and Paige kissed Azzi’s hand, holding her lips there for a beat. Azzi tilted her body and leaned slightly across the glove box. They let the gravity of the moment overtake the silence in the car and the trust between them simmer, thinking about what was to come that night.

When they arrived back at the dorm, they walked inside hand in hand. They set the stuff by the door for now and went to their room to change into comfier clothes. It was only the afternoon, so they put on a movie that neither of them were entirely watching.

Paige had Azzi in her lap, rubbing her thighs. She looked at Azzi, “Hey baby,” Azzi turned her head. “I just want to check in and see where your head is at.. y’know.. about later.”

Azzi smiled softly at her while stroking her hair, “I’m sure about it. All of it. I want you to enjoy yourself like you want me to. If there’s ever something you don’t like or feels uncomfortable, you tell me. No questions asked. You never owe me a reason for stopping either.”

Paige brushed her knuckles along her jaw, “And I want you to feel good with whatever we do. I want you to feel loved.. even if it’s not always slow and sensual. You have just as much say in this as I do.”

Azzi nodded and leaned forward to kiss Paige—intertwining their lips together, slow and deliberate. They took their time getting to know each other’s lips while rubbing along each other’s arms and legs. They didn’t watch any more of the movie. Just sat there on the couch, tasting each other.

At some point when the credits were rolling, Azzi’s stomach grumbled. Paige broke away from her and furrowed her brows at the curly haired girl, “You hungry mama?”

Azzi nodded, “Yeah kinda”

“Let’s DoorDash something then,” Paige said while pulling out her phone and handing it to Azzi. “You pick since I chose lunch.”

Azzi scrolled for what felt like eternity, but Paige never rushed her. Just watched the girl on her lap who she loved beyond words and hummed when Azzi wanted an opinion. Azzi had her eyebrows knitted in concentration and was biting one of her fingernails. She finally landed on Noodles and Company and Paige set the order. It was these intimate moments that they cherished the most.

The food arrived a bit later and the two ate like they were starved for three months. They didn’t say much, just talked about practice next week and their upcoming finals.

After they finished up they went to the kitchen and threw away their trash.

“Should we clean them first?” Paige asked, referring to their new purchases.

“Definitely.”

They cleaned them together in the sink, making sure they were ready to be used. Azzi leaned up and gave Paige a peck on the cheek. Paige bumped Azzi with her hip in retaliation.

Once they were done, they took the items to their room. When they walked in, the energy shifted to something heavier It was thick with anticipation—both of nerves and excitement. Paige pulled Azzi in by the waist and looked over her face before connecting their lips. They pulled apart and Paige locked eyes with Azzi’s brown ones,

“Safe word is red. No explanation needed. Just comfort and safety after.”

Azzi nodded with a softness in her eyes, appreciating every thought that ran through Paige’s head—coming from nowhere but a place of genuine love.

She let her hands roam lower until they got to Azzi’s ass. She squeezed hard, eliciting a soft whimper against her mouth. Paige dipped down and wrapped her hands around Azzi’s thighs, picking her up without her even having to jump. Paige was kissing her neck and ear simultaneously, which turned Azzi on fast. Paige walked them over to the bed and laid Azzi down. Paige got close to her ear, “How you want it mama?”

Azzi was somewhat breathless, “I want it rough. Just..still go slow at first please.”

Paige nodded immediately and kissed her neck. “I got you baby. Just relax and feel, ok?”

Azzi sighed at her voice in that low tone and the sensation of her tongue tracing her ear. Paige took her hands and started pulling at Azzi’s nipples through her shirt. Azzi arched into Paige at this and let out a soft moan. Paige slowly lifted the shirt over Azzi’s head, inch by inch, revealing her further. Paige leaned down and gave kitten licks to one nipple while pinching at the other one. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming in the best way for her. Paige let her hands roam lower and grab the waist band of Azzi’s boxers, sliding them down Azzi’s glistening legs.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

Azzi watched Paige cross the room and rummage through the new toys. When she saw Paige grab the strap, her breath hitched. Paige stood at the foot of the bed and stripped herself of her own clothes, watching Azzi try not to squirm too much. Paige slipped on the harness and slid in one of the dildo choices, as well as the vibrator for herself. Being mindful that this was still each of their second times having sex and first with a strap, Paige picked the smaller one for now. While looking Azzi in the eye, Paige turned on the vibrator and started stroking the strap. She climbed on the bed and sat against the headboard.

“Come here,” Paige said while patting the spot in front of her.

Azzi got up and knelt in front of Paige on her knees. Paige reached forward and grabbed Azzi by the back of her neck, “Be a good girl for me and get daddy wet, yeah?”

Azzi didn’t have much time to nod before Paige was shoving her face down. Azzi closed her mouth around the strap, leaving it wet with her spit as she bobbed her head up and down.

“Such a slut. Getting daddy all wet like it’s your job” Paige groaned out.

As Azzi’s answer, she swirled her tongue around the tip and spit on it. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Paige slapped the dildo on it, along with her cheeks. Paige shoved her head back down while a whimper slipped from her lips, “Fuck baby.”

Azzi looked up at her while sucking it and Paige rolled her eyes while throwing her head back. The vibrator on her clit made seeing Azzi gag on the dildo feel real. Paige thrusted her hips up into Azzi’s mouth while pushing her head down at the same time—allowing her to take all 6 inches in her throat. Azzi gagged and Paige released her head, letting her ease up. When Azzi pulled off, a string of saliva came with her. Azzi flashed Paige a devilish smile when she looked up at her with dark eyes.

“Good girl,” Paige praised.

Paige sat up more and moved toward Azzi who was sitting back kneeling on her knees. She grabbed her head and kissed her aggressively.

“Too much?” Paige asked out of reassurance.

“Just enough,” Azzi said smiling.

Paige smirked and lowered her hands to Azzi’s neck, “Now you’re gonna take what daddy gives you from behind.”

Azzi’s breath caught and she could feel her slick dripping down her thighs. Paige shoved her down on her stomach and leaned over her back, “Ass up, face down,” she said in a rough voice.

Azzi obeyed, keeping her face in the sheets and arching up until Paige rewarded her with a harsh slap on the ass. “Mmph—” Azzi moaned out. That got her another slap to the other side—reminding Paige they bought a whip earlier. “Stay here baby.”

Paige grabbed the whip and got behind Azzi again. Paige started running the tip through Azzi’s folds, wetting every part of her cunt with her slick. When Paige went over Azzi’s clit, Azzi jolted forward. Paige smacked the whip against her ass and reached around her stomach, pulling her back up.

“Don’t run from daddy. You can take it. I got you.”

Azzi resumed her arch and Paige smacked the whip again. “Mmm this pussy so wet and this ass so big for me.”

“All for you daddy,” Azzi said in a breathy tone.

Paige then slid the tip into Azzi’s cunt, letting it sit there for a second—knowing Azzi had never felt this stretch before.

“Ahh—fuck—oh my god P”

Paige rubbed her hand over Azzi’s ass and then squeezed her hip, “I know baby, I got you. Want you to feel good on daddy’s dick.”

Azzi nodded, letting Paige know she was okay to keep going. Paige slid in further, slow, letting Azzi feel each inch and every vein on the dildo. Once she was in all the way, she paused for another second to let Azzi adjust. Azzi moved her hips back when she was ready and Paige hit her with the whip again.

“This pussy already so good for me”

Paige pulled out so just the tip was in and pushed in again, setting a slow but firm rhythm. Azzi was groaning into the sheets from the stretch. Paige watched where they met with her mouth hanging open. The vibrator still pressing enough on Paige’s clit to keep her on the edge. Paige smacked her ass and started to speed up her thrusts. The sound coming from between them was loud, filthy, and messy. The sound made Azzi wetter by the second and easier for Paige to slide in and out.

Paige kept up her pace while reaching around to Azzi’s throat and pulled her up slightly. She squeezed her throat and then turned Azzi’s face so she could press a sloppy, rushed kiss to her lips. She let go and moved her hand down Azzi’s side and then to her clit. Azzi let her face fall back into the sheets as Paige gave no mercy to the pressure and force she put on Azzi’s bud. She rubbed fast and hard circles while thrusting aggressively into Azzi from the back.

“C’mon mommy. You’re so beautiful like this. You like being my slut? I love this view—fuck”

These jumbled words slipping from Paige’s mouth had Azzi right on the cusp of climaxing and spilling all over Paige’s strap. Paige was overstimulated from her vibrator, but in the best way—seeing Azzi in this position did something to her, and had her so close to finishing.

“Daddy—I’m gon—fuck I’m gonna cum”

“Me too baby. Cum for me. Wanna feel all of you. Give it to me.”

It took one more hard thrust before Azzi gushed all over the strap and Paige came at the sight below her and also from the vibrations hitting her clit just right. Paige clicked off the vibrator quickly, but stayed still in Azzi for a little longer—not wanting to pull out too suddenly.

Azzi let out a long sigh.

“Am I good to pull out ma?”

Azzi barely nodded into the sheets and Paige slipped out slowly. Azzi gasped at the emptiness and let her body fall forward fully onto the bed. Paige took the harness off and set it a few feet away from them on the bed. She peppered kisses along the backside of Azzi—from the backs of her thighs, then on her butt, and finally trailing up her spine and onto her neck. She laid next to Azzi and rubbed her back, waiting for the younger girl to come back from her high.

“You good ma? Was I okay?” Paige asked out of curiosity for herself and wanting to make sure Azzi enjoyed it.

Azzi turned her head to her and smiled softly, “I’m so good baby. That was perfect. You were perfect.”

Paige brushed a braid out of her face and kissed her forehead. Azzi smiled and lifted up so she could straddle Paige. Paige rested her hands on Azzi’s hips and looked up at her curious as to what she planned on doing. Azzi pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and started rolling her hips while pinning Paige’s hands above her head. Azzi let her lip go and ran her tongue over it, then leaned by Paige’s ear, “Mine turn daddy.”

Paige sighed and tried to rut her hips up to gain some friction, but Azzi was quick to nip at Paige’s neck, signaling her to be still. Azzi trailed her warm breath over the spot and pecked it with her lips. She moved so their foreheads were almost touching and their eyes locked.

“What do you want P?” Azzi asked while still grinding down at a slow pace.

Paige was breathing heavily at this point and couldn’t get much out, “You. Hard—please”

Azzi smirked, liking how fucked out she had Paige right now and she’d barely even touched her. “Mmm.. I got a few ideas in mind then.”

Azzi climbed off of Paige and instinctively moved her hands back down to her sides, but that was not what Azzi wanted. “Uh uh—hands stay up. I’ll be right back.”

Azzi grabbed the pairs of handcuffs and the adjustable bar to spread her legs, as well as the blindfold. Azzi climbed back on the bed and laid the stuff by Paige. She leaned down by Paige’s ear and whispered, “So fucking good for mommy.”

Paige whimpered and licked her bottom lip. Azzi leaned back and grabbed the handcuffs. She took Paige’s left hand and cuffed it to the left side of the headboard, then did the same for the right side.

In a low but sincere voice, Azzi said, “You say the word and we stop.”

Paige nodded but knew she wouldn’t be using that safe word any time soon.

Azzi grabbed the adjustable bar and moved down to Paige’s ankles. She cuffed them in, and spread the bar as far as it could go. Azzi leaned back, taking in Paige spread out for her. Paige had never even really thought she would be one to give up control so easily, but with Azzi it was natural. Not even a question. She felt safe and appreciated—just like she tried to do for Azzi.

“Damn baby,” she crawled next to Paige and leaned by her ear again, “You’re about to get fucked up.”

Paige whined—like actually whined and then squeezed her eyes shut. Azzi moved one of her hands to Paige’s neck and squeezed just enough for Paige to let out another moan. Azzi reached for the blindfold and kissed Paige’s lips before slipping it over her eyes. Paige was completely exposed—bare to Azzi, and emotionally submissive. Azzi took the strap from next to Paige and got in the harness, changing out the vibrator for the insert on herself. It was still soaked with her cum from earlier—giving Azzi an idea. She straddled Paige’s chest, took two fingers and hooked them in Paige’s mouth. Paige opened wide with her tongue out. Azzi let a long string of spit drop from her mouth into Paige’s.

She swallowed then opened her mouth again. Azzi smiled, “You want more? So greedy.”

Paige was unaware of the strap being in her face—until Azzi let the weight of the tip hit Paige’s tongue. Paige moaned from the suddenness and the sweet taste of Azzi on it. She moved her tongue around it, licking it up. Then Azzi pressed it further in so Paige could start taking it. Azzi pushed in deep, making Paige choke—gurgling some spit on the corner of her mouth.

Azzi pulled back slightly, running her hand through Paige’s hair. “So good baby.”

Paige knew she was fucked. Azzi having all the power over her was either her greatest dream or her worst nightmare. (We all know which one it is) Azzi stayed straddled, but shifted lower, in between Paige’s legs. Paige knew what was to come and was so eager that she lifted her hips trying to get closer to Azzi. Obviously that didn’t work because of her legs being spread four feet wide and her hands being cuffed above her.

Azzi giggled at her out of pity, then slapped one of her tits as a punishment. “Use your words like a big girl.”

Paige just whined, getting another slap, harder on her other tit. She arched at the sensation, but still couldn’t get any words out. She pinched Paige’s nipples—making her let out a low, guttural sound. Azzi finally started running the tip through her folds, wetting her cunt with a mix of their arousals. Paige sucked in a breath when Azzi went over her clit—still being partially sensitive, but she also liked the overstimulation.

Before Azzi went any further, she reached down and slapped Paige’s pussy. The more she tried different things, the more she realized that Paige liked pain.

Azzi could practically see her cunt pulsing and ready for her. She lined the tip up with her cunt and pushed in—inch by inch, letting her adjust to the length and girth. Paige moaned high and breathy,

“Fuuuckk—mommy! So good”

Azzi was in all the way now and started moving slowly—in and out, watching herself meet Paige. Azzi could also feel everything, having an insert inside herself. Each thrust sent a new spark through her. It really was like she could feel herself inside Paige. Azzi leaned down, still moving, and started biting at Paige’s neck and jaw. She began to thrust a little faster and kissed right below her ear. Paige’s mouth was hung open—in awe of how good it felt to be split open so intensely.

Azzi hovered over Paige’s chest and spit on her tits, then pumped in and out of her pussy harder.

“Take it like a good slut. Can’t get enough of you,” Azzi growled.

Paige was a moaning mess. Hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, face flushed, nails digging into her palms, toes curled—yet enjoying every second of it. Azzi was already building up her climax again—making her pound Paige’s pussy at an unfathomable speed now. Azzi used her thumb to start circling Paige’s clit. She applied just enough pressure to have Paige arching her back far off the bed. Azzi doubled down at this, wanting to get off as well.

She continued her attack on Paige’s clit while using her other hand to squeeze Paige's throat—enough to hold her weight, but not enough to actually hurt her.

Paige was overwhelmed by the many stimulations. It only took a couple more thrusts before Azzi came all over the harness and felt a loud gush of liquid come from below her. She looked down, slowing her rhythm, “Holy fuck baby. That was hot as shit!”

Paige squirted all over the dildo and Azzi’s thighs. Paige couldn’t even be embarrassed because it felt so incredible—the blindfold also helped mask the flush of redness creeping on her face.

Azzi pulled out slow, and undid the harness. She threw it to the floor, not caring where it ended up, and kissed Paige’s stomach. She crawled up to Paige’s face and reached for the blindfold, peeling it off. Paige could barely open her eyes, but when she did, she saw Azzi beaming at her.

“You did so good P”

Paige gave the faintest smile, but enough to show Azzi she was immensely satisfied. Azzi got the keys to the handcuffs and unlocked them. Paige’s arms fell free and she immediately moved them to Azzi’s face, pulling her in for a kiss. It was a deep kiss, but not rushed. Filled with every word they weren’t able to say just yet.

Azzi pulled away barely, “Lemme undo your feet baby.” Paige hummed and let her eyes fall closed. Azzi moved down, undoing Paige’s ankles from the restraints and pushing that away too. Azzi rubbed up and down Paige’s thighs for a minute, then crawled up to lay by her. Azzi started to pull the covers over them, then realized she should probably clean themselves up. But before she could even get out of the bed, Paige pulled her back down.

“Later,” she said with a tired, raspy voice.

Azzi obliged and scooted right back where she belonged—curled into Paige’s side. She pulled the blankets over them and threw any other toys off the bed. She laid her head in the crook of Paige’s neck and whispered, “How was that baby?”

Paige didn’t move, but smiled with a stupid grin, “Fuckin perfect mommy.”

Azzi giggled and pinched Paige’s side playfully, then kissed her neck. The two fell asleep, sore and tired, but nevertheless connected by something deeper than just love.

[eclairemaire]

Meeting the Missus pt.3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Wife! Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: The Team finds out Bob is married and wants to meet the missus.

Warnings: Reader is described very similarly to Rhea Ripley, Reader and Bob are very much in love, No mention of Y/N used, Southern Reader (she's like all southern ladies sweet like iced tea, but can knock you on your ass if she has too), Express mentions of reader and Bob's Child, Lemme know if I missed any.

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes: This is the third part of 'Meeting the Missus'. I'm genuinely so surprised at how many of you are reading this; it makes my heart swoon. I hope everyone enjoys!

Heading to the cafeteria for lunch, as soon as Bob sits down, he’s surrounded by the rest of the squad. Phoenix on his right, Fanboy on the left, Rooster across from Bob, Hangman across from Phoenix, Payback across from Fanboy, and Coyote on the other side of Hangman. All of them leaning towards him as though they were high school kids waiting for the newest piece of gossip. Fanboy was almost completely pressed against Bob’s side as he started to unpack his leftovers from last night’s dinner.

“So are we going to get to try any of your Missus’ lovely food at this cookout that you mentioned yesterday?” Fanboy asked as he ogled the food that looked mouth-wateringly good. Bob hummed as he got up to reheat his food, like a pack of strays, the rest of the squad started to get up to follow him to the microwave.

“You will,” he said non-committedly as he put the food in the microwave and started it up. Looking up and seeing the team still surrounding him, he quirked up a brow, “Don’t y’all need to go get your own food?” Watching with an amused glint as the team seemed to realize they did not, in fact, have any food of their own to eat for lunch yet, and seemed to scatter to retrieve their respective meals.

Meeting back at their table, Bob was quietly typing on his phone and smiling fondly while waiting. Once everyone arrived, he stowed his phone into one of the pockets of his uniform. “Missus has decided that the cookout will be next Saturday, you will be expected to bring food or drink, you don’t have to bring both, but if you want to, you can to get in my wife's good graces.” He said after finishing the first bite of his lunch, letting out a low hum of satisfaction at the flavor.

“So what can we expect from this cookout? Will there be games? Any more munchkins besides yours?” Hangman asked as he started to dig into his food, Coyote nodding along beside him.

“Is it going to be similar to the one Riley talked about from when you were stationed at Lemoore?” Phoenix drew her attention to Bob as he thought of an answer to the questions.

Deciding to answer Hangman first, “There will be games, board games, and some digital. Maybe some dogfight football if we’re lucky. As for other kids, I’m not sure,” there might be some of Rileys friends, but that entirely depends on whether you wanted to host a sleepover, which wasn’t likely; your social battery would be pretty drained after having so many people over all day. “ We’ll likely be eating lunch around one-ish, do games for a little bit afterwards, then Riley’ll konk out for like an hour and a half for a nap, and then it’ll just be us adults for a while.” Turning to face Phoenix, he answers her question.

“Yes, and no, none of our relatives are going to be here this time, and her friends likely aren’t either. It’ll be the same in the sense that it’s essentially a party of sorts, but with y’all instead of our families.” He stated while continuing to eat his food.

“Ok, so for food, does anyone have any allergies that might have detrimental effects if said allergen is ingested?” Fanboy asked as he examined the group and turned back towards Bob. Nos and nope's flowed from everyone's mouths after pondering for a moment. “Great!” he exclaimed, shifting back towards his food.

“Sounds like we’ve all got an idea what to expect. What time should we be there?” Rooster asked.

“Shoot for around 12:30, that way Missus can have a time to have everything fresh and hot to go,” Bob stated. 

After that conversation flowed as usual, talking about drills and other happenings going on throughout the base, and the day continued. 

Before leaving, Maverick pulled Bob aside, “What’s this I hear about a cookout?” he inquires as he looks at Bob with curiosity.

“Oh,” Bob fumbles briefly, “My wife and I are hosting a cookout next weekend, and we invited the squad over. Are you interested in coming as well, Mav?” Bob asks, while twiddling his thumbs behind his back at the sudden inquiry about personal plans.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to meet your wife, whom I’ve heard so much about from Penny. Is Amelia welcome to come as well?” He asks as he looks at Bob’s face. Bob relaxes, remembering that you get along quite well with Penny and have been mentioning wanting to introduce her to Riley

“That sounds like a good idea, sir. I’ll make sure to let her know that you all are coming as well.” Turning to leave, Bob remembers that he needs to tell Maverick to bring food or a drink. “Sir, please, bring a drink or food dish with you, otherwise my wife may not let you into our home.” He smiles sheepishly before heading to the parking lot. Once in his car, he messages everyone your home address and the date and time to be there. 

~

Arriving home followed a similar fashion as the day before, Bob was greeted first by Nuggs, who was eagerly awaiting pats, before almost being bulldozed by your second dog, Beans, who was significantly larger than Nuggs. Followed by a “Welcome home, Sweetheart,” being shouted from the direction of the kitchen. 

“We’re still making dinner,” you say as Bob enters the kitchen to see you sprinkling cheese over a pizza. “How was work?” you ask as you grab the pizza stone to put it into the oven. Riley runs over to Bob and gives his legs a squeeze and a big grin at him before going into the living room, where he then proceeds to hear the opening of ‘Magic School Bus’ play in the background.

“Good, everyone has a vague idea of what to expect for next Saturday,” He says, coming up behind you and wrapping you up in his arms, and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Mavrick heard about the cookout, I’m assuming Hangman and Rooseter were talking about it in the hangar,” He mumbles into your hair, as you hum as a response and turn to start cleaning up the kitchen while you wait for the pizza to cook, Bob clining to you like a koala all the way.

“Is he coming?” You ask as you continue to maneuver around the kitchen.

“Yeah, he asked if he, Penny, and Amelia could come. I told him yes, I figured you’d likely hear from Penny about what she plans on bringing,” he answered.

“Amelia's coming? That’s good, I wanted to meet her soon, plus I think she and Riley would get along quite well.” You finally finished cleaning up. Spinning around in Bob’s hold to lean him against the counter. You give him a kiss and a sweet smile.

“What do you plan on making for the cookout?” He asks, there's a teasing smile on his face, the one that makes his eyes crinkle just around the edges.

“You’ll find out with everyone else.” You giggle as he starts to pout just a little bit.

“But I’m your husband!” He squawks indignantly, starting to gain a flush in his cheeks.

“And you’ll find out with everyone else,” giving him a mischievous smile, as reach your hands around him to place them right below his ass, and with a firm grip you hoist him up and over your shoulder and start to head to the living room where your daughter resides. 

He lets out a harrumph and then proceeds to yell, “Riley, come save me! I’ve been captured by your mama!” Entering the living room, you hear a squeal from Riley followed by uncontrolled giggles, as she sees you with Bob slung over your shoulder.

“Da–Dad–Daddy,” giggles, interrupting her as she tried to speak, “I can’t help you, Mama’s too strong!”

“You Traitor!!” He yells in false devastation as he feigns going limp in your hold.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

a/n: I swear we will actually get to the cookout in the next part, but I'm a sucker for buildup and domestic family fluff. Thank you for reading, and see you in the next part!!

[cannibaliist]

Pink Matter - Sevika x F!Reader (18+)

One shot | Part 2 soon??

Contains: 18+, sickfic, slight modern!au, smut, explicit content!!, NSFW, mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, established relationship, no use of y/n, nicknames of 'baby girl, sweet girl, etc.' mentioned, dom!sevika, strap ons, oral!s e x reader recieving, rough, vaginal s e x

Word Count: 3.6K

a/n: the Sevika brainrot got too much so here we are lol . hope you enjoy !!

cross posted on AO3

title inspired by Pink Matter by Frank Ocean

Sevika likes you even when you're sick. Because there is no other grown woman or man she'd allow to perspire on her sheets and take up all the space on her mattress on an early Saturday morning when she's finally free from work and Silco's nagging. So yeah, she likes you all right. 

You don't usually get sick often, especially with her watching over you to make sure you're warm during Zaun's freezing weather. 

Your sweat-coated skin soaks through the double layer of navy blue sheets on the bed. It turns the blue almost black and Sevika can only think about how her shit – the one pair of sheets she probably owns – is definitely close to fucked up. God, you are so lucky she doesn't want you to die from whatever you contracted after fucking around all night during the misting rain, laughing and dancing high off your mind from the cheap weed Sevika bought off her coworker. That mixed with what the people called “Shimmer Juice”, you were half out of your mind for the night. 

“Baby get the hell inside,” Sevika had told you last night, but all you did was smile at her. That blinding ass smile full of white teeth and crescent shaped eyes that made her heart start thumping a little faster in her chest. Fuck. She really was in love with you. 

So of course, now you were running a fever and swaddled in whatever blankets she could scrounge up around her room. Sevika likes you like this though, fading in and out of consciousness.

Snoring softly and muttering small words while grasping at whatever body part of Sevika you could reach to keep you warm. You get super clingy when you're sick, one of the only times you are completely super sweet and malleable instead of talking back to Sevika like she won't put you in your place the next moment, but your freak ass is into it so she has to calm herself down another way to not give you exactly what you want. Still, she smiles at your petty actions. Helps to know you really want her in every single form.

She decided to run a few errands while your younger form slept, grabbing soup ingredients – Does my love prefer celery or corn? – bottles of water and a thermometer that she's never bothered to keep in her home before. The things my baby makes me do, she thinks as she puts her things into her grocery basket. 

When she gets back and puts the groceries away she expects for her baby to still be sound asleep but instead you seem a bit off. Hair splayed out everywhere with your chest rising and falling heavily. A flush in your cheeks that's still so visible even with the color of your skin, tinted a steady red even in your sleep. 

Sevika wondered if you were having a nightmare, thrashing and moving in your sleep like you do when your dreams get really bad, fighting more than just sickness.

But instead, your whole body is trembling, your hips unconsciously grinding into the sweat-stained sheets. Sevika walks closer, watching you move your body further into the bed, soft little groans escaping your plush lips. She stills as you mutter a soft cry for her. “Sevika…” She holds her breath, slowly approaching the voice. “Sevi, please.”

Sevika smirks to herself, touching a hand to your warmed skin shaking your awake. “Get up, sweet girl.” She had to take your temperature now before giving you any water. You startle with a groan, whining like you always do. Some nonsense about a “-middle of a good dream. ruin everything.”

“Open your mouth for something other than running it baby.” Even though you're slightly annoyed from being woken up from such a nice dream, you do as instructed, mouth wide and hinting for more than just a thermometer. 

Sevika felt a twinge in her pants. Her desire to slide her strap down your awaiting throat was just too tempting. Instead, she cups your jaw, and sticks the thermometer tip under your tongue. You glare and let out a soft whine of disappointment. “Tease,” you mutter. 

Sevika rolls her eyes at the petulant behavior and pulls out the thermometer at the beep. “101.4, Told your crazy ass to sit down last night and now here we are,” she scoffs. “Sit up and drink some water.”

You groan and turn your head away, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. “Don't want to.”

Sevika sighs, sliding her warm fingers over your sweat-soaked hair, small pieces threatening to curl at the nape of your neck. They feel nice as they start to comb at your scalp. “Listen, you've been playing housewife all week, cleaning and cooking all nice for me, let me take care of you now baby girl.” 

You groan again, weak hands gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it off of you. You sigh into the pillow, words all muddied and unclear. “Speak up baby, I'm not straining to hear you.”

You take a deep, labored breath in, and turn her head towards Sevika, cheeks getting all hot. “Said you want to, so take care of me.”

Her eyes narrow at you, “What do you think I'm doing?” 

“No Sevi, I need you to fuck me. Please.” 

Sevika grips your chin, hard, probably could leave a few bruises if she tried hard enough. You twitch under her touch, ultra-sensitive from the fever. “You're outta your mind right now. You need to rest ”

You bring a hand to Sevika’s thigh as she hovers over you, grasping with more strength than you probably needed to have. “I need it, please. I'll be good.”

Just the thought of your body loose and desperate sends a rush straight to the older woman's crotch. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Sevika.” Your voice was exhausted, but eager, wide eyes staring endlessly into her own dark grey ones. 

She watches the quickened rise and fall of your chest as she goes to take off her vest and her pants. Of course she's commando. Of course. The thing you're waiting for is less than 5 steps away, tucked in the nightstand drawer. Sevika is quick to grab the strap-on and fasten it around herself. It's a beautiful deep shade of purple and thick and practically gleaming as she steps closer to you. You scramble out of your sleep shorts and t-shirt to feel her presence even closer.

“Gonna slick me up baby? Get me ready for you?” She asks as she sizes you up. Her eyes are dark, hungry, for you. 

You nod dumbly. So ready to suck her off like you've done times before. 

She drags her metal hand along your lower leg, up your shaking thighs, over your awaiting ass in your underwear, and up to your back. You twitch at the cold of the metal, too much sensation from such a small gesture. Simply Sevika’s touch – gentle strokes across the skin – was overwhelming. 

Sevika gently tugs on your jaw, testing how pliable and easy you promised to be. She was met with no resistance as your mouth opened with ease, “doing so good already baby.” 

Sevika stepped closer, hovering over your face, sliding in her strap until she hit the back of your throat with no resistance. You were too tired for a reflex, too tired to choke. Fuck, she could do anything she wanted to you right now and you wouldn't even flinch. Something dark coiled in Sevika's stomach, if she was a better person she would've ignored your pleas and doped you up with enough medicine to tire you out but she wasn't an entirely good person, and you liked her that way. 

Sevika worked your mouth, it's as if she could feel the warm back of your throat every time she bottomed out. But the small quiver of breath on the straps cockhead was a reminder that you needed to breathe.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Sevika had to fight coming right then and there. She wanted to fill your throat, make you keep her strap warm as you swallowed every last bit of her. The only fight you had was an involuntary gasp for air. Sevika held you there for just a second longer, slowly sliding out of your mouth, warm and wet. As Sevika’s strap head passes your lips, you groan, trying to get Sevika to put herself back where she belongs.

Sevika replaces the emptiness with her fingers, laying them on your tongue instead. “Not now baby girl.”  

Sevika hovers over you, staring at your parted lips, watching your eyes flutter as sweat drips down your brow. She lowered her hips, slowly dragging her strap along your entrance. Sevika’s other hand traveled down to the leaking pussy between your thighs, mouth watering at the wetness. She thumbs your clit slowly as she grasps your ass with her metal hand.

You gasp at the soft friction, pushing your hips up to meet Sevika, breath heavy. “Need you Sevi, please.”

“Keep your hands up. Just like that.” You cross your arms above your head as you ache to touch Sevika back. Your skin is hot and flushed and you feel like you'll explode any second that your girlfriend isn't touching you. 

“Hurry, please.” 

“Patience pretty girl,” Sevika warns. Your whines were cut short by Sevika’s mouth meeting your own. The kiss was rough, more teeth meeting lips and gasps than anything else but it was perfect. Just like her. 

Sevika pulls away and watches her baby's head lift off the pillow to chase her, falling back almost immediately with a huff. You let your hands move from where they lay against the pillow crossed to pull Sevika back down into a kiss. Desperate. 

Pulling away again Sevika pins your wrist to the mattress with a growl. You stare up at her, eyes shining with tears but overfilled with lust and want. Fuck. “You don't listen for shit, girl. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sevika kisses along your jaw and neck, soft nips and bites that you wanted to feel more of. Wanted them to bruise. To show everyone who you belonged to. But all you can do is whine and mumble out whispers instead of words.  

“Use your words, baby.”

You choke on your words. “M-more. Please.”

Sevika leans back down, crashing her lips into yours. “You want more?”

You groan into her mouth. “Please, anything.”

Sevika pulls away, spitting into your mouth, hungry and aching. “Swallow. Want you to remember that taste.” You swallow greedily, heart pumping as Sevika kisses down the soft skin of your stomach, inching closer to your cunt. 

She smirks at the sight, you already so desperate for more, as she runs her fingers up and down your warm entrance. You moan at the sudden intrusion, rocking back onto Sevika’s hand as she slips a finger in, all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the heat and the way you're clenched so tight around her. 

“Another please, Sevika.”

One finger quickly becomes three, and you can't even flinch at the rushed invasion, just blabbering and moaning as Sevika's thick fingers slam into your pussy. Your hips rock against Sevika’s hand as you can do nothing but wordlessly whimper and beg for something.

Sevika hits that special spot in quick little pumps, bringing your muted cries to loud gasps. 

“Almost there, baby.” Sevika tells you, her ability to hold herself back from jumping your bones entirely is slowly starting to crumble. 

When she deems you prepped enough, she takes her fingers away and slides them into her mouth making you moan. She licks her fingers like it's nectar as she sucks them into her mouth. 

Finally, Sevika settles between your trembling thighs, the color a hue she's always loved from all the time you spent tanning in the sun with no worries in the world.

A gentle groan passes by your lips as Sevika sucks a mark into the flesh of your legs, nipping along the skin turning it into a pinkish red that will soon blossom into a deep purple. She grazes her teeth along your inner thigh, biting down hard. She trails her fingers up the backs of both your legs, settling on your ass and grabbing at the soft flesh, sending a shiver up your spine. 

You mewled, begging. “Need you please.” You could feel Sevika smile into the mark she made on your thigh, turned on beyond relief at your begging. “Just a little longer baby.”

Giving you a pat on the head, she lowers her awaiting mouth to your weeping cunt, though you're already close even from her thick fingers inside of you. You moaned at the contact, gripping the sheets as Sevika licks you up clean. You resist the overwhelming urge to clutch at her hair as she works you out, but you promised not to move your hands. You'd listen this once, just for her. 

She works her tongue over your swelling clit, swirling her tongue, and moving back down. She ate you like a pro, taking you deeper in her mouth, breathing in the smell of her girl and the tickle of your hairs along her face. Whether you had a bush or shaved for some occasions, she was very appreciative of the effort, regardless of how you presented yourself to her. 

She fucks you with her tongue and only adds in a single finger. Pistoning faster as she works at your clit. It's all too much too soon and she pulls off to lick you up again, fingers still angled over your sweet spot, when she hears a loud cry. You've already cum. Making the sheets stain a darker shade of navy blue. 

“W-what the fuck?” You say more to yourself than anyone else. The fever makes you even more sensitive, even the littlest bit of stimulation making you come, it's insanely embarrassing to your already dwindling ego. 

“Think you can do one more?” the older woman chuckles. You just shake your head nervously, tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “No more.”  

Sevika's eyes harden, grasping your hips and digging her nails in. The clutch of her metal fingers into the flesh of your hip leaves you reeling – knowing it's gonna bruise later. “If I tell you one more, then it's gonna be one more.” 

He slicks up her glistening strap with whatever lube she had on her dresser already half empty, and positions her above you. She lines herself up, pushing slow yet unyielding into you. You can't help but scream as Sevika pulls out and slams her strap into you, purposely missing your sweet spot just to make you beg for it. 

You try and bite your arm to quiet your whimpers, it was embarrassing wanting her so bad, wanting her dick, her strap, inside you so bad. Sevika reaches up, grabbing your face until they drift to your throat. “You can be loud, baby, let me hear you.”

She fucks you slow and deep, wanting to savor every second you're so pliant underneath her. Your mind is quieted by the fever, now, basically delirious. She uses just enough pressure against your throat to let you breathe, already labored and erratic.

It feels like your whole body is on fire. Only filled with thoughts of Sevika Sevika Sevika. Those words chant themselves over and over in your mind like a mantra. 

Sevika places your legs over her shoulders and enters again with no hesitation, fucking into you even faster. “Touch yourself sweet girl. Wanna see you cum again.”

You whimper. “Sevika, I don’t think-”

Sevika puts a finger over your mouth. “You don't get to tell me no princess, you wanted this, remember?” It was mocking, less a question and more a statement. Of course you remember, it's burned into the back of your mind. 

Your weak hand reaches for your clit to give it at least a little bit of stimulation. But there's no strength left in your body to bring yourself to come again, your grip was nothing more than a soft coaxing. Tears fill your eyes from frustration, from pleasure, a sharp mixture of both. 

With a laugh, Sevika slaps your pathetic hand away and brings her hand to your clit herself. Sevika continues to stroke you, angling her hips to hit even deeper into your tight pussy. It's all too much and all you can do is sob. 

Sevika moves her vacant metal hand from your hip to your throat, choking you properly now. Sevika’s pace quickens, folding you in half with your thighs against her sticky chest, thrusting as deep into you as she could. Your eyes began to roll, chest heaving from a sob but no words can escape her lips. 

“Please don't stop, please.”

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Sevika folds you in half again. You love the way the older woman makes you feel when she's caged over you. You're not overly short or tall, but you still feel so small in comparison to Sevika’s more broad-shouldered frame. You feel your body shake as Sevika sheathes herself back inside fully with one single thrust. You barely manage to take it, body tightening around her cock reflexively. It's basically an extension of her at this point. 

She lets her hand slither from around your neck to your boobs, fondling them as she fucks you harder. You scramble against the sheets with sweaty hands and weak fingers, trying to get away from the pistoning dick tearing you apart. Sevika is so big inside of you, he can hardly feel anything else. 

She kisses you and it feels like heaven all over again. 

Feels like you're drowning in pure bliss. She keeps fucking you through it, making you cum over and over again, watching as your body writhes in agony and overstimulation. It almost hurts, so fucking much, but it feels so so good. You love that Sevika isn’t afraid to handle you roughly – isn't afraid to slam her hips forward like she wants to destroy your guts with each thrust ��� but she isn't afraid to truly make love to you either, all nice and slow. Here, your mind finally has the ability to finally shut off and you can submit yourself fully to the older woman.

When Sevika finally comes it's like you can practically feel the strap swell inside of you. 

Sevika pulls out with a groan, as if it really is her own cock and not a toy. Something about it has your stomach swirling into knots again. 

She licks her lips. “Not done with you yet baby.” 

Sevika grabs you by your waist and flips you over, shoving your face deep into the mattress. 

“Fit around this cock so well baby girl. Bet you're wishing it was real huh?”

You can barely process Sevika’s words, only letting out a jumbled, “only yours Sevi” before your mind is clouded by a thick sheen of tears, sweat, and cum. You can't count how many times you come before you pass out from the fever and from working your body so hard. 

————

When you come to, the first thing you feel is emptiness. The emptiness of your cunt and the bed as Sevika is nowhere to be seen. It triggers something in your chest and he can't help the sob that gets stuck in her throat. You want to call out for her, cry, something, but your throat is wrecked and raw. 

“Sevika?” you push out, voice weak from exertion. 

After a few moments of silence, you hear the floorboards creak near the bedroom door. It's Sevika with a bowl of something in her hand and a bottle of water. She smiles at you, her lopsided smile glistening against the window light and it's all too domestic. 

“You aight Bambi?” The special nickname makes you want to jump her bones all over again. Her voice is soft as if speaking any louder would frighten you. But you're strong, already feeling better from your nap. You just nod, reaching an arm out towards Sevika's approaching figure to motion her to the space on the bed next to you. 

There’s different sheets this time, a creamy grey color and you wonder how long you were out cold so that she was able to replace sheets right under you.  

“I'm right here baby hold on.” He grabs the thermometer from the nightstand, motioning for you to open your mouth again. 

“98.9” she says after the beep. She cracks a wide smile, “fucking miracle my strap is huh?” You can only roll your eyes, “don't get too cocky, Sevi. I was right after all.” 

Sevika wraps you in a hug, breathing in the faint smell of sex, and the smell of your shampoo. “Eat your soup and if you're good I'll let you sleep with it in.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, grinning larger than life. The little gap between her teeth has your heart melting as you kiss her softly. 

“I love you so much Sevika.” She presses your foreheads together and holds the sides of your face with her hands.

One kiss to your left eyelid, one kiss to your right lid, another to the tip of your nose, and finally another one your lips as she clutches you tighter. “I love you too baby.”

You eat your soup with a hunger you've never had before in your life. You go to sleep very happy that night, stomach full and pussy full as she spoons you as you both fall asleep. 

~~~~

[georgeclarkeys]

emergency contact - george clarkey

summary: sometimes george is not as smooth as he thinks he is, but you are always there to take care of him - 1k words

i went back and forth for a few days about posting this because i really don't like it

anyways

hope y'all don't hate it!

~

The sunlight peeking through the parted curtain stirred you awake, and you subconsciously reached towards the space next to you in search of George. As your hands made contact with nothing but empty air and cold sheets you immediately peeked an eye open. After visually confirming that your boyfriend was no longer warming the other side of your bed, you wrapped yourself in a blanket and groggily padded into the kitchen. There was a note on top of the coffee machine with your name scribbled in a familiar handwriting, accompanied by a few goofy doodles. Flipping it over, you began reading.

Good morning dearest, Just in case you have forgotten, I am off filming with the Sidemen this morning. (They scare me I can’t tell them no) I should be home sometime after 2, and we will spend the rest of the day together. Love you, George

He had explained all of this to you last night, you recalled, but you were too busy trying to get him to kiss you to reeeaaalllyyy listen to what he was saying. Sighing, you placed the note back down and started the coffee maker, pondering how you should spend your George-less Saturday morning. 

A short while later you were back in your bed, still wrapped in a blanket, but with your new book in hand. You had decided that the best way to enjoy your alone time was with some literature-centered self care. There was nothing like reading a good book, especially when George wasn’t there to distract you. So, you snuggled deeper into your blanket and allowed yourself to get lost in the words on the page.

Several hours and a few hundred pages later, your phone began to buzz and George’s contact photo lit up your screen. You glanced at the clock, it was nowhere near two. Thinking they must have wrapped up filming early, you sat down your book and slid your thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“Hey hun, did you get finished early?” You questioned, absentmindedly picking at your nails. 

But it was not George’s voice that answered on the other end of the line. 

“Hey, (Y/N),” you sat up a bit straighter as you recognized Simon’s voice, “So we have a slight problem…”

“Uh, hey Simon? What’s going on?”

“Well, George has been injured, but he’s mostly alright. He got a little mixed up during a challenge, twisted his ankle and hit his head pretty hard. He's bleeding quite a bit and one of our producers is checking him for a concussion. He told us to call you.”

Your heartbeat quickened, “Can you send me your location? I’ll be right there.”

“For sure, see you in a few,” Simon replied, ending the call.

Your phone pinged with a text message containing the location of the shoot as you rushed to pull on a hoodie and a pair of sneakers. A few seconds later you were out the door and in your car, breaking a few traffic laws as you made your way across London.

Once you arrived it was easy to spot the group of people surrounding your boyfriend, who was sitting on the ground holding a bloody towel to his forehead. As you approached, Simon and Josh walked over to meet you.

“Hey thanks for coming, we don’t think it’s anything too serious but none of us were comfortable letting him drive himself home. He’s a little dazed,” Josh explained. 

“Yeah no worries,” you replied, glancing around Simon’s tall frame in search of a glimpse of George, “what happened anyways?”

Simon coughed in an attempt to hide a chuckle, “Well, to be completely honest with you, he tripped over himself and fell down a few steps. I think one of our videographers got it on camera.”

You scrubbed a hand over your face, “You can’t be serious.” Simon looked at the floor and nodded his head. “Well let me get him home then,” you sighed and began making your way over to the group of people. 

Noticing your arrival, George looked up and offered a lopsided smile through the blood coating his face, “(Y/N)? What in the world are you doing here?”

You let out a laugh at his bad joke, “Well if you would stop going face-first down staircases I would still be at home wouldn’t I?” 

He winced as he laughed and pointed up at you, “Well you got me there.” 

“C’mon,” you tugged on his hand in an attempt to get him on his feet, “let’s get you home.” 

A few of the boys jumped in and offered to help you get him to your car, but you declined, slinging George’s muscled arm around your shoulder and steadying yours around his waist. He had a bit of a limp, but made it to the car without any complications. After making sure George was settled in your passenger seat and promising to send Simon a text when the two of you arrived, you started making your way home.

A short drive and several drops of blood on your passenger seat later, George was finally inside and seated at your kitchen table as you pulled out the first aid kit to clean up the cut on his face. You gently grabbed his face to clean the blood off with a damp cloth before putting medicine on his scrape, and covering it with a bandage. He sat there silently throughout the whole process, watching you carefully as you focused on the task at hand.

You made eye contact with him after securing the bandage. “Go change out of these filthy clothes,” you offered a small smile and tugged on his shirt, which was covered in blood and dirt, “I’ll meet you in the bedroom after I clean this mess up.”

As you made your way into the bedroom you found George on your shared bed, tucked into a sea of pillows and blankets. His eyes were half lidded, and his lips turned upwards into a sleepy smile. You slid into bed next to him and he immediately shifted towards you, snaking his arms around you and snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. 

You could feel his lips brushing your neck as he mumbled, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

You closed your eyes and rested your chin on top of his head before softly saying, "thanks for keeping my life interesting," and drifting off to sleep beside the love of your life.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ - later that evening

yourusername posted a story!

[mapileonxputellas]

A Blast From The Past (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

I hope you all enjoy...

I've slightly changed the last request but the previous context remains. Let me know if you want a part 2, any requests etc.

.....

Growing up you never used to believe in fate.

If fate was real then why did it feel like nothing ever went your way, why had you been given such a tough hand compared to near enough everyone else?

That was until you met her.

…..

13 years ago, 18 years old.

You’d been stood up. That much was plainly obvious right now. You should have listened to all the warnings from your friends, dating apps never worked. But how else were you meant to meet someone when you couldn’t afford to be going out every weekend and you were only surviving financially due to the waitressing job you’d taken on.

It was meant to be something fun, to take your mind off studying and then you got messaging one girl, Isobel, who seemed keen to go out for a few drinks. And that’s how you found yourself sitting, alone, in a bar on a Saturday night an hour after you’d agreed to meet.

The margarita in front of you was doing nothing to stop your mood worsening by the minute, if not by the second. Barcelona was your favourite city in the world but now being sat alone in a city where everyone seemed to be enjoying life, it was only rubbing you up the wrong way.

You’d been working all day and now you’d wasted a good amount of that money on two drinks without any company. It wasn’t like they were bad drinks but you didn’t have that money to spare.

Medical school had been a dream for you, it was now a reality but that didn’t come with sacrifices, including moving to the other side of the country. You were here on a scholarship but that only covered the university fees and your accommodation, the rest came from the job you had to work every Saturday and Sunday. You loved your parents but they could barely get by with your two other siblings never mind covering your new life in the city.

“Are you just going to stare at that glass all night?” You almost jumped at that soft voice coming out of nowhere before probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen sat on the stool next to you. The question left unanswered as you basically drowned in those bright blue eyes. “Hello?”

“Sorry, sorry I was just about to leave.”

“Not on my account I hope.”

“No, my night is over.”

“You got all dressed up just to sit on your own all night?” Oblivious to you, Alexia had been watching the girl sat in the little black dress at the bar all night, waiting for you to be joined by someone and once her friends left, she couldn’t help but make her way over.

The question probably wasn’t meant to rile you up as much as it did. “Yeah well that’s not your problem.” You stood up to grab your purse when a hand wrapped around your wrist stopping your movement. “Everything OK?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m sorry.” She noticed the eyes on her hand and removed it immediately. “It wasn’t meant like that, no-one should spend the evening alone. Never mind someone as beautiful as you. One more drink on me?”

“No offence but I don’t even know your name.”

“Alexia Putellas.” Alexia, the name fit. “Now, how about a drink?”

“One drink.”

……

That one drink changed your life. You stayed in that bar all night, the two of you moving into the corner in your own little world until you were kicked out at closing time.

From there it spiralled.

You were only 18 but there was no doubt in your mind that this was love. For six months you spent the best part of all your free time together, which somehow wasn’t even enough. Alexia, who you found out was an aspiring footballer as well as completing a business degree, became a regular in the café as you worked and you spent an awful lot of time waiting for her in the freezing cold following training.

You weren’t surprised when she asked you to meet her family. Alexia made it official within two months and now she wanted to share you. She talked a lot about her sister, Alba, and she worshipped her mother, assuring you they were the loveliest people, but that didn’t make it any less nerve wracking.

“I promise everything will be fine.” Alexia assured you, her hand almost numb from how tight you were gripping it as the two of you sat outsider her home. “They will love you, just like I do.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now let’s go in before Alba eats all the food.”

If Alexia had it her way you’d be meeting all her family in one go, all the aunts, cousins, extended family at a big family gathering. You’d managed to tone it down to just her mum and sister and a relaxed family meal. The rest would happen eventually.

You’d never met a girlfriend’s family before, in fact you’d never had a girlfriend full stop before Alexia. But you never imagined it would be this awkward.

It was all smiles at first and whenever Alexia was in the room, but the second she left it was like a switch flicked.

“Alexia tells us you’re a waitress.” Alba started, the 15-year-old not hiding her judgement but Alexia had told you all about the teenager’s tetchy mood most of the time.

“I am, I think everyone knows Alexia’s order off by heart now she’s in there so often.”

“We noticed, she was late to her cousin’s birthday last week because she’d been there.” Eli noted. “In fact if she’s not playing she’s almost always there.”

You’d couldn’t miss the disdain in her voice. “I know, it’s the only way we can spend time together.”

“Who’s spending time together?” Alexia asked returning from the kitchen, her hand immediately coming back to rest on your thigh.

“Your lovely girlfriend was just telling us all about her café.” The mask was completely back up.

“I should take you all one week, they all love me in there.” They did. “Now come on, lets eat.”

The dinner continued with no sense of the obvious tension between the three of you, at least in Alexia’s mind. In your mind all you could think about was the glares you would receive every so often, the tuts that were made when you’d make any comment.

“Have you met Y/N’s family yet Alexia?” Eli asked her daughter once you were finished eating.

“Not yet.”

“My family live near Seville, they aren’t able to come and visit me here with my two siblings being in school.” It was partially the truth. The other half was that they couldn’t afford it and what good would it be when you would be working anyway. “Maybe in the summer when it’s a bit less busy we’ll be able to work something out.”

“I don’t think I could live on the other side of the country.” Alba commented. “I just love my family too much to move away.”

Of course that was a burn, you didn’t have a choice in the matter, the best scholarship and medical school was in Barcelona.

“We wish you would.” Alexia joked with her sister. “Family is the most important thing, I’m sure even across the country that doesn’t change.”

Alexia had done a good job, unknowingly, of protecting you from them. That was until at the end of the meal she received a call from her agent which couldn’t be ignored.

“I’ll be back.” She signalled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before moving out of the room. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

Again that switch was flicked.

“Look, we can see it’s clear how much you like Alexia.” Eli started. “We’re just concerned that all of this is starting to have a negative impact on her career.”

“Alexia is always training.” You argued. “She’s playing for Barcelona.”

“And yet when she could be training or analysing the game at the weekend she’s sat waiting for you. She can’t spend any time getting to know her teammates.”

“I’ve never stopped that.”

“She’s distracted right now, she’s blind right now but we’re not. We need to protect her future and if you liked her as much as you claim to do then you’ll see it that way as well.”

“I can’t make her not spend time with me.” You never forced the girl, she just showed up at your work one day and never left.

“No, but you can break up with her.” Alba spit it out. “Don’t ruin her future for the sake of a young fling. You know how much she wants to be a footballer, that needs her focus.”

“What about what she wants right now?”

“She knows football has to be her greatest love, the pain will be less now than in a few years’ time when you have to move back home and she has to stay here. It will never work.”

You could ignore the previous comments, you knew how much Alexia wanted to be the best but you always need a life away from your work. You did however know that once this degree was complete you couldn’t afford to stay in Barcelona. You’d have to move away and Alexia would have to stay here.

That’s how on a cold night in February, you made the sacrifice for both yourself and Alexia, the text was sent breaking both your hearts in the process.

…..

March 2025, 31 years old

Barcelona.

The city where it all began, and the city you found yourself in 13 years later.

Medical school had been hard but from the first placement you knew you wanted to be a surgeon. That adrenaline rush was addictive and you’d never tire of that feeling after surgery when you’d made a difference.

You completed medical school with commendations across the board and managed to land yourself a place in a prestigious training facility in Madrid.

Madrid was an amazing experience, you learnt from the best and built up a reputation for yourself in medical circles, however it wasn’t Barcelona.

Barcelona may have been the place you felt your first heartbreak but it was also the place you made some amazing friends. It was home.

So when you got the opportunity to go back and work in main hospital in Barcelona you took it with both hands. You were home.

“We’ve had a request.” The other senior surgeon came into your office one morning, a few weeks into your new job. “FC Barcelona have a player who’s injured their ankle, we usually treat their patients and I’d like it if we worked on this one together.”

“Really?”

“The only way you learn is by doing. It’s quite a complex case. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Of course you didn’t mind the knee replacements, the broken arms. But you wanted more.  “When do we get started.”

“They’re coming in tomorrow. We’ll do the assessment and go from there.”

It’s fair to say the next morning you were buzzing. This is all you’ve ever wanted and it was becoming true. You’d barely slept the night before thinking about everything you’d learnt, ankle injuries were common in football and came in a range of forms.

“They’re here.”

You looked up from where you were positioned at one side of the large table, slowly nursing the strongest coffee you could find. You were expecting to find the harsh glare of an angry footballer, instead you looked up to find those blue eyes you’d fell for over a decade ago. Of course.

Except she wasn’t alone and maybe you let out a breath of relief when it was the other younger woman by her side who was sporting the crutches.

“Miss Nazereth, Miss Putellas this is Miss Y/L/N she will be working alongside me throughout this process.” Your colleague introduced you and it took all your strength to manage to muster a little ‘hi’.

“Call me Kika,” The other woman gave you a comforting smile, probably what you should have been doing. “This is Alexia, I hope it’s OK I brought her.”

That snapped you back, you had a job to do. “Of course, whatever makes you feel comfortable.” You gave them both a smile, greeting the other Barcelona staff who entered the room and taking your seat.

The only thing you could do was avoid eye contact and get on with your job. You might not have seen her in the flesh for over a decade but it’s hard to avoid Alexia Putellas. You could do little else but watch on proudly as she won accolade after accolade.

“Let’s take a look at the scans…..”

It’s fair to say you’ve never been quite as distracted as you were in that meeting. You noted down all the important bits, the plan you made for her recovery, a complex ligament injury which would require surgery in the coming weeks.

Keeping concentrated was slightly harder though when the woman directly across from you was who she was. As the meeting was closing you dared to glance up and was almost surprised when her gaze was already on your own, a slight smile matched by your own before you both broke eye contact.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” You shook hands with Kika as you all moved to the exit. “If you ever need anything, I’ll give you my card. Any questions, day or night.”

“Thank you.” You could read most people like books and you could tell she was terrified and upset.

“Miss Putellas.” You shook her hand, keeping things professional. “Good to see you.”

“You too, I know Kika is in good hands.”

“Thank you.”

…..

“What happened to you in there?” Kika asked her captain, Alexia driving the two back to the training ground. “In that meeting the other day you couldn’t stop asking questions.”

“What am I meant to ask? They’re surgeons they know better than you and I what’s going to happen.”

“I’ve never seen you that quiet.”

The words do tend to be knocked out of your head when you see someone again for the first time in 13 years, all the confusion and heart break came flooding back. “I was just thinking.”

“What do you think about that surgeon by the way?”

“What about her?” Alexia immediately responded.

“I’m trying to set Ewa up with someone and she seemed nice. She said she didn’t want a footballer and well, a surgeon definitely isn’t one of those.”

“Let her do her job Kika.” Alexia scolded the youngster, not about to let this happen. “No setting anyone up, I’m sure she’s got better things to do than be with a footballer anyway.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, now let me know when your next appointment is and I’m more than happy to come with you again.”

“Thank you Alexia.”

She’d take the thanks even if it was slightly misplaced. She had questions and they weren’t going to go away any time soon.

“I’m going to need that card by the way.”