#me: ''... fucking nailed it without even realising it''

[deeokanee]

It's been a week or so after their fight (see part one for more explanation), and Bob and John still aren't talking. They aren't straight up ignoring each other, because they don't want to alarm the rest of the team, but all they say to each other are a couple of words of courtesy whenever it's strictly necessary to communicate with the other man.

On Bob's part, he's hurting. He is a little, well a lot actually, disappointed in John for shutting him out. He's mad that the other wouldn't have even told him the reason for his behaviour, hadn't he confronted him. He's pissed off that John didn't actually tell him shit, it was Bob himself that guessed what was wrong, and he guessed right, since John didn't correct him when he finally spat out the concern that had been eating him alive in the days before their argument.

Secondly, he's embarrassed as hell for revealing his carefully concealed crush on John to John, all because he was overcome with anger. He feels so stupid, catching feelings for one of the people he'd grown more attached to in years, his first male friend since God knows when and he fucked it up because he couldn't stop himself from fantasizing about John.

Buried deep under these already stinging feelings, the thing Bob regrets more is that no matter how many times he had told himself that "John isn't into men" and "John will never look at me that way", despite his attempts to behave as rationally as possible about this whole situation, still a small, stupid part of him had hoped. That maybe it wasn't just a fantasy, maybe John could love him.

That's what he's ashamed of, that's what is making him avoid even looking at John whenever they unintentionally find themselves in the same room. That despite knowing better, he still couldn't control himself. That's why, despite being hurt, he still feels guilty of what happens, and more than anger now that things have quieted down, it's shame that makes him avoid John's eyes.

On John's part, he is emotionally paralyzed. The words Bob had blurted out in his face the day of their last real conversation have been echoing in his head since he heard them the first time.

"You've been a big fucking asshole to me for weeks"

Days he had spent digging his nails into his tights whenever he had found himself observing him, staring at Bob. Weeks he had spent punching every hard surface he was closer to, whenever he had caught himself wondering about Bob.

The images of the other man were burned into his mind. His usual sheepish smiles, his occasional snarky grins, the way his eyes narrowed with those expressions. His dark, wavy and unruly hair being always all over the place. His gestures, the way his hands revealed so much about how he was feeling. Picking at each other's skin when he was nervous, making wide movements in the air when he was excited.

He didn't only keep memories of Bob in his mind. He hadn't only remembered about his eyes, his hair his hands, his lips. But he had imagined. And the way, the ways he had done that had made him feel filthy. Not only because Bob was a man, even if the situations featuring the both of them he had sometimes indulged in picturing in his head, had sent shivers of both arousal and panic down his spine.

But because he had felt perverted, painting sinful images about his friend without him knowing. He had felt predatory, and it had never happened in his life before. He had always been a protective person, looking out for the people he loves. He thought his affection for Bob was nothing different from that. But it had turned out he was a creep, taking advantage of their closeness to feed whatever weird wave of lust had overcome him.

And while he was battling with this hell only he had created, he hadn't paid attention to what that was doing to Bob. He wouldn't even have guessed he had noticed his behaviour shifting so drastically, and only now he's realised how stupid of him that was. How could Bob not realise that something was wrong with him, when John was acting as if Bob's sole presence was a danger to him? He was an idiot for that, and a selfish one too.

"All of this just because I'm into you!"

His ears still ring, like they were when Bob screamed this sentence at him, whenever he replays that scene in his head. Bob was into him. How long has that been going on? Has Bob developed feelings for him at the same time as John did? Did he do it after? Did he do it before?

He finds himself calculating, replaying whichever old interaction of theirs he can remember in his head, trying to spot any clear moment in which Bob might have shown his interest for him. How could he have not noticed? He was so up in his head, so scared and ashamed, that he ignored the truth in front of his eyes. This awareness weighs heavy on his chest, and it makes his thoughts spiral uncontrollably. Because how could it be possible for Bob to be into him? He treated him shitty when they first met and went back to being a dick to him, all because he found himself caring too much about the guy. The knowledge that Bob's feelings are much more nonsensical than John's makes the latter's head spin, and he feels like he might puke from the motion sickness anytime now.

And something inside of him, a very vocal part of his consciousness, is deadly sure that he didn't notice this substantial reality because he would never, never even fathom that someone could love him again. Not after being the reason why he lost every person who ever did that.

"Grow the fuck up Walker!"

This blow at him didn't even hurt. Instead, it made reality sink in his chest, and it felt heavier than a mountain. Bob was so right about him, that it made John feel like he was as transparent as glass.

All this time spent burying what he felt for the other man deep inside of him, trying to suffocate feelings he was well aware of. He fought with himself for so long, and for what? Who was he trying to appeal? Who put him under this obligation to conceal a part of himself, so strong that John thought it would break him?

The only person who really cared about him being attracted to a man, about John being in love with Bob, was John himself. He hid behind the values he was brought up with, behind the family he had built with Olivia and then destroyed himself, behind what would the public opinion think of him. He hid, like he always does, behind masks of strength and anger and duties, when in reality he was the only judge who was still ruling on his life. He has always been, and that's the reason for so many of his unforgivable mistakes. For pushing people away and making them hate him.

His pride is his worst vice, not his ire. The anger is nothing but another pathetic costume he wears to appeal to whoever is watching him, judging him. The real, deep force that controls all of his behaviours, that has always been controlling every aspect of his life, is fear. The fear that one day, everyone will find out what a fraud he is. Like it has happened before.

And Bob saw right through it, even more than he probably had realised that evening, about ten days before. He made John realise how pointless this act has always been. How his mask is not tough, authoritarian, but ridiculous.

And John is ashamed of himself for making Bob realise this ugly truth about him.

The mortification, self-consciousness and remorse that fill the silences, the distance between the two men are so heavy that they've become tangible. Both Bob and John are mortified by how they left things off, regretful about what they've left unsaid.

They avoid each other not much because they feel hurt, but because of how hurt the other clearly is because of them. Right now they aren't so different, but as always they can't realise that.

But this resemblance between their inner worlds is what causes the smallest shift, after days of stillness. This similarity is the reason why, when Bob walks in the gym while John is training, he doesn't walk back out. It's why John fights the urge to run, and instead stays.

Their likeness is the reason why, after training in the silent presence of each other, John finally makes a step towards Bob. It's why he tries to play it cool, to tease Bob about skipping their sparring matches, and fails miserably to sound nonchalant about that.

John's clear nervousness is the reason why Bob's answer doesn't come as a biting remark, but instead he lightly mocks him. Something about John not being a very effective teacher.

The left corner of John's mouth lifts, in something that resembles the smallest grin, barely noticeable. But Bob notices. And when John invites him to show how shitty of a teacher he's been, Bob gets into it without any resistance.

They start out slow, careful, like they're afraid to go past grazing each other's skin, to really touch. But punch after dodge, kick after parry, they go back in that not-so-perfect sync, in that flawed dance of theirs that both of them have missed terribly.

The tension dissipates as their movements become quicker, the walls they built come crashing down as their fight becomes more intense. For a while, all they can hear is the thuds of their skins crushing against each other and their fatigued grunts.

Then, in an instant, the chaos stops. Their bodies freeze in front of each other. Bob has John's right fist tightly wrapped by the fingers of his right hand. John's left hand is still tightly closed besides his cheek. His eyes are as wide as ever, as if he's been struck by the most unexpected, breathtaking view ever.

It's Bob's face he's staring at, close as it's ever been. His dark hair, damp with sweat, is sticking to his forehead. His lips are slightly parted, as he rapidly inhales and exhales through his mouth. His blue eyes are locked in John's, and he refuses to release his gaze. And John is mesmerized by this sight.

For what feels like a while, the only sound in the room is their unsteady breaths mixing together.

"See? I told you this was easy." Bob finally utters. He's breathless, his voice rough and low. His lips are curved in a grin that looks too sweet to be genuinely coy.

John has never moved more naturally than now, when he grabs Bob by the shoulder with his free hand and draws him closer to him. He has never been more present with himself than when he feels Bob's chapped lips crush against his own. He's never felt so defenseless than now, kissing the man he's been desperate to kiss for so long.

He feels bare when his mouth is against Bob's. And he's never felt safer than this.

Bob has never been chosen before. He's not who people chase after, he's the one that they get stuck with. He's not even the consolation prize, he's a punishment.

Even now that he has somewhat of a family of his own, his brain is still wired to make him feel like he's not enough. Bob's default setting is hating himself, and he's defeatedly aware of that. The damage to his self esteem, crushed after years of abuse, of being an outcast, will be difficult to undo.

But now that John's holding him like he's begging him not to go, now that the man he loves is kissing him like his only source of oxygen is stored between Bob's lips, now these constant, awful thoughts feel less heavy.

Kissing John, Bob feels wanted. He feels pleasant. And he's never letting go of this emotion. He doesn't want to stop thinking that he's deserving of this, of being chased after, of being cherished. And John will never let him do that anymore.

[tomatoteddy]

Redraw of this thing that happened while I was playing hard mode of the 2.3 event because I found it funny (my go-to gang and their shenanigans <3)

[sttoru]

𝝑𝑒 SYNOPSIS. sukuna is shameless—not caring if anyone were to ever catch him righteously claiming ownership over his favorite concubine in the garden.

wc. 1.5k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. exhibitionism. size difference. dumbification \\ objectification. has two c.ocks. hair pulling. use of spit (yeah ik i wouldnt write for it but its sukuna). breeding themes. overstimulation. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut’. sukuna’s a menace and loves to create drama between his concubines

“shut up. i don’t care if they’re here or not,” sukuna grunts, tightening his grip on your fleshy thighs as his lower cock slams in and out your sloppy cunt without much thought. the sound of pruning shears cutting off branches is easily overwhelmed by the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin.

you feel sorry for those servants who’re just doing their job tending to the garden. none of them dare to look your way. they’re sweating, eyes solely focused on the branches they’re cutting, acting like they are not hearing the sinful moans and grunts in the distance. if they look, they’re dead. that much is known.

everything is blurry to you. all you can manage to do is let out a string of pleasure filled whines. your body is easily overpowered and held up against the harsh wood of the nearby wall. your thighs are spread in an awfully painful way, your knees up to your chest. quite literally folded in half.

“i said eyes on me, y’ fuckin’ slut,” sukuna barks. he does not have the patience today. you breaking the intense eye contact with him only worsens his mood. one of his veiny hands tug at your hair. the others hold you up—not allowing you to even think of getting back on your feet until your tight cunt is done milking him for what he’s worth.

you gasp and sukuna takes the chance to grab your jaw with yet another free hand. “open y’r mouth,” his hips do not still for even a second. they roll and ground against yours, the surrounding skin near his pelvis stained with your wet juices. he could smell it. just as nasty and dirty as he wants it to be.

you part your lips and keep them like that, not wanting to piss sukuna off even more. he grins at the sight of your red tongue instinctively rolling out like the obedient little girl you are. he spits right into your mouth, “swallow.”

you do so without second thought. the warm liquid trickles down your throat. sukuna watches in satisfaction, drilling into you until your insides are complete mush. you’re drooling over yourself already—clearly having lost control over your rationality.

you sniffle and try to hold onto sukuna’s biceps. your small fingers curl around the shape of them, nails digging into his flesh. every time you think sukuna’s finally letting up, he only increases his inhuman pace. “my l-lord, ‘s too much,” you cry out. your body could only handle so much pleasure before it’d break down. your pussy is convulsing around his girthy cock, feeling his other sliding back and forth over your sensitive clit.

the king of curses shuts you up with a hiss. his bottom set of eyes is focused on the impressive scene of your tiny pussy swallowing his cock so easily. he’s feeling proud of the fact that he’s molded you into the perfect concubine for him and his carnal pleasure.

sukuna has fucked you silly enough times to know how to get you under his spell. his fingers brush over your hard nipples, grabbing the squishy flesh of your tits as they bounce with each of his thrusts. he leans his head down towards yours. his rough, raspy voice makes your body heat up, “no, no. it’s never too much for my little girl, right? she can easily take ‘nother load f’me.”

your breath hitches and sukuna realises it worked. he knows just what to say to manipulate you into giving in. so he can fuck you senseless for how long he wants. you’re a sucker for the fact that he calls you his. that’s what you are—you’re his woman. only his and no one else’s. the claim of ownership makes your pussy clench.

“y-yes, my lord. i can take another, i can,” you breathe out, head swaying from side to side, not mentally able anymore to keep up with sukuna’s intense libido. yet, your body is still active, squeezing around sukuna’s dick as he promised you more of his precious cum.

the king of curses snickers, amused by just how fast you gave in. “that’s what i thought, hah,” he’s realised that his hold on you knows no bounds. you’re his little toy. the only one he wants to ravish these days. and the only one worth of carrying his seed.

you’re still thinking about the way he’s called you ‘his little girl’. it’s driving you closer to the edge. you start to get louder, completely ignoring your inner thoughts that begged you to have some decorum; to try and hide the fact that you’re getting slutted out in the courtyard.

there’s not much hiding it anyway since the servants have a clear understanding of what’s going on behind them. “mghh, please—please need more!” you mewl and sukuna listens. his red eyes darken with desire as you get into it. he loves to experience that lust driven side of yours. a complete opposite to your usual formal and shy self.

“louder, c’mon. let them know i’m fucking you good,” sukuna sneers, enjoying the mind games he is playing with you. you’re too cockdrunk to even notice. the them in his sentence refers to his other concubines. he knows that you’re secretly craving to get revenge on them and show them just how well you get dicked down by him every single day.

unlike them, who rarely get graced by his touch. that is, when you’re unavailable.

you do as told and increase the volume of your erotic moans, letting everyone around the estate know what you’re getting up to. not like anyone could interfere. sukuna wouldn’t dare let them live a second after.

“that’s it, yeah,” the sorcerer grunts and rams his length repeatedly into you, cursing at the way you’re gripping him so tightly. you’re so dripping wet that he slips out of you for a second. he moves his hips, angling them better to slam back inside of you.

however, you’re one step ahead. your shaky hand reaches down between your legs and you quickly guide his tip to your entrance, urging him to push between your moist folds again. “nasty fuckin’ girl,” sukuna scoffs at your desperation, though secretly thrives off it. he switches cocks and shoves the upper one into your cunt.

you gasp. you’re so used to him to the point that you could sense the difference between his dicks. the upper one has more veins and is a tad bit girthier. you hiccup and nearly choke on your own moans and spit from the change of pace and dicks. “ngh, ‘tis so deep, my lord—” you whine loudly and your hands move to hold your breasts, stopping them from painfully jiggling around in every direction.

sukuna hums in content as he continues his rough thrusts. he can feel his balls twitch and clench, ready to shoot his sperm all up in your womb like you deserve. though, he doesn’t want to end this moment too quickly. he wants to extend it.

“c’mere,” sukuna grumbles and stops pounding your poor, aching cunt. he stills his dick inside you and allows you to cling onto his tall stature, lifting you away from the wall. he silently urges you to wrap your legs around his waist so he could carry you.

the robes of your kimono get left behind on the patch of grass near the wall of the main house. there’s a few droplets of white liquid that’s stained the grass, right where sukuna and you were standing at seconds ago.

you don’t think about anything anymore as you babble about how full you felt with his cock all the way in you. the fat tip brushes against your cervix with each step sukuna takes towards his next destination.

“keep talkin’ to me, doll. tell me how good it feels to take my cock,” he grins smugly as he carries your little body like a trophy into the main building—not paying mind to any maids who he passes by. they’re shocked by the sight of their lady in such a state, though are only able to bow at the two of you.

sukuna finally stops in front of the dinner table. the same table you always have dinner at with him and his other women. he places your back against the surface, big hands holding you down by your hips. “there we go,” he coos mockingly, seeing how you’re completely fucked out, yet still needing more of him.

the king of curses has his own twisted reasons of bringing you here. looking outside of the window, you notice how the sun is starting to set. that’s also the moment you realise his hidden motive.

the other concubines will sooner or later gather at the dining hall to eat supper. they’d expect a peaceful meal, though instead, they’ll be greeted by the sight of their dear lord screwing his favorite. it’ll be a painful blow to them.

which is exactly what the ruthless man wants to achieve.

sukuna licks his lips and all of his eyes focus on you solely, “gonna enjoy my dinner a bit earlier t’day, yeah?”

CR. STTORU 2024

[lovelivision]

Geto overstimulating you to the point of tears, cooing gently at the way your eyes flutter up at him. Sitting pretty in his lap, taking his whole cock while his thumb swirls cruelly around your sensitive clit. Sly smile dancing so enticingly on his lips at how you twitch and clench around him, his brows pulling together when you get even wetter.

Pussy drooling all over his dick with your previous orgasms and fresh slick, cunt still so greedy that you can’t help but rock back and forth in his lap. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t already cum or started fucking you, only torturously playing with you like this.

Begs falling on deaf ears, “P–please, Sugu– hah– it’s too much!”

“If it’s too much why are you– oh fuck– why are you grinding into me so desperately, hmm?” Words bitten back; his head dizzy with the snug fit of your pussy wrapped so deliciously around him.

Pouting back pathetically at him, “C–can’t help it.”

He pouts back at you, mocking the expression you’re wearing, “I know you can’t.” Thumb still rubbing into your oversensitive clit, “Cunt so greedy you can’t help but want to fuck yourself onto me.”

Words so mean and maybe he should feel bad about being so unkind but when you’re throbbing around him and creaming at the base of his cock, he can’t help but forget about the fleeting thought. Clearly you like it when he’s this mean to you, trying to rut down into him again but stopped by his large hand on your hip.

“Cum again and I’ll fuck you,” he offers.

Bleary eyes blinking up at him, “Promise?”

He smiles politely back at you, “Sure.”

You nod at him and his movements on your poor clit speed up again, driving you to borderline insanity. Chest stuttering with struggled breaths, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his shoulders. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of him, bare chest covered in all the little love bites you’d left behind in your earlier frenzied need.

He’s filling you so well, stretched to the fucking limit to take him, fucked open on him so lewdly. Little pool of your slick sitting at the base of him, smeared on the dark tufts of hair there. A single sharp and practiced thrust upwards into your g-spot has your dizzy head seeing stars. Small and whined cry leaving you at the way he’s suddenly forced you into yet another orgasm.

Nails digging into his skin and leaving bright marks in their wake, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you struggle to breathe. Cumming around him so hard that you think you’ve died, a sentiment that Geto shares. He doesn’t think you’ve realised in your bliss but you’ve gripped him so hard it’s shocked him into his own premature orgasm.

Hands groping at your thighs, hips stuttering up into your tight heat, seeking out more of the feeling. Wanting more, more, more of you, not satisfied even though he’s just dumped a large amount of his seed inside your sinful walls.

Suddenly your world is spinning, Geto has pushed you onto your back, him following behind without ever leaving your pussy. “Okay– ngh– I’ll fuck you now,” his eyes are drunk and ravenous as he looks at you.

In your cockdrunk stupor you’re not sure of much but you are sure that a long night is ahead of you…

[cherrynpink]

don't you love me?

pairing: toxicbsf!seungcheol x f!reader

genre: friend to lovers, toxic relationships (friendships), smut MDNI!!!

warnings: manipulation, toxic cheol, dubcon, gaslighting, controlling n possessive cheol, he isolates oc, scoups tummy mention (nom nom hot), kind of ddlg dynamic? (u can tell i have father issues), power imbalance, princess treatment, drinking, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), dom!cheol, overstimulation, corruption kink, a little bit praise a little bit degradation but its barely noticeable, size kink (a little), manhandling, inexperienced oc, dacryphilia, crying, breeding kink, missionary bcs im a romantic sue me, big dick scoups hehe, unprotected sex (do NOT do it dawg), tummy bulge kink, mentions of baby trapping, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 4.3k

playlist: don't you love me?

for more of my work, check out my masterlist!

note: i need toxic cheol sooo bad no one gets it but thank u @seventeensrat for getting me n proofreading n giving me ur deranged thoughts abt it. want dat gold cross necklace in the pic dangling over my face 😝 i kept making him a sweetheart but then realised no he needs to be an asshole (that i would fuck 100%) n i might make a part 2 of this so lmk...

anywaysss my requests are open if u have something u wanna read or just talk n so are my dms to make new friends here :) feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehehe :3

if u wanna be tagged

Currently obsessed with the idea of toxic guy best friend seungcheol.

He is the bestest friend someone could ask for in your opinion. The sweetest, most selfless guy you’ve ever come across. Always drives you around in his g-wagon- hand resting just below the hem of your dress. Bought you a dyson last month; no particular occasion, just because “you talked about it once so I thought you’d like it.” Takes you to try out whatever cute cafes you want to and buys you all the pastries in the world. Calls you his “baby” and his “princess”. Not only pays for your nails but also helps you pick out the design. Carries all your shopping bags without breaking a sweat in one hand, other resting on your lower back so that the guys around you don’t think they have a chance. And of course, he pays for all your clothes with his black card :). Who would he spoil if not you? He sometimes gets into the dressing room with you in the Victoria’s Secret store while you’re changing because “we’re best friends, right?” (with a pout ofc) when you refuse because you’re not sure if this is what friends do, but you give in eventually. Now the fact that he makes you spin around in your pretty little lingerie, strong hands groping your thighs as you say “Isn’t this a little too tight, cheol?”, your hands adjusting the bra all while he’s staring at your tits spilling out of the see through material as he assures you that it’s perfect is something others don’t need to know, right?

Yeah. He’s your best friend. Always takes care of you, cooks for you, makes sure you have all your meals and that you study properly- scolding you when you miss any lectures. Makes sure you don’t drink too much at parties or guys other than him might take advantage of you. Doesn’t let you exchange notes with the guys in your class. Even got into a fight with a guy and almost got suspended because of something he said about you. He scolds you for talking to them, because you don’t know their intentions and all you do is keep your head down and nod, no other choice than to abide him. He does know what’s better for you after all, right? He scolds you only because he loves you! He just knows what’s best for you, and wants to make sure you know he’s the best for you.

All your other friends don’t really speak very highly of him tho :( they just feel like there’s something off about him. No one is ever that nice. That he’s like a guard dog around you and doesn’t let you talk to guys or date, always hovering around you and giving you orders. But you assure them that no!!! he’s your cheol :( he tells you that they’re just jealous of you. They’re jealous of your friendship with him. They envy you. Yes, he can be a bit strict sometimes and act like your dad, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to you to get in trouble! He just wants to protect you :) that’s why he always asks for tons of your pictures before you go out so that he can protect you from the creeps that think of your short dress as an excuse to get their way with you.

When you first became friends with him, you were a bit skeptical when he told you that your boyfriend was cheating on you. But then he said, “Don’t you trust me? Why would I lie to you?” with his signature pout and he was right. If you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone, right? Now it was surprising to you when your boyfriend was the one to break up with you later that day, but all seungcheol said to you while you cried on his shoulder was “He didn’t deserve you, baby.” You don’t need to know that he lied to you boyfriend that you had sex with him when he was out of town. He only lied because he knew you were meant for him. He just wants you for himself, is that so bad? He doesn’t think so, because he takes care of you so well. Makes sure all your needs are met and you have no complaints. You’re his girl after all :)

As soon your (ex) boyfriend broke up with you, seungcheol was quick to ask you to move in with him, because “You need someone to take care of you right now, you can’t live alone doll.” and you couldn’t argue with that logic. And he was so good to you. Didn’t even make you pay rent because why would he. Always was there for you when you wanted to rant about your day, but only while sitting on his lap facing him in just his oversized shirt and panties obviously :) that was a rule. Would come up slyly from behind when you were cooking in your cute little apron, hands resting on your tits because “It’s comforting to me y/n.” and you don’t complain. Whenever you denied him something he would say “Don’t you love me?” eyes furrowed and big arms caging you.  But it was a two-way street, the way you always let him cuddle you after a bad day. How you always brought him something to eat when he had been gaming for hours. How last week you reassured him when he said he would start a diet because he thought he was gaining weight by giving him a small kiss on his cheek, telling him that it was hot for you, that it made him only more reliable in your eyes. It was the small things. But they always counted.

The girls he saw or went out with always complained about umm, the bond you both shared; but he never cared. It did bother you though seeing him bring girls over to your shared apartment, hearing their moans through the thin paper walls :( all while you had your hand shyly tucked between your thighs resisting the urge to imagine yourself in their place, bent over for him. But you never touched yourself. It would be so wrong, thinking about your best friend like that! So you often resorted to grinding against the plushie bear he won for you at the fair as his oversized shirt slipped down your shoulders- quiet whines leaving your throat as you failed to reach your high. Little did you know he was imagining the girl under him to be you every single time. He can’t even count the number of times he’s jerked off to the pictures you send him (at his request obviously). The number of times he’s stared at your panties peeking out whenever your skirt rid up or your cleavage when you bent down.

You do notice that after a few months, he takes up more of your time. Not that you’re complaining!!! You love to spend time with him, but you feel it get to a point. It’s not sudden, rather subtle and painstakingly so slow you don’t even realise what he’s doing until you’re in it too deep (or until he’s in YOU too deep ahem). Whenever you’re getting ready to go out with your friends he always hugs you and somehow always falls sick so that you can’t go out because you have to take care of him. What kind of friend would you be if you left him sick and alone to go out and drink he says. You’re being a little bitchy he says. You don’t love him he says. And tears well up in your eyes, because you love him so much you can’t believe he thinks of you that way. And then there you are in your pretty pink dress, mascara smeared on your cheeks as you’re crying in his embrace while he comforts you. You begin to stop talking to your friends because he says they’re a bad influence on you. But don’t worry! Your cheol is right next to you always :) his clinginess increases ten folds. He is always on you, hands resting on your plush thighs or your waist at all times- neck nuzzled in your hair when you sit on his lap as he games. Brings out his puppy eyes and pout whenever you refuse him. “Don’t you love me?” he says and you would never want him to think that. So you let him do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He knows what’s best for you, right?

He dreamt of taking you, corrupting you but only bit by bit. It might make you sick if you found out but he wanted to make you cry while he defiled you, moulded you to his liking. Wanted to throw you around because it was just so easy for him. A small part of him thinks you instigate your playfights on purpose to get him to overpower you, manhandle you. He knew you had had a few boyfriends before so imagine his surprise when he found out you had never had an orgasm one night, head buried in his lap drunk and giggled out the confession in shame. You should be thankful he made your boyfriend break up with you, because how fucking incompetent does one have to be.

“What do you mean you’ve never had an orgasm?” he asked, hands running through your hair.

“They just never made me cum.”

“They never ate you out?” he asked in shock.

“Mhm.” You said shaking your head before passing out on his lap.

“God. What fucking assholes.” He thought to himself. He knew he had to be the one to take care of you, after all you’ve been deprived for so long.

Few weeks later and it was your semester end party, loud music all around you, girls passed out drunk, shots being passed around and wild chaos everywhere. And there you see him, across the room talking and laughing with his friends, one hand chugging down beer every now and then. He looked so hot, though dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans; the royal oak watch stealing everyone’s attention as he ran his hand through his hair. It was the way he carried himself, his confidence, his carefreeness. And the way he carried you with him, showing you off like a trophy to be desired (not that you minded it a bit). You’re too engrossed in ogling him when you’re pulled out of your entranced state by no one other than Vernon. You remember meeting him on seungcheol’s birthday, recalling him as one of his close friends. You always found him cute, texting him whenever he replied to your stories or sometimes sitting next to him in shared lectures.

“Hi y/n.” He says with a slight smirk, red solo cup in his hand.

“Hi Vernon!”

“Want a drink?” he says, offering you the cup.

“Mhm I’ve already had so much to drink.” You slur through your words. “Cheol will scold me.” You say with a slight pout.

“Coups isn’t attached to your hip tonight?”

“Mhm, we’re not always together!” you giggle, a bit buzzed because of all the drinking.

“Oh? He never lets me talk to you though doll.” He says with a pout, taking a step closer.

“What do you wanna talk to me about?” you say with a smirk (the flirting a courtesy of the alcohol) as your hand rests on his chest barely grazing him.

His hand reaches to grab your waist as he’s just leaning in, his lips just about to touch yours when in the blink of an eye you see a muscular arm pull him off of you with a force, and you hear seungcheol shouting something at vernon that you’re too drunk to comprehend, but you catch a few phrases here and there- “Are you fucking dumb taking advantage of here when she’s drunk?” and “Back off dude you know she’s mine.” You feel his grip tighten on your hand as he leads you through the room, murmuring a “We’re leaving.” as he opens the car door for you.

The entire car ride was pin drop silent. His hand wasn’t even on your thigh tonight like always :( and you could feel he was pissed off- the way his veins bulged with his grip on the steering and his jaw clenched so hard. he would usually let you pick out whatever song you wanted, watching fondly with a smile when you sung along to it; but he wasn’t even talking to you :( you think maybe it’s your fault. He had warned you about guys trying to take advantage of you, but you were just talking to Vernon. He’s his friend, right? but you feel bad for ruining his night :/ he was talking to his friends but then he had to run over to you because you can’t even take care of yourself properly. Maybe he was right when he said that you needed him. Needed him to protect you, be with you, take care of you.

When you get back to your shared apartment, he’s still quiet; not forgetting his manners for a second though- opening all the doors for you and taking off your heels as you lean your weight on him, your hand on his shoulder for support. But it’s too much for you now. Why is he still so mad at you? Tears start welling in your eyes as your voice breaks.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask between sniffles, doing everything in your power to not let that tear drop slide down your cheeks but he notices it. He sees the distress in your eyes. The fear you have of disappointing him. And he loves it. Loves that you crave for his approval. He’s proud that he’s made you into this. But apparently you still need to learn to be disciplined. Then so be it, he'll make you into his obedient little girl. Your brows are still furrowed at the lack of his answer as he stands up and begins to step away from you and that’s all it takes for the dam to break as tears start welling down your face, a shame in your chest because you feel like you’ve let him down.

“Cheollie please! I- I’m sorry!” you say between sniffles, head buried in your hands.

“Yeah? What are you sorry for Y/n? And fuck are you crying for?” he spits out and it only makes you cry more because not only has he never been this mean to you, but also has never called you by your name like this :( always calling you by nicknames.

“I’m sorry for talking to Vernon.” You murmur. “I’m sorry for making you mad.” You say, wiping your tears.

“Made me leave my friends to take care of you y/n, I told you not to talk to anyone without me right? Told you not to drink too much. This is why I always have to take care of you baby, you can’t do it alone.” He says, swatting your hands away and wiping your tears as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry cheol, let me make it up to you? Don’t want you to be angry at me.”

“Yeah? How will you make it up to me baby? I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you yet, you were so careless.”

“Anything.” You whisper. “Whatever you want I’ll do.” You say in your slightly buzzed state, but he doesn’t care. That’s all the permission he needs as he’s reaching down, arm snaking around your waist as to not give you a chance to back out, gently yet passionately pressing himself against your warm mouth. Your eyes open wide as the realization hits- hands pushing his chest away as he separates himself for a second.

He's just about to lean back in, eyes half lidded full of lust before you say, “Cheol what are you doing?”

“You said you’d do anything I wanted to make it up to me, right?” he says as you give him a hesitant nod facing down.

“But I’m a bit drunk right now.” You say, voice barely a whisper.

“So you lied to me then? When you said that?”

“No! No, I’d never lie to you.” you say as your eyes reach up to meet him on the brink of tears.

“Then let me do whatever I want baby. Let me make you feel good. Don’t you love me?”

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

It spins in your head like a mantra, before you give into his demands as a sly smirk accompanies him. You see him cup your cheeks in one hand as he’s reaching down to kiss you once again, much more possessively this time as he melted into you- tongue slipping in smoothly, as if he’s going to be the only man from now on allowed to do this (he is). His hands find your waist like they belong there. You gasp as he’s guiding you towards his bedroom, hands roaming all over the body like they’ve never been before. His lips move down your jaw as his fingers toy with the hem of your short dress- finding abode along your inner thighs. You think back to all the days you chanted his name like a prayer when you were just so close, dreaming of his fingers in you instead of your own. But at the same time your hesitation throughout it never leaves you.

He's quick to pick you up, only to throw you on his bed like a ragdoll as he gets on his knees in front you, bunching your dress up to your waist. His hands massage your thighs as he pulls them apart, immensely satisfied by the wet spot forming at your center.

“These the ones I bought you doll?” he asks, eyes still transfixed on your core. You manage to whisper a quiet yes and before you know it, he’s ripping the material off of you quite literally, diving in like a man starved. Your state is hazy because of the alcohol and the sight of him between your eyes as his words reverberate in your head while his fingers aggressively toy with your clit- Don’t you love me? Don’t you trust me? I know what’s best for you. Let me make you feel good. He’s relentless in his efforts, showing you no mercy or sympathy for the fact this the first time someone’s eating you out. Even when you ask him to slow down, to stop. Even when you cry out his name repeatedly. His plump lips suck on your clit sharply as the same hand that adorned the very royal oak watch that got you so hot drives into you, hitting your g-spot again and again.

Tears start to well in your eyes as they wet your cheeks but as seungcheol looks up at you, the only thing he can think of is how much you’ll cry when he fucks you and you feel him fully in your belly. Your moans get louder as you keep begging him to stop, but he knows you’re close. He can feel you clenching on his fingers as you buck up your hips into him. And before you know it, you’re cumming all over his thick digits. But that doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t falter in his movements for even a second, fingers driving into you at the same pace as your orgasm washes over you. Your legs are shaking around his head as he animalistically groans against your clit.

“Cheol! P- please! Can’t…. can’t take more!” you cry out as your hand tightens it's grip on his hair.

“One more baby.” He grunts out. “One more on my tongue.”

He thinks he’s addicted. Addicted to the taste of you. Not only does he make you cum on his tongue once more, but pulls an orgasm out of you just but by playing with your clit. You think you’ve lost track of the amount of times he’s made you cum, but he’s keeping count. One for each time he’s wanted to take you, and trust there are many. But your entire body is quaking and covered in sweat because of the relentless overstimulation. Once he thinks he’s satisfied with the number of times he’s made you cum on his tongue, he finally gets up only to see you almost passed out on the bed, barely holding on. The sheets besides you are wet from your tears but that only makes his pants tighter. You see him lose his shirt and his pants as he stands in front of you in his boxers. His length is strained against the material as if trapped. He strokes himself from over the material before pulling them down as his thick long member hits his stomach and he sees you gulp. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you react to him.

“Scared princess?” he teases you as he locks his gaze with yours, spitting in his hand as he strokes himself- precum leaking out his dark pink tip.

“It won’t fit.” You say hesitantly, but you don’t want to disappoint him either.

“You’re cheol’s good girl right? You’re a big girl, you can take it.” He spits out rather meanly, making you pout. But he’s not showing you any mercy this time. You’ll take whatever he gives you. After all, you wanted to please him, right?

Once again he’s parting your legs as he lines himself up with your already ruined entrance, tapping his tip against your clit, before he hears you say, “Cheollie, you don’t hate me, right?” with eyes on the brink of crying. It’s endearing he thinks, that you’re still afraid of disappointing him, letting him down. He’s taught you sooo well.

“Could never hate you love.” He says, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. “Now let your cheol take care of you okay, like always.” And just like that, he’s pushing into you in one go, giving you no time to adjust as your wet velvet walls wrap around him, your slick covering his entire length. He’s pushing your legs up only to rest them on his broad shoulders as you continue to cry out his name over and over again. He doesn’t falter once as he propels into you, gold cross chain dangling over you, and when he opens his eyes to look down to where you connect, his eyes go wide at the sight of himself in your lower belly. He can see himself in you, literally. And oh, does it turn him on, the way you’re so tiny in front of him, so much so that his big dick bulges in you poor little belly. He taps your cheek lightly as to call you to pay attention to him.

“You see that baby?” he says, running his hand over the bulge in your belly. “See how deep I am in you, fuck! Like you were made for me.”

If that’s how deep he goes in you, what would happen if he came that deep in you he thinks. And that only makes him angle himself into you deeper as he lifts one of his legs. He could fill you up and it won’t even leak out. How would you look carrying his baby? No way you’d ever leave him if he knocked you up right now. You’d look so beautiful, his wife, his pretty little baby mama. The thought of you swelled up gets him closer to his release as his hips begin to falter and his strokes get sloppier- each one becoming a sharp thrust. And just like that, with a loud cry and a particularly sharp push of his hips into you, you’re cumming over his cock for the nth time in the night, completely spent and head blank, as you collapse back on the bed almost passed out at this point. You didn’t ask for his permission to cum, but it’s okay, he’ll discipline you next time :)

You feel him getting closer as well as his moans get louder and thrusts sloppier and you’re about to give out and rest in bliss when the realisation hits you- he’s not wearing a condom.

“Fuck ‘m gonna cum baby, pussy so tight like it was made for me.” He groans.

Your panicked eyes look up to him, “Cheol, please… please don’t cum inside.” You plead.

“No way baby, not pulling out…mhm!” he moans as his pace increases, chasing his release. “Gonna fill you up real good, you trust me right?”

“Mhm…” you sigh hesitantly. “Okay…if you say so.”

“Fuck! Thank you princess, love you so much, yeah? My good girl.” He says between grunts and the slap of his balls against you, as you grunt out a quiet love you too, and with that you feel yourself getting full of him as he fills you up to the brim, still fucking you through it slowly. When he’s done, he doesn’t pull out of you yet- making sure it’s inside you. Your bodies melt against each other as you feel his heavy breathes against your ear. The room smells of sex and sweat as he collapses besides you panting.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, right cheol?” you say, breaking the silence as he’s pressing another small kiss to your lips, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Hmm, you were a really bad tonight doll. We’ll have to see if you make it up to me after another round.”

It was gonna be a long night. But it’s okay. You would do anything for your cheol :)

[enhard]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚ ✩

sim jaeyun — “use me” (MDNI)

(wrote this just thinking how jake has pretty veiny hands to match his big veiny cock ♡︎)

pairing: bf!s.jy x fem!reader

: you’re pissed at your boyfriend for ignoring you but luckily he knows the best way to help you calm down… using his fingers of course ! but that’s not all

cw: smut, fingering, hand kink, size kink, riding, cockwarming, creampie, squirting, lots of stretching out, pet names, praising, fucking while on call with others, jake is just packing ughh </33

You love your boyfriend, obviously, but you started hating how he spent more time playing with his friends rather than hanging out with you.

Every time he had free time you’d ask him to sleep over at his and he accepted whenever you would ask. However… he would spend his time clicking away at his computer screen, his pretty fingers moving along the keyboard keys.

You’d sit with your arms resting on your knees, curdled up on his bed watching him.

“Hurry through here so we can corner these guys.. come on, faster, faster!” he says, speaking to Heeseung, Jungwon and Sunghoon through his headset. He’s been playing with them for hours now, and you just spend your time listening to him. The blue light from the screen emits onto his glasses, spreading on his whole face.

You scrolled your phone for a bit, but how much more could you scroll really? You desperately needed his attention, you missed his sweet words and his touch.

Without wanting to disturb him, you walk behind his gaming chair, wrapping your arms around his abdomen. He had to watch how he reacted cause the others could hear his every movement. “Oh..hey my love, what’s up?” he says, still focused on the screen. Your mood changes again, seeing how uninterested he is, not even bothering to look at you. You quickly take your hands off him and back off, that move making him look back at you for a split second.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, shooting another enemy.

“Forget it, i’m going home.” you say, the want to stay getting lesser and lesser.

“Wait.. what? what do you mean..?” he says, immediately grabbing his headset to take it off his head. He leaves the keyboard in the middle of the online game, faint sounds of the guys’ screams coming from the headphones.

“I wanna go home.” you look down.

“I’m sorry my love… I was totally ignoring you. I didn’t realise. I’ll leave the game right now.” he gently grabs your hands, looking up at you like a guilty puppy.

You stop him. “I’m just mad at you. How can you invite me over then just.. ignore me like that??” you snap.

He looks down again. “I’m acting so stupid. I’m sorry.. is there any way I can make it up to you?”

As he’s massaging your fingers with his, you look down, noticing the way his joints move. The amount of small veins he has in his hand and how easily you can trace them with your touch. You stare at his slender fingers, his perfect trimmed nails… just getting an idea.

“Jake..” you whisper, pulling him into a soft kiss. As you lean in, he grabs onto one side of your jaw, pulling you closer to him. You almost sit on his lap, before he stands up to make you walk back to his bed. You both make out for a bit, barely getting enough of each other’s lips.

He lays you on his bed, getting on top of you to continue kissing you. It’s just like he knows what you want to forgive him. “Let me make you happy… what do you think?” he smiles softly. You just nod, looking up at him with desperate but determined eyes.

His fingers slyly cross your neck, down your collarbone and down your shirt. He uses one hand to massage your whole chest through your large shirt. He slowly touches you all over, before stopping at your hips, where the shirt ends. he moves his fingers up your shirt, on your abdomen, finally sliding it off you from above your head. Your breasts now fully in his view, he smiles upon looking at them.

“You’re so damn perfect. I love you so much.” he says. his fingers cage your tits with a squeeze, trying to make the best of it with how much time he has until his members realise he’s gone.

“I love you too baby.” you say back shyly, biting your lip after watching his veiny hands touch you all over. His fingers are genuinely perfect, the way his hands are so soft on your plush skin, pretty pink knuckles and hands just a little cold to make you shiver.

He finally moves down to your pants, sliding them off in one move, making you spread your legs a bit so he can take them off. You’re just left in your underwear now, already soaked. You’re waiting for his slender fingers to welcome your pussy with a touch, but he has other plans. Instead, he picks you up in his embrace, legs wrapped around his waist. Your wet underwear leaves an embarrassing stain on his plain white shirt but he doesn’t mind.

He buries his head into your neck while he walks back to the desk. “You’re so wet for me, love.” He says satisfied. “Now you better stay quiet, the mic is on you and… you don’t want them to hear you, do you?” you look at him a bit scared of the situation, but you shake your head. “Good girl, stay quiet for me then.” he reassures.

Jake sits back down on the chair, making you sit on his lap, facing him. He places the mic of the headset right close to you telling the guys that he’s finally back. He puts the headset on one of your ears, letting you hear him aswell with the other. Now his friends are just talking about random things while you hear them with one ear, and your boyfriend’s voice in the other. You stay completely quiet but he makes a move, leaning in to your face to tell his members that he’s going to be away from his keyboard for a bit again.

After he says that, he leans back into his chair and immediately rips your underwear off. He makes a big hole in them not even bothering to take them off. Jake shyly touches your sensitive clit with the bud of his thumb, tracing small circles around it. He looks at what he’s doing the entire time, admiring how wet you could’ve gotten for him in this time.

He pulls his fingers away to shove them in your mouth, making you lick and suck on his fingers for a minute or so. The fingers get coated in your saliva, and he pulls them out to continue touching your clit. You succeed staying quiet, grabbing his shoulders with both your hands. He picks up his pace, beginning to squeeze the sensible skin, pinching it and dragging it with his fingers. “So good.” He whispers. You close your mouth shut, trying your hardest not to make a sound, the guys’ voices echoing through your head.

After he’s done abusing your clit, he moves down to your folds, touching all over them with his wet fingers. He stops at your desperate hole, slowly pushing one finger inside. You close your eyes, your lips parting at the sudden feeling. Your body jerks up automatically as you let out a heavy breath.

As your eyelids connect, they crush two sweet tears in between them.

Jake reaches for the mic, holding it in his palm so the sound muffles. “I barely shoved my finger inside, princess. Stay still.” He says, moving his fingers slowly in and out of you. Your juices run down his knuckles as you sit there on his lap shamefully. You grab onto his shoulder blades, trying your best to stay quiet.

He takes his hand away from the mic, placing it on your thigh instead. He sneaks another finger in, making you leave out a small sound. He looks up at you with his glistening puppy eyes, smiling ever so slightly with the corners of his mouth. He picks up his pace significantly, the feeling of his fingers so deep inside your core making you want to scream right there. If there’s one thing you love about your boyfriend’s physical appearance it HAS to be his hands.

They’re so soft, perfect for holding or.. you know, feeling.

He takes really good care of his hands, specially for you. He makes sure he stays on the top of his hygiene mostly for moments like these. You slowly lean in to give him a quiet kiss, muffling a moan that was forming in the back of your throat. The buds of his fingers rub against the best spot as he curls them inside, making you leave out a louder sound. Luckily his members were preoccupied with the game and didn’t really pay attention to what they heard.

Jake’s eyebrows raised slightly, speeding up even more. You start shaking your head, barely being able to contain yourself anymore. Your poor underwear is stuck to your skin, almost fully wet against it. “J…Jake.. I can’t please.. i… please…” you plead in a faint whisper.

“What’s that, love? tell me clearly.” he says, clearly knowing what you’re about to say but he still loves teasing you for it.

“Gonna cum…. oh m… fucking days. Please. Let me.. cum..” you whisper so slightly again, the sound barely hitting his ears.

“Keep quiet though, i’m letting you finish don’t worry.” he keeps going, massaging your thigh with his other hand. You immediately feel the knot in your stomach unleash with a large gush that spreads down his fingers and onto his sweatpants. You cover your mouth with your hand really tightening your palm on your face.

He smiles in satisfaction, pulling his fingers out to shove them inside his mouth. He licks his fingers to be able to taste you on his tongue, and he finally grabs onto your ass. He gives it a little playful slap before grinding you on him. You manage to calm your high down just to focus on him. You look down at his bulge forming in his now wet stained pants.

Jake has always been hard to take, in other words, he’s just packing. It never demotivated you to take him whole, no matter how much he stretched you out. Even his half-hard dick is hard to grab with one hand. That’s why when you slide his sweatpants off, you smile at him before barely wrapping one hand around his cock. You lazily stroke him to get him rock hard, your wet pussy just patiently waiting right next to it.

“Are you gonna be able to take it?” he looks at you understanding, knowing how before you would end up so stretched out after. You nod your head, sure of your actions this time.

“I can.” you reply. Once he’s fully hard, you trace a finger on the veins on his dick. Each and every one. You lick your lips before letting out a string of saliva fall down his cock, lubricating it a bit before positioning his tip on your hole. You take a deep breath as you sit on him slowly. He stretches you out more and more, and he insists on slowing everything down for you but you were so desperate to have him inside you that you just didn’t care anymore.

He keeps telling you to stop for yourself, to pull out if it’s too much. Instead you shush him, leaning your head back as you let yourself down on him. When you finally take him whole, your body shakes slightly at the feeling. You feel so full right now, so stretched. But there’s no way you’re pulling away.

His members start wondering where he is, and how they keep hearing breathing as he’s not in the game and he’s been missing for so long already. You panic a little upon hearing them ask about Jake but instead you just close your eyes, feeling his tip in your deepest spot.

“Oh fucks… sake. You’re so.. damn huge.” you whisper cry to him. He giggles a bit, only looking at you the whole time. “Let me see you move on it.” he grabs onto your waist gently.

You suck on your bottom lip as you sit back up, then back down on him. You start off with small bounces and somehow it never gets easier, no matter how many times you’ve both done this before. You do go slow for your own good, and he lets you go at your own pace.

He admires your pretty face contorting in all ways to his dick, but that just might be his favourite part. He loves how you react. You try your best picking up your pace, figuring he might’ve gotten bored already.

But it was the exact opposite, he didn’t mind, he wanted you to feel comfortable. You grind yourself on him a bit faster and he lets out a groan. “You’re so tight around me.. sweetheart..” he thinks he hasn’t stretched you out enough beforehand. “We can.. do it..” you say, already out of breath.

You spread your legs a bit more, releasing a bit of tension on him. You succeed bouncing on his big cock, whilst using his shoulders as handles. “You’re taking it so good..” he whispers. You go faster at his praises.

He’s been stretching you out for a while now, and it definitely got easier over time. The slight discomfort turned into satisfying pleasure for you. His swollen tip hits your g-spot every single time, making you want to cum right there. However, he’s been wanting to finish ever since you started. You feel so good wrapped around him he’s surprised he hasn’t let out a moan yet.

He rests his head on the chair enjoying your every move on him. You go faster again, getting closer to cumming again. Your puffy cunt is crying at this point, while you let out a slight moan with every bounce.

At this point his friends might’ve caught on, but you couldn’t care less, you just needed him and that’s it. You keep going for a bit before, before rolling your eyes back to cum. “I’m— again… I… oh m… Jake..” you struggle.

You don’t get to say anything else because you instantly finish again, your thighs shaking on top of him. You moan ever louder than before and your squirt runs down his legs now. He bites his lower lip, making you keep going with his palms on your ass. Your tired body keeps bouncing on him, and after a few more bounces, he cums all deep inside you. His dick twitches in sync with his moans after pulling out. His cum slowly pours out of you and onto the chair. You both sit like that for a few minutes to regain your thoughts, but instead he just grabs your ass again, shoving you back onto his cock.

A bit of cum shoves back into you too, a white ring forming around his base. You wrap your arms around his neck, as well as your head buried deep into it. You give his hot skin multiple kisses with heavy breaths. You both end up sweaty, breathing your lungs out. He keeps his dick inside you, without moving you or anything. He moves his chair back to his desk, getting that headset off you. Before placing it on his head, he gives your exposed ear a kiss. “Such a good girl, you took me so well.” he says before putting his headset back on and fixing his mic to his mouth.

“Hey guys, sorry I was gone for so long. Just wanted to make my girl happy.”

[purplereina11]

You are the kind of woman who knows her way around engines and hearts, fast with a wrench, faster with flings, and never one to stick around. A no-nonsense car mechanic with tattoos, oil-stained jeans, and a reputation for leaving partners breathless and ghosted, she lives for the thrill under the hood and between the sheets. That is, until Alexia Putellas walks into the garage. She’s the daughter of your newest client, all polished restraint and sharp glances, dressed like she has no business in a grease-stained shop but somehow looks perfect in it. From the second your eyes meet, you want her, badly. She makes her move, expecting the usual flirt-and-win, but Alexia's not impressed. She sees through your charm and makes it clear: she’s not a pit stop.

Wordcount: 19.7k

No idea why I'm nervous to share this 🫣 Thanks to the Anon for the idea, hope it's what you wanted

You’ve got oil under your nails and a smirk on your lips when the engine purrs just right. It’s a sound that tells you everything you need to know tight timing, good compression, clean combustion. She's gonna drive like a goddamn dream.

You swipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand and lean against the open hood, satisfaction heavy in your bones. It’s been a good day. You’ll probably end it wrapped in someone else’s sheets or better, your own, with someone temporary and breathless beside you.

That’s the plan, at least, until the bell over the garage door chimes and you look up and fuck, everything shifts.

She walks in like the air parts for her. Long beige coat, sunglasses even though the clouds are low, posture like she owns the place but doesn’t need to prove it. She takes them off slowly, revealing eyes sharp enough to cut through steel and a mouth you immediately want to ruin.

You’ve seen her before, of course. Who the hell hasn’t seen Alexia Putellas in Barcelona? Ballon d'Or winner, midfield queen, captain of Spain, picture on every corner you turn by, seeing her on a screen is one thing, but seeing her five feet away, glancing around your grease-stained shop like she’s somewhere between bored and curious. That’s another thing entirely.

You wipe your hands on your rag and toss it over your shoulder, “Didn’t think I’d be getting royalty today,” you say, voice low, teasing.

She raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t smile. “My mami's car,” she says, accent smooth and cool. “She sent me to check how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, nod. “Yeah. Almost done. Was just finishing the tuning. Want to take a look?”

She hesitates just for a beat, then steps forward, trainers echoing faintly on the concrete. You watch the way she moves, precise, graceful, every step measured. It’s not just sexy, it’s controlled like everything about her is held back by design.

You offer her the keys. Her fingers brush yours when she takes them. No spark. No flinch. No reaction. You, on the other hand, feel your pulse pick up like you’ve touched a live wire.

She walks around the car. Inspects the paint job. Tilts her head slightly at the restored leather interior.

"You did this yourself?" she asks, finally looking you dead in the eye.

You grin. “These hands with all this talent would be a shame to waste it.”

Still nothing, a pause, then a hint of a smirk. “I’m sure you waste it in plenty of other ways.”

Oh. She knows exactly what you are and she's not impressed. You take a step closer, just one. “You sure you don’t want to take the car, and me, for a test drive?”

She stares at you, unmoved, then hands the keys back without breaking eye contact. “No.” She turns on her heel and walks away. "Keep my mother updated on the progress" she calls back sunglasses coming back down her face and for the first time in a long time, you realise you’re not the one doing the chasing, you’re being left behind.

You watch the door swing shut behind her, the bell’s chime still ringing in your ears like it’s mocking you.

No. Not 'maybe,' not 'later,' not even a sarcastic 'we’ll see.'

Just no.

You laugh to yourself, low and incredulous, rubbing your palm over your jaw. You’ve been rejected before, sure, happens when you live like you do fast, loose, and loud, but this one stings in a way you weren’t ready for, because it wasn’t just rejection, it was dismissal. Like you weren’t even in the running.

You glance back at the car her mother's classic '67 Mustang. Cherry red, curves like sin, restored with your own damn hands. You poured hours into that body, gave it life again. For what? For her to walk in here looking like a dream and tell you you’re not even worth thinking about?

You grit your teeth. No. You’re not going out like that.

She comes back three days later and you make sure you're the one at the front this time.

You see her first, stepping out of a matte black Cupra, hair tied back tight, sunglasses perched on her head. She’s wearing a fitted jacket this time blue Barça training top beneath it. You hate how fast your eyes memorise the shape of her.

She’s not alone, her mother is with her, you push down the twist of something sour in your gut and wipe your hands on your rag as they walk in.

“Mama P,” you smirk with a smile as you chew your gum that the older woman laps up, flirting with older women was always your strong suit, mothers always love you. “She’s ready for you.”

Alexia doesn’t look at you at first, she’s scanning the shop, like she's somewhere she'd rather not be, again.

Her mother on the other hand smiles warmly, shakes your hand. “Looks beautiful Y/N. You did good work, I don't even recognise it, my brother won't believe the wreck he said I should have never bought now looks like this.”

You nod, flipping the keys around your fingers before handing them over. “Want to give her a spin?”

She chuckles, pats the hood. “I trust you, but my daughter insisted we both come, said I wouldn’t understand if the clutch slipped.”

That gets your attention, you glance at her again, her eyes finally meet yours, still unreadable. “Smart,” you say. “Wouldn’t want a legend like you stalling out at a red light.”

That gets a blink, nothing more but she steps forward, slides into the driver’s seat like she was born to be behind the wheel. Her hands on the wheel no gloves, short nails, fingers long and elegant. You wonder what they’d feel like on your skin.

The engine purrs to life. Perfect. She revs it once. Listens. Nods, “Solid,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

You lean on the passenger side window. “She’s got bite, if you want her to.” Alexia raises an eyebrow. “I meant the car,” you add, and for half a second, she almost smiles.

She kills the engine and steps out, handing the keys to her mother. “It’s good,” she says simply, then turns to you. “Gracias.”

She walks out without waiting, you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding and that’s when you decide, you’re not letting this go. Not because you think you can win her, but because, for the first time in years, someone was actually giving you a chase.

Eli smiled as you watched her oldest daughter leave, "Woman of few words is Alexia"

Your eyes moved to Eli's, "I've noticed" You start towards the front desk to take payment and you just had to ask, "She knows cars?"

Eli laughed to herself, "Not even in the slightest"

You couldn't help the satisfied smirk that crossed your mouth as you handed over the paperwork and the copy of her receipt, "You ok driving it out the garage?"

"I should be fine, thank you"

Eli gave you a warm hug and she left out the door with a ding and you fell back into the swivel chair behind the desk, you felt like you'd been knocked off your feet. You sat there quietly long after the car left in the silence you just couldn't stop thinking about Barcelonas Captain.

🚗

The next week, you start seeing her name everywhere, not that you weren’t already aware of her, but now it's like the universe is playing tricks on you. Highlights from her latest match show up on the TV in the garage. Some customer’s lock screen, her. Hell, one of your suppliers has her face on a sticker on his van.

You hate it. You hate how your stomach knots every time you see her. How your brain replays that almost-smile like a loop you can't break. You try to hook up with someone else one night, tall brunette, loud laugh, easy eyes. You bring her home, start undressing each other and then she says something in Spanish soft, low, meant to be dirty and suddenly all you can think of is her voice, cool, precise, controlled. You stop, apologise and lie, you say you’re tired.

The girl shrugs, pulls her clothes back on, and leaves without a word. You sleep alone. A week after that, she walks back into the garage. No appointment. No car. Just her and suddenly, everything inside you jolts awake.

You don’t expect to see her again, not really, so when she walks into your garage alone, hands in the pockets of her coat, a subtle frown creasing her brow you pause mid-step, socket wrench hanging from your fingers. She doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, looking around like the place has changed in the last two weeks.

You wipe your hands on your towel and stroll over, keeping your swagger light, practiced, but inside, you’re on high alert.

“Didn’t think Barça royalty did walk-ins,” you say, leaning on the counter. “Need an oil change, or just miss me?”

Her eyes flick to yours. Still unreadable, but she steps closer. “My Mami forgot her sunglasses. Thought I’d save her the trip.”

You nod. Right, the excuse is paper-thin, but you don’t call her on it “They’re in the office,” you say. “Follow me.”

She does. Quiet. Controlled. The way she walks behind you makes you hyperaware of your own movement your posture, your stride, the shape of your shoulders under your tee.

In the office, you dig through a drawer until you find them, classic aviators, probably expensive as hell. You hand them over, but she doesn’t take them right away.

Instead, her gaze lingers on your arms, your forearms are streaked with oil, muscles taut from the half-stripped engine out back. You catch the glance, raise an eyebrow.

“Like what you see?”

She exhales through her nose. “You’re relentless.”

“Only when I want something.”

You expect her to deflect again, shut you down like last time, but instead, she says, “What do you think you want?”

You blink, that wasn’t the game before, that certainly wasn’t part of the script you'd created in your head, you take a step closer. “You.”

She doesn’t move, her chin lifts slightly, her voice is quieter now. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence, your chest tightens, then she takes the glasses from your hand, slides them on with that same, infuriating calm. “You’re not serious,” she says.

She turns to leave, but her walk is slower this time. "You're welcome" you call as she swings the door shut behind her

🚗

You start seeing her around the neighbourhood, not often, just enough to mess with you.

At the café next door, picking up a cortado. At the park across the street, stretching alone with earbuds in. You never approach, you’re not that desperate, but one day, you’re elbow-deep in a beat-up BMW when you hear a voice behind you.

“You missed a bolt.”

You lean up fast, head just barely missing the bonnet and there she is, leaning against the frame of the garage, holding a to-go cup like she owns the damn place.

You stare at her. “You came here to critique my work?”

“No. I came for a coffee,” she says, sipping. “Saw you about to wreck the subframe.”

You glance back at the bolt she pointed to. Damn. She’s right. You squint at her. “You know your way around engines?”

She shrugs. “Heard my dad say it to my uncle when I was little”

You whistle low. “Careful, you’re turning me on.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“But you are.”

She doesn’t answer that, just watches you, eyes cool, unreadable, but not entirely distant. You look away before you say something too honest.

“Is something wrong with your car or? You wanna come inside? You're letting the bugs in”

“No.”

“Still playing hard to get?”

“I’m not playing at all.” She tosses her empty cup into the bin like it’s the end of the conversation. Like she didn’t just shake you up with six words and no smile.

She walks off and you stand there in the middle of your shop dirty, breathless, and completely fucked.

🚗

You're in a bar that is tucked on a quiet corner off Carrer de la Marina, dim and humming low, just enough of a secret that it's not ever overly busy. You come here because it’s casual, low lighting, good beer, music just loud enough to cover the silence without killing it.

You look over your shoulder, you can't believe your look as it seems half the Barcelona women's team was entering the bar but then she walks through the door, hands in the pockets of a leather jacket, eyes scanning the place she'd been brought to until they land on you, you forget how to breathe for half a second. You catch her swallow before looking away and following the group to a table not all that far from you.

"Y/N" Sarah the bar women spoke, "You want your usual?"

You nod, "Extra-"

"Extra prawns, we know" She smiled, putting a full beer bottle taking away the old one.

"Gracias" You mutter, you hear the whispering, you knew they were talking about you, you could feel the gaze, you heard, "That's her?", "She's hot", "Go say hi".

You sipped your beer and chanced a glance out the corner of your eye as two came to the bar and you caught one looking at you, as you squeeze the lemon on your paella you feel a presence beside you.

You look and there stood Alexia, "Hola"

“Hola,” you say, trying to sound cool, if you can make a hello cool.

“I thought it was you,” she replies. “And I was curious.”

You motion to the bar. “Curious about the food?”

“No. About you.”

That stops you, she takes the seat across from you like she’s doing a press conference, composed, distant, professional, but her eyes linger on your mouth when you smile. You catch it. She knows you do.

Her friend places her drink on the bar beside her and retreats “What’s the verdict then?” you ask, watching her sip.

She raises an eyebrow. “You really want it?”

“Try me.”

She sets her glass down. “You’re cocky. Reckless. The kind of person who gets bored five minutes after getting what they want.”

“And yet, you’re still sat here and not with your unsubtle friends.”

Her mouth quirks. Barely. “You’re not what I expected,” she says quietly.

“Disappointed?”

“No. Just… curious.”

There it is again. That word, curious and for the next hour, she comes and goes, like she can't keep away and you talk. About football. Engines. Tattoos. Siblings. Nothing too deep, but enough to feel like something’s cracking open. She laughs once at your story about crashing your boss’s van when you were sixteen. You live off that laugh for the rest of the night, but she never fully relaxes.

Even when the beers are gone and your knee bumps hers when you turn to her, even when your fingers brush as you both reach for the same beer bottle.

You lean a touch closer, she doesn’t move. “I want to kiss you,” you say. “And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t.”

She looks at you for a long time. Too long. Then, “You’re not what I need.”

Your chest tightens. “How do you know?”

“Because you don’t know how to want someone without trying to win them.” You’re quiet, she reaches out, touches your wrist brief, fleeting, warm. “I liked tonight,” she says. “But this isn’t where it starts.”

You blink. “Then when?”

Alexia steps back. “If I ever believe you’re serious.”

And then she’s gone, no kiss, no maybe next time. Just a chill in the air, the fading scent of her perfume, and a space beside you that feels heavier now than it did before she filled it. You catch her looking at you as she settles back with her friends before you just pay your bar tab and head out, alone.

🚗

You want to see her the next day. God, you almost try to engineer it, but the memory of her voice telling you 'You don’t know how to want someone without trying to win them' is still too fresh.

It hits a part of you that you usually keep buried under flirting and leather and oil stains. You don't see her for three days and then you’re locking up the shop one evening just past sunset, sky bleeding pink over the city and she’s there. Sitting on the hood of your beat-up Charger like it’s hers, arms crossed, sunglasses in her lap even though the sun’s almost gone.

“You missed me?,” you say, unlocking the door again like it’s nothing.

She shrugs. “I wanted to see how long you’d wait.”

You glance over your shoulder. “And?”

“I was impressed. Three days is a record for you, I assume.”

You laugh, tossing her a rag for her hands. “What do you want, Alexia?”

She hops off the hood, slow and graceful, her trainers clicking lightly on the pavement. “A ride.”

You blink. “You have a car.”

“This is more fun.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure you want to be seen in this junkyard classic?”

She smirks. “Try me.”

You drive. No destination. Just Barcelona at golden hour, the windows down and the air electric with something unspoken.

She doesn’t speak for a while, just watches the city blur past, her hand resting near the gear shift, not on it. Her legs crossed, ankle bouncing in a rhythm only she knows.

You sneak glances, she catches one. “You’re staring.”

“You’re distracting.”

“You’re trying again.”

You grin. “Always.” but this time, she doesn’t shoot you down.

Just turns her face back to the window and says, “Good.”

You end up parked on a cliff just outside the city. Not a romantic spot, not really, but it’s quiet, secluded. The kind of place someone goes when they don’t want to be seen.

She climbs out before you can open her door, walks to the edge and stands there, arms folded, the wind tugging at the ends of her hair.

You stand beside her, “You ever let anyone in?” you ask softly.

“Not often.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I came.”

You look at her, she’s not pretending anymore, not putting on the wall, she looks tired, not weak. Just real. “Maybe,” you say, “you’re curious.”

That gets a breath of a laugh, barely there and then, for the first time, she looks at you like she’s thinking about it.

About you. About this. You take a step closer, not touching just letting the warmth of you fill the space. “Let me in,” you say. “Just a little, I think I may surprise you.”

She looks up at you, her mouth opens, then closes and then she shakes her head, slow and sad. “I can’t,” she whispers. “Not yet.”

You nod, even though it fucking aches. “Then I’ll wait.”

She blinks. “You will?”

“Yeah,” you say. “But I’m not promising I won’t make you fall for me first.”

Alexia exhales, long and quiet. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late,” she says, but before you can speak, she steps away, just far enough and says, “Take me back to my car.”

🚗

It starts to mess with you, the silence. Three days pass, then four. No sign of her. No bar run-ins. No surprise visits to your garage under the pretence of sunglasses or 'funny noises.'

You're not spiralling, you’ve got things to do, hands to get dirty, wrenches to throw. Still, she’s too fucking quiet. So you try to unhook her from your system the way you always do with someone else.

It’s Friday night, you’re in a booth at some back-alley spot in El Raval, fingers around a whiskey glass, flirting with a girl you don’t really care for, she's pretty, loud and into you. You’re not into her, you’re just bored.

She's laughing too much, her nails are perfect. She keeps touching your thigh like she’s already decided where the night’s going. You let it happen, because it's easier than thinking about why Alexia has dropped off the face of the earth.

But when the girl leans in and says something like, “You’ve got that heartbreaker vibe, I love it,” you look past her shoulder and think, what are you doing? You're just proving Alexia right.

You pull away, “Bathroom,” you lie once outside, the air is cold. Barcelona buzzes and you lean back against the wall like someone punched you in the gut.

You take a few minutes before you head back inside , you tell the girl it’s not happening tonight. You don’t give a reason, she rolls her eyes and walks away, and you let her, because you know exactly who you want and she’s not here.

🚗

Two nights later, you’re working late. Sweat down your spine, engine stripped bare. Music low. You haven’t checked your phone in hours.

You're underneath the frame when a shadow breaks the light. You roll out slowly, grease on your tank top, a socket wrench in your hand like a weapon. It’s not a customer. It’s her. Alexia. Hoodie. No makeup. Hair tied up. Her expression unreadable.

“Your garage’s open late,” she says.

You wipe your hands. Try not to look like you want to grab her and pin her to the nearest wall. “Didn’t know you were still in the city,” you say coolly.

“I never left?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She leans against the workbench, arms folded. Her eyes flick over your arms, your collarbone, the smudge on your cheek. Then she looks away.

“I saw you on a run the other day,” she says, you don’t say anything, she takes a breath. “I was going to shout you but.. I didn't.”

You nod. Then throw the wrench down harder than you mean to, “What is this?” you ask. “What are we doing, Alexia? I’ve had people walk away before but they usually don’t look me in the eye first and say too late before disappearing.”

Her gaze hardens. “You don’t get to be mad.”

You step closer. “I’m not mad. I’m…” You hesitate. “Confused. You’re hot and cold. You come in here like you want something, then vanish like I imagined it.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then stop pretending you're not curious.” She’s silent, you shake your head, stepping back. “You know what? Maybe I should’ve just taken that girl home Friday. At least she didn’t look at me like I’m a mistake waiting to happen.”

Alexia flinches, barely, but it’s there and for once, she doesn’t have a comeback. She just says, quietly “Maybe I’m not ready for someone like you.”

You fold your arms. “What’s someone like me?”

She looks at you then. Really looks. “Someone who knows exactly how to touch me… but doesn't know how to stay around after.”

It hits you in the gut because maybe she’s not wrong. You swallow the burn in your throat. “I’d stay,” you say. “If you asked.”

"I shouldn't have to ask" and she finally, finally takes a step forward, “You’d stay until you got bored.”

You don’t say no, you should, you know you should fight for a shot to prove her wrong but instead you ask, “Then why are you here?”

Alexia doesn’t answer with words, she just reaches out, takes your jaw in her hand, and kisses you. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s weeks of tension and confusion and restraint exploding all at once.

You kiss her like you’ve been waiting, because you have and she kisses you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear mid-breath, but just as you go to pull her closer, just as your hand finds the skin under her hoodie she pulls away. Eyes wild. Chest rising. “I have to go.”

“Alexia—”

“Don’t.” And she’s gone, again.

🚗

You’re elbow-deep in the guts of a ‘92 Defender when your phone buzzes. You ignore it at first. Too many scam calls, too many exes, too many people trying to get a piece of you when they didn’t earn it, but something tells you to check.

You wipe your hands on your thigh and pick up the phone.

Alexia Putellas (1 missed call) 1 message

Car died. C-32, near Castelldefels. Can you help?

You don’t answer. You just grab your keys, flick the lights off behind you, and hit the road.

You spot her car like a sore thumb on the shoulder, hazards on, trunk slightly cracked, hazard triangle set up perfectly like she’s still trying to control the chaos.

She’s leaning against the car, arms folded, phone in hand. A brunette perched next to her on the metal guardrail, legs swinging like this is just another Thursday.

They both look up when you pull in behind them Alexia doesn’t smile she just nods.

You hop out of your truck, boots hitting the gravel. “Nice parking job.”

“Thanks,” she deadpans. “You took your time.”

You smirk. “You’re lucky I came at all.”

The brunette watches you both with raised eyebrows, like she’s already piecing things together Alexia hasn't even admitted to her yet.

You walk past them, pop the hood, and whistle low. “Radiator’s cooked and your battery’s working overtime trying to make up for it.”

Alexia joins you, peering over your shoulder. You pretend you don’t notice how close she’s standing. You definitely don’t notice the way her perfume cuts through motor oil and asphalt. “How long to fix it?” she asks.

“Depends. You in a rush to get back to training?”

The woman snorts behind her, Alexia doesn’t answer. Instead, she says, “Can you tow it or not?”

You grin. “Baby, I could tow you with my teeth.”

The woman mutters, “Jesus,” and walks off toward your truck, you glance at Alexia. She’s trying not to smile. “You two close?” you ask, nodding toward her friend.

“She’s my younger sister. That means she thinks she knows everything.”

You shoot her a look. “Sounds familiar.”

She bumps your shoulder light, almost nothing but it lingers in your blood longer than it should, you hook up the tow. Quick, clean. Routine. Except nothing about this feels routine.

Back in your truck, Alba climbs into the back seat and Alexia claims the passenger side like she owns it. You don’t say much at first. The road hums beneath you, windows cracked just enough to let in the night air.

Then Alexia says, “I didn’t want to call you.”

You glance at her. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean, I didn’t plan on it. It just... happened.”

“Emergency contacts dry up or something?”

“No.” She turns to you. “But I knew you’d come.”

You grip the wheel tighter than necessary. “That so?” She nods. It’s not flirty. It’s not soft. It’s just honest and it messes you up worse than it should. "It's my job, I have to" you mutter to try and save your ego.

You pull up to the shop, kill the engine, and step out.

“Keys,” you say, holding your hand out.

Alexia tosses them over without hesitation.

“Give me two days.”

“Take three.”

You blink at her. “You’re not staying to supervise like you did with your mother's car?”

She shrugs. “I trust you.”

You watch her walk toward a taxi where Alba’s waiting, her arms folded, clearly unimpressed with the night.

Alexia pauses before getting in, turns back toward you. “You’re not what I expected,” she says.

You tip your head. “You still pretending you don’t like that?”

She doesn’t answer, just gets in the car and shuts the door. You watch them drive off, the taillights shrinking into the night.

You should feel triumphant or smug, something you can wear easy, but all you feel is that same tight coil in your chest. Like she’s giving you just enough rope to hang yourself and you’re starting to want the noose.

🚗

The shop smells like cheap perfume and lemon Fanta, thanks to the can your nine year old little sister spilled two hours ago and didn’t clean up right.

Isabella is flopped on an old recliner you rescued from the curb, one sock on, a streak of engine grease on her cheek like war paint. She’s got a sketchpad open on her knees, legs swinging over the arm of the chair, completely absorbed in whatever superhero-princess-hybrid she’s drawing.

You’re halfway under Alexia’s car when the front door creaks.

You don’t even look up when you call out, “If you’re a delivery guy, leave it on the counter. If you’re a cop, I want a lawyer.”

But then Bella gasps sharp and high, you twist out from under the car, expecting a spider.

Instead, its, Alexia. In leggings, a loose hoodie, sunglasses on top of her head, holding a coffee in each hand. “Didn’t know you had company,” she says, spotting your sister.

Bella's frozen, absolutely still, mouth open, sketchpad forgotten.

You blink. Then grin. “Alexia,” you say casually, like she hasn’t haunted your thoughts every night this week. “This is Isabella my little sister.”

Bella's voice comes out small. “You’re Alexia Putellas.”

Alexia blinks, surprised, then smiles, slow and warm. “That’s me.”

Bella scrambles to sit up properly, brushing her hands on her pants, trying to look presentable while still covered in paint smudges and wearing a shirt that says why walk when you can cartwheel.

Alexia walks over and squats in front of you, holding out one of the coffees. “This is for you,” she says to you, then glances at Bella. “And I bought a chocolate croissant to. You want it?”

Bella nods like she’s just been knighted. You watch as Alexia sits on the edge of the workbench, talking to Bella like she’s known her for years. Not the 'I’m a famous athlete being nice to a kid' way, either. She sees her.

Bella tells her about the superhero she’s drawing. Alexia asks questions, real ones, and actually listens. She even gives Bella a tip for drawing better knees, apparently, Alexia used to sketch too.

You lean back against the tool cart, sipping your coffee, trying to pretend this isn’t melting something under your ribs. Then Bella blurts, “You’re my favourite player. I watched your goal against Wolfsburg last week like thirty times. You kicked it so hard.”

Alexia laughs, really laughs and ruffles Bella’s hair, you don’t know what to do with the look on Alexia’s face. It’s not her on-pitch intensity, not the cool girl front. It’s just… soft. Real.

Later, when Bella’s gone to clean her hands and find her secret glitter rock she hides behind the garage to show Alexia, you lean against the wall beside her. “She’s obsessed with you, you know.”

Alexia glances at you. “I figured.”

“She made me watch that goal too. Kept pausing it. ‘Look at her face, look at how fast she moves,’” you mimic in a teasing tone.

“She’s smart.”

“She’s nine and terrifying.”

Alexia smiles. “She loves you. I can tell.”

You shrug. “I guess I’m not all bad.”

“No,” she says quietly. “You’re not.”

Something passes between you again. It always does, but this time, there’s no fire or pushback. Just presence, like maybe, just maybe, the life you’ve built here, wrenches and rust and late nights with your sister when your parents are working late, isn’t something you have to keep separate from her.

Alexia looks out toward the back where you're looking, where Bella’s still talking to the rock like it understands.

“She’s the best part of me,” you say, not even meaning to, it slips out, real and unfiltered.

Alexia watches you like she’s seeing something new, “She likes cars too?”

You smile. “No. She likes superheroes, princesses', painting and hiding under my bed to scare me.”

That earns you a laugh. It’s small, but real. “She lives with you?”

“She lives with my parents,” you say, “but she comes to the shop after school when they work late sometimes end up staying at mine. Thinks I’m cool.”

“You are cool,” Alexia says, and it’s so simple, so soft, it disarms you.

You shrug it off, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “She calls me every night,” you add. “Even if it’s just to tell me she saw a bug shaped like a turtle or that her teacher wears ugly shoes.”

Alexia smiles. “You love her.”

“More than I know how to say.”

Silence but not the bad kind. It’s warm in here all of a sudden, stretched between you like a thread that isn’t being pulled just held. She shifts slightly in her seat, her knee brushing yours but doesn’t move away. “You surprise me,” she says, eventually.

You glance at her. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s real,” she replies. “And I didn’t expect that.”

That hits because you know she’s been trying to figure you out since day one, like you’re a locked door she’s not sure is worth opening, “You think I’m just some cocky mechanic who fucks around and leaves before sunrise,” you say. “You’re not wrong.” She says nothing, just watches you. “But I don’t leave people I care about,” you finish, quieter now.

The words hang there. She doesn’t touch them. Doesn’t reach for them, but she hears you, you know she does and for now, that’s enough. She shifts again. “I should go.”

You nod. “I’ll call you when the car’s ready.”

Alexia opens the door, steps out, then pauses leaning down just slightly as you are going back under her car,

“Tell Bella I said bye.”

And then she’s gone again, but this time, it doesn’t sting because something’s shifting, she’s not running away. Not exactly. 🚗

You’ve stopped asking why she shows up. Sometimes it’s in the morning, two coffees in hand, like she’s clocking in with you. Sometimes it’s late, after training, when her hair’s still damp and she’s in a hoodie three sizes too big. Sometimes she doesn’t even talk. Just sits at the workbench while you grease your hands and curse at a carburetor like it insulted your mother.

She always leaves just before it gets too quiet and her coffee is finished, but today, she stays longer, long after Bella arrives from school.

You’re half-distracted by her legs curled up in the corner chair and the way Bella is perched beside her, sketchpad in lap, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she draws.

“Don’t look yet,” Bella says, scribbling faster.

“I’m not,” Alexia promises, smiling into her coffee.

You throw a wrench into the bin and try not to stare, Bella finally flips the pad around. “Tada!”

It’s... a portrait, of Alexia. Messy, wild hair. Huge eyes. Big legs, because Bella said "you have powerful calves like a puma.” A tiny football floats above her head like a halo.

You expect Alexia to laugh, maybe make a joke, she doesn’t, she takes the paper in both hands and looks at it like it’s made of glass “Can I keep it?” she asks softly.

Bella beams. “Yes, but you have to hang it up somewhere cool. No throwing it away when you’re old.”

“I promise,” Alexia says and for a second, you almost forget who she is. What she means to the world.

You wipe your hands and turn away. Play it cool. No one has to know your stomach’s doing flips over a damn crayon sketch.

The knock on the garage door comes sharp, three fast raps like someone’s been waiting too long. You look up just as it swings open. Alba. Pissed. Wearing heels and a fitted blazer like she’s just come from a courtroom or a funeral. You can see the exact moment her eyes clock the scene Alexia on the chair, barefoot, Bella beside her with ink on her hands.

“Seriously?” Alba snaps.

Alexia stands up too fast, folding the sketch like it’s contraband, “What?”

“It’s seven-thirty, Ale. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago. It’s Mami's birthday dinner.”

Alexia curses under her breath. “Shit.”

You watch her move, flustered and guilty, the way you’ve never seen her before. Bella looks up, confused. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, cariño,” Alexia says, kneeling briefly to kiss the top of her head. “I just forgot what time it was.”

That lands like a gut punch, because she never forgets the time. Not on the pitch. Not with media. Not with sponsors. Not with her family.

Just with you.

Alexia walks toward Alba, still barefoot, holding her shoes to her chest.

Alba glares at you. “I figured she was here,” she mutters, you just stare. “You're a bad influence”

That burns.

You don’t reply. You can’t reply, because Bella is right there, and because you’re not sure what you’d say that wouldn’t tear the air in half.

Alexia looks back once as she steps out the door. You don’t wave, but you don’t look away either and she knows what that means.

🚗

Three days. Not that you’re counting, but you know it’s been seventy-two hours since the last time she stood barefoot in your garage, cradling a coffee like it was sacred, laughing at something Bella said. Seventy-two hours since she looked at you like she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss you or run from you.

She chose the latter.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is what you wanted no strings. Just a friend thing, a distraction with good legs and bad timing, but then Bella asks, on the third night, “Is Alexia mad at me?”

You pause mid-bite, fork in hand. “What?”

“She said she’d show me how to make that boat with paper. She never came back.”

You clear your throat. “She’s just busy, Bella.”

“She’s a footballer. You said footballers aren't that busy, it's not a real job” Nine years old, and already calling you out.

You don’t have an answer, "What do I know ay?"

Bella pokes at her food and mumbles, “I hope she didn’t throw away my drawing.”

You bite your tongue until it almost bleeds.

Day four.

You’re wiping down the shop when you hear a car pull up, not hers. Still, you look. Nothing. You curse yourself, then go back to pretending you don’t care.

Day five.

She shows up, late, quiet, hair tied back in a braid, hoodie pulled up to her throat like armour. You’re under a car again. You hear the door. Her footsteps. The hesitation.

“Hey,” she says.

You slide out and don’t look at her. Not right away. She looks tired, not physically, but like she’s been carrying something around and refusing to set it down. “Didn’t know if you’d show your face again,” you say, voice even.

She flinches at that. Just a little. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

You finally meet her eyes. “Then why’d you ghost me?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well. You did.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that cuts deeper than yelling, “I got scared,” she admits.

You blink. “Of what? A kid with glitter on her cheeks and a sister who makes engine grease look like war paint?”

Alexia exhales, frustrated. “Of how easy it felt. Like I’d been here a hundred times before. Like you and her and this,” she gestures to the walls, the mess, the smell of you in the air “were already, normal.”

That hits harder than you want it to, you try to deflect. “You’ve had worse addictions.”

But she doesn’t laugh. “I don’t do messy,” she says. “I don’t do... casual.”

You cross your arms. “Then why come back?”

Alexia doesn’t answer right away, then she pulls something from her hoodie pocket and hands it to you. You unfold it, it's slightly crumpled, but not torn. Corners worn like someone’s been folding and unfolding it over and over again, list of your tools, what you call them.

“I hung it up,” Alexia says. “Right over my locker, you don't have much patience when I don't know what you're talking about so I was... studying I guess”

You don’t say anything. You can’t because there’s a voice inside you screaming, don’t let this matter and another one, quieter, whispering, it already does.

She looks at you, unsure. Guard down for once, you stare at her long and hard. You fold the engine cheat sheet back up and hand it back to her, "Good because your damn car is going to be the death of me, it was meant to be a three day job not a fortnight" You don’t smile but she does and that’s enough.

For now. 🚗

You don’t call it anything. Not a relationship. Not dating. Not whatever weird half-step you’re both dancing between, but she’s here most days now.

She brings coffee that’s always too sweet for you but you drink it anyway and she brings new headphones for Bella after accidentally breaking her old pair during a very aggressive game of 'Who Can Run Faster Around the Shop Without Dying.'

She sits on your workbench like it’s made for her. She knows where the good socket wrenches are. She even started labeling drawers, badly, in her neat handwriting:

“Danger Stuff”

“Loud Shiny Tools”

“Definitely Not a Murder Weapon (I Hope)”

You haven’t fixed it, you let it stay, it makes you smile when no one's looking.

The first time she tries to help, it’s because you’re elbow-deep in her engine and muttering like the thing insulted your lineage.

She wanders over, peers in like she knows what she’s looking at, “You want help?” she asks, totally serious.

You snort. “You gonna bless it with your left foot?”

“Rude,” she says. “I’ve changed a tire before.”

“Oh wow, Queen of Barcelona knows how to get dirty.”

She raises a brow. “You’re dying to find out.”

You choke on your spit, she grins.

It becomes a thing. You let her hold the flashlight. Hand you tools. She’s awful at both. Passes you the wrong wrench every time. Keeps asking what 'torque specs' are.

You should be annoyed. You’re not.

There’s something nice about it. About explaining things. About the way she listens, focused, like learning this stupid, greasy stuff actually matters to her because you’re the one teaching it. Like it's opening your world up to her to understand you more.

Bella watches from the corner, making bets with herself about whether Alexia will break something.

You catch her watching once and she just grins, another time yu catch her, her mouth opens, “Are you two married now?” she asks, deadpan.

Alexia blushes so hard she nearly drops a spanner on your foot.

You fake a cough. “Go do your homework.”

Bella just shrugs. “You’re both weird.” and leaves.

Later, you’re sitting on the hood of a car, feet dangling.

She’s beside you, grease on her cheek, a streak of oil on her thigh. The sun’s gone down and the lights from inside the shop spill out just enough to make her look unreal.

She leans back on her hands. “I’m still bad at this.”

“Fixing cars?”

“Letting people in.”

You nod, eyes on the sky. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I keep thinking I’ll mess it up.”

You turn to look at her. “You will.”

She laughs. “Wow. So supportive.”

You smirk. “But I’ll probably mess it up first.”

Her smile softens and then, out of nowhere, she says, “You know, I like this version of you.”

You squint. “What version?”

“The one that doesn’t always have to be the biggest asshole in the room.”

You snort. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

Silence stretches again but it’s good silence, you don’t hold hands, you don’t kiss, but she bumps her knee against yours and doesn’t move it. 🚗

You didn’t even mean or want to be there. It was Bella’s idea Barcelona vs. Atlético, decent seats, popcorn too salty, her eyes wide with excitement the whole match.

You didn’t tell Alexia you were coming. She played well. Sharp. Ruthless. You didn’t cheer, but you watched. You always watch.

After the match, you hang back. Bella wants to see the players, see if maybe someone will wave. You stand near the barriers, feeling out of place in your own skin. You let Bella lean against the rail, beaming and clutching the crumpled roster sheet like it’s gold.

Then you hear her voice, Alexia, just a few steps down talking to a teammate as they work along the line of merch thrust at them to sign. You don’t mean to listen, but you do.

The tone is casual, relaxed, she doesn’t know you’re here. You hear the teammate ask, “So what’s up with the girl at the garage?”

And Alexia says it. Just like that. “The mechanic? No, she’s just fixing my car. She’s just a mechanic.”

Your stomach drops and that’s it. No she’s great, no she’s funny, no she’s someone I like being around. Nothing. Just. A. Mechanic.

You don’t wait for more, you pull Bella gently by the arm and say, “Let’s go.”

“But I wanted—”

“Now, Bella.” She doesn’t argue, something in your voice must’ve told her to not argue, the ride home is quiet.

You park in the garage and sit in the dark for a long time after dropping Bella home. The air smells like oil and metal and the faint perfume she always leaves behind.

Just a mechanic.

It loops in your head like a bad song and you know. You know what you are to her in public. What box she keeps you in. What story she tells when the world starts asking questions and maybe that shouldn’t hurt but it does. Because you showed her the soft parts, let her near Bella, let her in, even when you swore you wouldn’t and still, she made you small and insignificant.

She texts later.

A: Hey. You at the game today? I thought I saw you leaving?

You don’t reply, not yet, maybe not ever, because if she gets to think you don’t matter, then maybe you can learn to do the same.

🚗

You didn’t plan on going out, but when you’re sitting on the shop couch, staring at that text she sent again like she hadn’t just stripped you down to nothing in front of a teammate you snap.

You throw on something loose, dark, let your hair down like armour, put on your rings the girls seemed to want to die for, and head out.

The dive bar is warm and loud, filled with cheap perfume and worse decisions. You welcome it. She’s tall. Blonde. Big eyes, bigger chest. Laughs at your terrible jokes like you’re the best thing she’s seen in weeks. She doesn’t know your name yet. You don’t ask for hers. That’s the point. You’re just about to close the tab when the energy shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Then there she is. Alexia.

In joggers, fresh, flushed and glowing with that effortless look she always had. Flanked by two teammates one of them the same girl from the match, the one who laughed when you got reduced to just a mechanic.

Of course she sees you. Of course she stops.

You try to keep your eyes forward, fingers grazing the blonde’s lower back, guiding her toward the door like this is routine, because it was one you'd easily slipped back into, like Alexia doesn’t mean a goddamn thing and you were about to wash away all the progress you'd made with her thinking you weren't a 'fuck boy'.

“Hey,” she says, voice almost lost in the noise.

You don’t turn fully, just enough to meet her gaze, just enough to see the hurt sitting in her eyes. You don’t blink. “You’re car should be ready tomorrow night,” you say flatly.

That’s it. No hello. No smile. No warmth. Just business. Just a mechanic. You leave before she can say anything back, the blonde grabs your arm once you're outside. “Everything okay?”

You lie through your teeth. “Yeah.”

Later that night, after the blonde falls asleep in your bed, you lie awake staring at the ceiling.

The words echo again, you said it back tonight, she was just a customer, but the part that makes your chest ache the worst makes you want to scream into the walls, you didn’t mean it. 🚗

You weren’t at the garage when Alexia came to pick up her car. Your phone buzzed with a message from your brother.

'She asked if you took the day off.'

You didn’t reply, because you weren’t off. You were at her mother’s place, working on Alba’s car, engine humming, hands deep in grease and oil but your mind was miles away.

The afternoon sun was sliding toward evening when a familiar car rolled slowly into the driveway. Alexia’s car newly fixed, you stiffened without meaning to.

Her mother, Eli, glanced at you, eyes sharp. “You okay?” she asked softly.

You forced a nod, Alexia stood nearby, arms crossed, silent like she was waiting for the world to catch up.

You didn’t meet her eyes Eli’s gaze flicked between you two.

She smiled gently, trying to lighten the air. “Stay for dinner. We’re just about to eat.”

You shook your head politely. “No, thanks. I’m just the mechanic. No need for me to impose.”

The words came out sharper than you expected, you caught the flicker in Alexia’s eyes the slow, sinking realisation.

Her mother’s smile faltered, then softened.

You turned to Eli. “Tell Alba to stop by the garage whenever she’s free to settle up. No rush.”

Alexia’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darkening with hurt but saying nothing.

You slipped out, car door slammed behind you, you sat for a moment in your truck, phone buzzing silent in your hand.

The engine started and you drove, you checked your rearview and as her mother was retreating back into her home, she was watching you go. 🚗

You hear her before you see her, the slam of her car door, fast footsteps on the concrete outside the garage. She’s not here for her sister's bill, and you know it. Your gut clenches before you even look up Alexia walks in like a storm shoulders tense, jaw tight, fire in her eyes.

You barely glance up from under the hood of a Jeep, “Not taking dinner invitations today either?” you mutter.

She ignores the jab. “Why weren’t you here when I picked up the car?”

“Didn’t realise you’d miss me,” you say flatly.

“Don’t do that,” she snaps. “Don’t shut down.”

You step out from behind the hood, wiping your hands with a rag, already bracing. “Then what should I do, Alexia? Pretend I didn’t hear you call me ‘just the mechanic’ like I’m the fucking help?”

Her face shifts guilt, shame, something uglier too. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Oh it was exactly like that,” you cut in. “You looked your teammate in the face and reduced me to a job title. Not a person. Not someone who holds a meaningful space in your life. Just a mechanic.”

Her nostrils flare. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it?” you repeat, voice rising. “Then what did you mean? Because from where I was standing, it looked a hell of a lot like you were embarrassed.”

She steps forward, furious now. “And you? You go and screw the first slutty blonde you find in a bar like that was going to fix it?”

You go still, the silence that falls is instant, thick, choking. “So that’s what this is?” you say, stepping in. “You get to say whatever the fuck you want about me, but when I stop sitting around waiting for you to admit I matter, I’m the villain?”

“She looked like a groupie,” Alexia spits. “Is that what you want? Someone who doesn’t give a damn who you are outside of a nice face and a good fuck?”

You flinch, then you laugh, but it’s empty. “Maybe it is,” you say. “At least she didn’t pretend I meant something and then treat me like a second rate person.”

That one lands. You see it. She looks away. Voice lower. “I didn’t mean for any of this to get this... messy.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You can’t play both sides, Alexia. You don’t get to come into my life, judge me for how I choose to live my life, make assumptions on my character, and then back off the second it threatens your perfect little image.”

Her eyes snap to yours. “You think this is about my image?”

“I think you care more about what people think than what you should,” you say. “And I’m done being the one you hide in secret, you said I would get bored after I got what I wanted from you, that I don't know how to stay. But from where i'm stood Alexia, we're more similar than you'd care to admit, the only difference.. you haven't fucked me”

Silence. Her lip trembles. Just for a second. “I never wanted to hurt you,” she says finally.

You nod, cold. “Well, you did.” And you walk away into a part of the garage she's not allowed in. 🚗

The rain has uncharacteristically been coming down for hours, windscreen wipers working overtime, Bella's humming softly in the passenger seat, kicking her feet to the beat of whatever pop song’s leaking from your speakers she insists she has control over.

You’re about ten minutes from your parents’ place when your headlights catch it, a car, pulled onto the shoulder, hazards blinking weakly. Alexia’s car.

You pull over without thinking. Bella blinks at you, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Stay here,” you mutter, already throwing your hood up against the rain.

You jog toward the car, rain soaking through your hoodie instantly, as you approach, you see her Alexia behind the wheel. Her mother, Eli, and Alba in the passenger seats. She sees you, doesn’t roll the window down right away.

Eventually, it hisses open an inch. “Are you okay?” you ask through the downpour.

Alexia doesn’t even look at you. “You didn’t fix my car properly.”

There’s that tone again sharp, distant, angry, you swallow it. “Have you called for recovery?”

Eli leans over. “None of us can get service.”

You glance at the shoulder, at the way trucks blast by feet away, making the car rock each time. “Look, you can’t stay in the car it’s dangerous, especially in this weather. Come get in mine, I’ll take you home. I’ll come tow this tomorrow.”

“No,” Alexia says, arms crossed. “I’ve turned my phone off and on. I’ll get service in a minute.”

You breathe in, hold it, try not to snap. “Are you really being stubborn right now?” Your voice rises, taut with frustration. “Do you realise how dangerous it is sitting here?”

She doesn’t move. “Well maybe I wouldn’t be if your busy hands had been working on my car a bit better.”

Your jaw tightens, you step back, rain drips down your face. “Will you just come and get in my car?”

“No.”

You snap. “Alexia, don’t be so fucking stupid. I’ve got my little sister in my car, I can’t stand here playing stupid fucking games in the middle of a highway in a goddamn storm."

She looks at you, face hard, but there’s a flicker in her eyes something that breaks through the heat.

You shake your head, turning away. “I’m getting soaked. Suit yourself but I wouldn’t bother ringing our emergency number my recovery truck’s already on a job fifty miles away. Hope you find help soon.”

You turn and walk back to your personal truck, shoulders braced against the cold. When you open the door, Bella's eyes are wide as she clutches her seatbelt tight.

“This is scary,” she says eyes wide, "I don't like it."

You sigh, heart squeezing. “I’m sorry, we're going now, you're ok." You’re climbing in when you hear it, feet splashing through puddles.

“Wait!”

It’s Alba. She’s rushing with Eli down the road, arms over their heads. Alexia trails behind, slower, her hood up, rain darkening her sweatshirt.

They reach your truck, and you open the door without a word.

Eli and Alba squeeze into the back beside Bella, who gives them a nervous wave. You shift things around automatically, helping without looking directly at Alexia as she climbs into the passenger seat as you clear your diary and shit off the seat.

She’s shivering. So are you, you silently flick on the heated seats, turn the heat up.

Alexia says nothing, Eli touches your shoulder gently. “You’re soaked through, cariño.”

You wave it off, eyes forward, hands tight on the wheel. “It’s fine.”

You pull back into traffic, wipers beating back the storm, silence thick in the cab, no one speaks, but everyone feels it. "Awkward" Bella sings under her breath only you smile.

The drive is silent now, rain still taps against the roof, slower now, gentler but the tension inside the cab is anything but.

Your hands are firm on the wheel, knuckles pale. You don’t look at Alexia. She doesn’t look at you, at your parents’ place, you pull in just long enough for Bella to unbuckle.

You turn in your seat to the back and lean toward her, voice softening for the first time all night. “C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

She beams, you do your little handshake, quick taps, a snap, a pinky promise and she hugs you tight around the neck. Your entire body exhales without meaning to.

You watch her run to the front door, backpack bouncing. Your parents open it just as she gets there. You flash your lights once in acknowledgment when they're waving then you pull back out.

Alba pipes up. “I’ll direct you, just turn left at the lights.” but you don’t need the help, you know where Eli lives, you’ve been there too many times with her car and Alba's cars.

Alexia’s quiet in the seat beside you, arms crossed, body still damp.

At Eli’s, you don’t pull into the drive you stop in the street, “Thanks,” Eli says quietly, giving your shoulder a squeeze again. “For helping and for putting up with the stubbornness.”

She gives Alexia a meaningful look Alexia pretends not to see it, Alba climbs out next, shooting a cautious glance between you two before closing the door behind her.

You’re alone, still raining Alexia stays frozen in the passenger seat, watching the raindrops race down the window.

You glance at her. “You going or?” you ask, not looking at her directly.

She doesn’t move. “It’s pouring.”

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “That’s why it’s called rain.”

Eli calls from outside. “Alexia?”

Alexia huffs, putting her window down a touch, arms crossed tighter. “I’m not getting out in this. I’ll wait.”

Eli raises a brow. “You’ll wait?”

Alexia shrugs. “I’ll call a cab.”

“You’ve got no service,” you say, staring out the windshield.

“I’ll get some in a minute.”

You rub your jaw, trying not to lose it. “It’s getting late, I'm tired and you’re being ridiculous, can you not just wait in your mother's?”

You watch her mum and sister head into the house and you still wait for her, minutes pass and still Alexia doesn’t move.

Eventually, you put the car back in drive. "You're fucking annoying" you mutter she doesn’t say anything as you drive off and take the turn that leads back to your place and not in the direction only she knows she lives.

When you pull up in front of your building, you throw the truck in park and glance at her.

“You can sit here and wait for your phone to get service in a storm or you can come up just stay I doubt you'll get a taxi in this, it's your choice. I'm not playing your games” you say, opening your door.

You don’t get an answer right away, you sigh get out and shut the door, as you head through the parking garage you hear a car door shut behind you louder than necessary, you lock your car on the fob as you walk as you know she's following you without a word.

Inside your apartment, she hovers near the doorway like it might bite her arms crossed, wet hair clinging to her cheek. Her eyes scan the room but don’t settle anywhere.

She’s never been in your space before, you can tell it throws her too many pieces of you that don’t match the rough exterior she thought she knew.

The clean kitchen, the small stack of fantasy novels on the counter, the art on the wall, one clearly drawn by a child.

“Sit down if you want,” you mutter, not really looking at her as you toe off your boots near the door.

She doesn’t move.

You don’t think twice just start stripping off your soaked hoodie, then your shirt, your skin goosebumps instantly, wet fabric peeled off muscles and a scar.

You're halfway across the room, grabbing a dry tee off the clothes horse set up by the dining table, when you realise she hasn't moved.

You glance over, catch her staring, her eyes drag upward slow, her face tightens when she sees you looking.

You pull the tee over your head without comment, towel off your hair with the one you grabbed also.

“Do you want dry clothes or you planning on standing there dripping on my floor all night?” you ask finally, walking past her toward the bedroom.

She clears her throat, snapping out of it. “Yeah. I mean yeah, that’d be good.”

You toss her a soft old Barça hoodie, it felt apt, you definitely didn’t steal from your brother, and a pair of sweats that might be too big.

She disappears into the bathroom. When she comes back, she looks... smaller. The hoodie swamps her. Her damp hair is tied up, messily. She doesn’t meet your eyes.

You toss a blanket on the couch, “I’ll take the couch. You can take the bed. Don’t touch anything on the nightstand, there’s like, tools and shit.”

You see the flicker of amusement behind her awkwardness. “You sleep with tools on your nightstand?”

You shrug. “Don’t judge me, princess.”

She doesn’t, but when she turns down the hallway, she says over her shoulder “This place is nice.”

You don’t answer.

You just stand in your own living room, suddenly too aware of her smell lingering in the air. Of the wet towel on the back of a chair. Of the sound of your own breathing.

It’s quiet. Not peaceful. Just full.

🚗

You sit on the couch under an old fleece blanket, knees pulled up, one arm resting lazily along the back. The TV glows in front of you, the volume barely above a whisper. Some documentary you’re not actually watching plays on screen all low-voiced narration and muted cityscapes.

You keep the sound low, you don’t want to wake her, but about forty-five minutes in, just when you’re debating turning the whole thing off and giving in to your own restless head, you hear the soft creak of the bedroom door.

She appears barefoot, in your hoodie and sweats, eyes bleary “Couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

You turn your head. “Yeah?”

“The hammer and drill on the nightstand were… a bit unnerving.”

That pulls a reluctant laugh out of you. “Yeah, well. Maybe they bring me comfort or some shit.” She gives you a look, but it’s not harsh. “I heard you were up,” you say after a second, nodding toward the hallway. “Your steps are loud as hell.”

She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches, you lift the edge of the blanket a silent offer. She hesitates but she comes over without another word and sits beside you, legs folding under her as she pulls the blanket over her lap. Her shoulder brushes yours. Warm. Familiar. Too close and not close enough.

You don’t say anything. Neither does she.

The documentary drones on, forgotten. Something about Paris or maybe traffic congestion. It doesn’t matter.

She shifts after a while, curling a little toward your side, not quite touching you, but near enough that you feel the pull of it.

“Your sister’s drawing of me’s on the fridge,” she says quietly, like she just noticed.

You glance over. “Yeah. She was proud of it.”

“She gave me eyelashes for days.”

“She’s nine. She thinks everyone pretty gets extra lashes.”

That gets a breath of amusement from her. Then a pause, “She really likes me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “She doesn’t like many people. Not even our cousin. She says he talks like a cartoon villain.”

Alexia lets out a soft laugh the kind that sounds like it caught her off guard. Then she goes quiet again but after a while “I’m sorry.”

You look at her, waiting. She doesn’t turn to you, just keeps her eyes on the TV.

“For what I said. About you. The bar. The girl.” Her jaw shifts. “It wasn’t fair. And I knew it.”

You sit with it. Then shrug. “You were pissed. You’re allowed.”

“I meant it, though,” she says. Then, quieter, “That was the problem.”

You don’t answer, because if you do, you might ask her what exactly she meant and you’re not sure you want to hear it.

Instead, you shift slightly. Let your knee press against hers and leave it there.

You don’t know how long you sit like that knees brushing, blanket pulled over both your legs, TV flickering something neither of you are really watching anymore.

The silence should be awkward after everything but it’s not. It’s thick, sure. Full of the kind of tension that wants to be touched, turned over, looked at in the light but it’s not awkward.

Until she shifts beside you. “I didn’t mean it,” she says again. “What I said. At the match.”

You glance at her. She’s staring ahead like the words are costing her something. “The ‘just a mechanic’ part?” you ask, voice dry.

She winces, just barely. “Yeah.”

You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. “Seemed like you meant it.”

“I didn’t,” she snaps too quick, too sharp, then she exhales, frustrated. “I was… jealous.” You blink. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek now avoiding your gaze. “One of my teammates kept asking about you. Said you were hot. Wanted your number. I don’t know.” She waves a hand like she’s swatting the memory away. “It pissed me off. And I—I didn’t want them thinking I... I didn't want them thinking I knew you well enough to set you up, so I just downplayed it. So I didn't have.. to”

You raise a brow. “By acting like I was the tyre-fitter who realigned your third gear?”

“I panicked,” she mutters.

"What were they asking?"

“If you were single,” she says, almost bitter. “If you were seeing anyone. If you were... into footballers.”

You let out a short breath. “And you got pissed because…”

“Because she’s twenty-five, stupidly hot, good at flirting, and I knew you’d like the attention.”

Your brows raise, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite yourself. “So I’m not allowed to enjoy being fancied now?”

“Not when it’s by someone I see in the locker room four days a week.”

You turn your body more toward her, one elbow draped along the couch back, the other hand under the blanket near your thigh. “Which teammate?”

Alexia groans. “Does it matter?”

“Kind of.”

She sighs. “Jana.”

You let out a low whistle. “The defender?”

She gives you a look. “See? You know who I mean.”

You laugh. “Not every day a famous, cute footballer wants to date me. Forgive me for feeling kind of smug.”

She turns her head sharply, eyes locking on yours, but something changes in her face. The fight goes out of her just a little. “Yeah,” she says after a beat, softer. “I guess so.”

The room is darker now. The TV’s off, and the only light comes from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside filtering through the blinds. You barely notice.

Alexia’s head is resting lightly against your shoulder, her breath slow and steady. You can feel the warmth of her body against you, the rise and fall of her chest as she settles into sleep.

You’d thought the night would be heavier loud with words you weren’t ready to say but now, all that pressure seems to have folded in on itself, leaving just this.

You don’t move, not even when your arm starts to go numb beneath her, not when the blanket shifts and slips a little. It’s the kind of quiet that speaks louder than anything you could say.

Her hair brushes against your neck. The soft scent of rain and something faintly sweet, maybe shampoo or soap. You wonder how many nights she’s spent feeling like she had to be tough, like she couldn’t let anyone in and here she is. So close you can count the freckles along her jawline.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself feel it this strange mix of peace and something like hope.

🚗

Sunlight filters through the blinds, slanting gold across the kitchen tiles. The smell of coffee hangs faintly in the air.

You’re already dressed for work faded jeans, a plain tee, sitting at the small kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in your hands.

Your eyes flick up every now and then, watching her sleep, Alexia is curled up on the couch, hair messy and damp from the night before. You hear her take a sharp intake of breath as she wakes, she stills for a moment before looking around then, over her shoulder in your direction.

You raise a spoonful of cereal and grin, “Want some?”

She blinks, the slow realisation hitting. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

Her eyes snap open, and panic flashes across her face. “Shit. I’m going to be late for training.”

You laugh quietly, a little teasing, a little warm. “Chill. I’ll drop you.” She blinks at you, clearly surprised. “And don’t worry about your car, I’ll sort it out it's already back at the garage. I’ll just let you know later what’s going on.”

She nods, still looking a bit flustered, but there’s a spark of something softer behind the rush. “You’re unbelievable,” she mutters, half smiling.

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but inside it’s like your chest just got lighter. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me something everyone doesn't say”

She leans back, watching you eat your cereal like this is totally normal and for now, maybe it is.

🚗

The drive to Barcelona’s training ground feels longer than it should, and completely out of your way, the sky’s still soft with morning light, but there’s a weight in the car that neither of you breaks.

You keep your eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel she sits beside you, quiet, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windshield.

The radio hums softly, but neither of you turns it up, the tension simmers unspoken things, half-formed feelings swirling between you like the mist on the glass.

Finally, you pull up near the entrance to the training grounds Alexia turns toward you, eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. “Thanks,” she says quietly.

You nod, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “Welcome. Have a good day.”

She offers the faintest of smiles, then opens the door and steps out you watch her walk away confident, strong, but maybe just a little softer than before.

You start the engine and pull back onto the road, the silence inside the car now almost peaceful. 🚗

The garage is quiet when they walk in.

You’re under the hood of a Peugeot, grease across your knuckles and a wrench resting on the workbench beside you. The sharp click of the front door bell pulls your head up.

Alexia with her mother and Alba trailing behind, all three of them dressed in the casual comfort Alba's got something heavy in her hands a crate of Estrella.

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “We brought you this,” Eli says, setting the crate down with a proud smile. “For everything.”

You wipe your hands on a rag and step around the car. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Alba grins. “Well, we did. So just say thank you and drink it.”

You chuckle. “Thank you. Very much.”

Alexia stays near the door, quiet for a second before she steps further into the space. Her eyes flick to the car parked just outside the open garage bay. “Did you manage to fix it?”

You nod, already reaching for the keys. “Yeah. All sorted.” As you hand them to her, you add casually, “Filled your petrol tank up,”

She stares at you, blinking. “Wait, what?”

You lean against the workbench, smirking. “When the little petrol pump light comes on, it means you have to fill it up. The fuel’s actually a pretty important part of the whole engine system. Helps it... you know-go.” you shove your head forward for dramatic affect

She shoves it away with a scoff, but there’s laughter in it. “Dickhead.”

“No need to be embarrassed,” you say, lifting your hands in mock surrender. “You’d be surprised how many people do it.”

“I'm not embarrassed,” she lies, even as her cheeks flush pink. "And I'm not that stupid"

You catch her mother glancing between you both, her eyes knowing, you ignore it. “Anyway,” you say, stepping back toward the bench, “next time you’re stranded on the roadside, I might not be so quick to play chauffeur, given the attitude”

“You love it,” Alexia mutters under her breath, loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t deny it, but you don’t confirm it either. 🚗

Later that evening, the garage is quiet finally. You’re closing up, dragging the shutter halfway down when you hear the sound of footsteps on gravel, you already know it’s her before you look.

Alexia stands just outside the garage, hoodie on, hair damp like she showered quickly after training, hands in her pockets, like she wasn’t sure if she should come.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again today,” you say, letting the shutter go and walking toward her.

She shrugs, toeing the ground with the side of her shoe. “Left something in the car.”

“You mean the car that’s parked safely right behind you? That you drove here in?”

She gives you a dry look. “Yeah. That one.”

"I have an unclaimed pair of sunglasses, maybe they're yours?"

She shrugged, "Maybe"

You open the door behind you without a word, stepping aside. She follows you in, and something about the silence makes your skin itch not uncomfortable, just... expectant.

You grab the sunglasses from behind your workbench and toss them to her. She catches them easily. “I really did mean to fill it up,” she says, like she’s been waiting to admit it. “I just forgot.”

You smirk. “I figured, but the sarcasm was too easy.”

Alexia grins, stepping a little closer. “You’re smug.”

“You like it.” You mean it as a joke, but the second it leaves your mouth, the space between you shifts her eyes flick up to yours and stay there.

You feel it, the weight of the silence, the rise of something heavy and electric in your chest. You clear your throat, turning to grab a rag even though your hands are already clean, it had become a comfort blanket of sorts whenever she was in the garage lately.

She speaks again, voice low. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Fill up someone’s car. Check on their mother. Give them rides. Fix everything, even when they don’t ask.”

You turn back to her slowly. “No. Just yours.”

It’s quiet again, this time, she doesn’t look away. “I didn’t know what to do with you,” she says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“Back then, when I came to check on mami's car. When you looked at me like you already knew who I was, but didn’t care.”

You lean against the bench again, arms crossed now, trying to stay neutral even though your heart’s beating fast. “And now?”

“I still don’t know what to do with you.” You stare at her for a second, then smirk, just a little. "Don't ruin the moment with something like, I wish you'd do me"

You laughed at her mocking voice, before shaking your head, "I wasn't.. I was going to say you could start by saying thank you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“And maybe stop calling people 'slutty blondes’ when you’re jealous.”

Her mouth falls open slightly. “I wasn’t—”

You tilt your head, she shuts up and then, you step forward, close, but not touching. She looks up at you like she’s trying not to lean in. You can feel the heat radiating between you but you don’t move. Not yet. “Night, Alexia,” you say softly.

She blinks, then nods once. “Night.” And turns to leave, breath catching just a little as she walks out.

You wait until the shutter’s down, the lights are off, and the street’s quiet before you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🚗

The next few days are a rhythm, your usual grind at the garage. Her texts, a little more frequent now. Not flirty, exactly. Not obvious but still there.

How long does an oil change take? Why do I keep hearing a clicking noise when I reverse? Be honest. Did you touch my seat settings?

You answer every one. Sometimes with sarcasm. Sometimes with patience. Always with a smile you try to hide.

Late one evening, after closing up, you’re wiping your hands clean when headlights flash through the window.

You already know who it is.

Alexia parks terribly, crooked and too close to your truck, but you say nothing when she steps out holding two takeaway coffees.

She lifts the cups in a small peace offering. “Figured you wouldn’t have eaten.”

You eye her. “I don’t usually eat my coffee.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes one into your hand. “It’s a peace offering, Mechanic.”

You nod, amused. “We fighting?”

She shrugs. “Not today.”

You both sit on the bench outside the garage, backs against the cool metal shutter. The coffee is warm, the air cooler now that the sun’s dropped behind the rooftops. “Training?” you ask.

She nods. “Double session. My legs hate me.”

You gesture to her cup. “You want me to spike that with WD-40?”

She huffs a laugh. “If I didn’t think you’d actually try, I might say yes.”

There’s a pause. One of those heavy, quiet ones you’re both too used to now. You don’t look at her, but you feel it when her leg shifts just slightly, the denim of her jeans brushing yours.

Not on purpose. Not quite.

“I told my mami you'd got her part in for the car"

“And?”

“She asked why I keep showing up here.”

You lift your coffee. “Told her it’s my killer whit?”

She laughs again, more genuinely this time. “She said… maybe you’re the kind of girl who knows how to take care of people. Even if you pretend not to.”

You go quiet at that not because you don’t have a response, but because you’re not used to hearing things like that.

Especially not from someone like Alexia. She doesn’t fill the silence. Doesn’t explain or deflect.

You glance sideways. She’s looking straight ahead. Jaw tense. Lips parted just slightly, you clear your throat. “You know your seat’s still too far from the wheel, right?”

Her had snaps toward you, a groan already forming. “You did touch it!”

You grin into your cup. “Gotta keep the streak alive.”

She kicks your boot, and you catch her laughing again, another night, another almost but she’s still here.

🚗

It’s nearly 9PM when your phone buzzes. You’re halfway through a plate of reheated pasta, legs kicked up on the coffee table, a mindless documentary on TV.

Alexia: Hey… sorry. Are you busy? My car’s making a weird noise.

You stare at the message for a second.

You: What kind of noise?

Alexia: Like… a clicking? Or maybe a tapping? Or maybe it’s just… different.

You smirk.

You: Is this your version of a booty call? Because you’re gonna have to get more specific.

Three little dots appear. Then disappear. Then return again.

Alexia: I hate you.

You: I’m grabbing my keys what's your address?

Twenty minutes later, you’re in your car outside her home security gates, she buzzes you in without a word.

When she opens the door, she’s in a hoodie that definitely doesn’t belong to her baggy, old, familiar. Yours. You left it in her car two weeks ago.

She doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. “Where’s the patient?” you ask.

Alexia points to the left. “Just there. Thought I heard something earlier.”

You follow her gaze, her car sits perfectly fine under the car port, nothing leaking, nothing sagging, and probably nothing clicking.

You glance back at her. “Uh huh.”

“What?”

“Just wondering how long you rehearsed this ‘weird noise’ story.”

She crosses her arms, defensive but trying not to smile. “I thought I heard something.”

You squint at her. “You wanted me to come over.”

“Shut up.”

“Could’ve just said so.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.” You toe your boots off and step inside fully, she already has two beers on the counter. Opened. You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s so weird. This beer… it’s making a clicking noise.”

She groans, but she’s laughing now, leaning against the kitchen island. “I’ll punch you.”

You take a long sip, eyeing her over the bottle. “No you won’t.”

She shakes her head, pushing off the counter. “Come sit.”

You follow her to the couch, where she tucks her legs up, like this is routine, like it’s always been this easy and it is, somehow.

You watch whatever she puts on without really watching, both of you half-focused, shoulders brushing when one shifts, knees close enough to warm each other through the cotton.

Eventually, she glances sideways. Her voice soft, casual. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“What?”

“This. Us.”

You take a beat. “No.”

She nods, slow. “Me neither.” Another moment, another almost, but neither of you pulls away or pushes forward.

🚗

The bar is loud. Some throwback indie track blaring overhead, neon lighting catching in your half-drunk whiskey glass. You’re leaned against the bar, half-listening to your mate spinning a story about her train-wreck date last week, when she excuses herself for the bathroom.

You stay there, swirling your drink, phone in one hand, scanning the room lazily.

You don’t notice the group until she’s coming back and even then, you don’t notice her not until your friend sits back down, looking like she just witnessed a murder.

“What?” you ask, raising a brow.

She doesn’t answer right away, just grabs her drink and downs half of it. Then, her eyes snap to yours. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be straight with me.”

You frown. “Okay…”

She leans in. “I just overheard Alexia Putellas talking to her friends… she was talking about someone they called the mechanic.” Her eyes narrow. “Is that you?” You blink. Once, and the way your body reacts before your mouth can say anything, the way your head jerks up, the stillness that passes over your face, tells her everything she needs “Fuck off,” she breathes. “You’ve just answered my question.”

You drag a hand over your mouth. “What exactly did you hear?”

“She said,” She leans forward, voice lower now, urgent. “She said, ‘She would’ve made a move by now if she wanted me like that.’ Then her friend asked her why she was so sure and Alexia said, and I quote, ‘Because she isn’t exactly shy. She’s a girl who goes for what she wants, and doesn't give a fuck who cares.’” You press your lips together, your face unreadable. “She’s talking about you,” your friend says, more certain now, leaning closer. “Isn’t she?”

You exhale slowly, eyes flicking past her toward the other end of the bar. There they are. Alexia, Mapi, Patri, Ingrid, all laughing. She hasn’t seen you yet, she’s sipping a mojito and pretending she’s fine, but you know that look.

“Holy shit,” your friend mutters. “You like her.”

You don’t deny it.

“You’ve been pretending this whole time, telling us she’s just someone you’re helping with her car and meanwhile, you’re out here catching feelings.”

You finally meet her eyes. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Yeah, I think I am.”

She stares at you. “And she thinks you don’t want her because you haven’t made a move?”

You nod once. "Apparently so"

Your friend snorts. “You’re both fucking idiots.”

You glance back toward Alexia, she’s still laughing but there’s something in her eyes. Distant. Worn.

“She’s torturing herself,” your friend adds, echoing something you hadn’t heard. “One of them said that.” Your hand tightens on your glass. “You gonna let her keep thinking that?” she presses.

You glance at your friend, then back at the woman across the room and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you should go over to a woman, because maybe you're afraid she won't believe you, or you want to make sure when you do, there’s no going back.

Your mami and her friend soon turn up, better late than never, your friend who is your mami's best friends daughter shows them to the bathroom so you're left alone again

You’re leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks order, when you sense her before you see her that lingering stare, the weight of it tugging your attention sideways.

Jana Fernández. Barcelona defender. And very clearly clocking you.

You turn toward her with a half-smirk. “Hello.”

She tilts her head, arms casually folded. “You know who I am?”

You take a beat. “I know of you.”

Jana shifts her stance, glancing over your shoulder like she’s checking the coast. “You alone?”

You shake your head, keeping your expression unreadable. “No. I’m here with my mami, her best friend, and her daughter. They’ve gone to the bathroom.”

Jana blinks. You watch the gears turn slowly, she nods, eyes flicking briefly toward her table. “I was going to say… you should join us.”

You blink once. “Us?”

She gestures behind her with her thumb. “Yeah. Alexia and the girls. We’re sat in the back.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking your drink off the bar and lifting it casually. “Well. If I get bored of the quilting club tales, I’ll be sure to find you.”

That earns a surprised laugh out of her. Not mocking impressed, she watches you for another second, then just says, “We're just over by the dance floor, if you want to.. come say hello maybe”

You glance past her, to the back of the bar, where you can just make out Alexia in profile. Not looking at you. Not drinking much either.

“Ok,” you murmur, “maybe.”

You turn, drink in hand, and head back to your table before Jana can say anything else, but her eyes stay on your back the whole way and you're already bracing for what the next round of games will look like, because you’ve just been invited into the lion’s den.

And this time… You might be ready to walk in.

You watch Jana walk back to the table, already knowing she’ll say something. You don’t wait to see if Alexia looks, you just move.

Drink in hand, you cut across the bar like you own the damn place, ignoring the buzz of music, the chatter, the glances. When you get close enough, it’s Alexia who sees you first. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait. Her hand reaches out and touches your arm. Light. Barely there.

“Sit with me,” she says quietly. Not a command, not a plea. Just something simple. Soft and that’s all it takes.

You sink down next to her, close the kind of close that says there’s no pretending this isn’t something anymore.

It’s loud, but it’s like you’re both in a bubble, the others talk, joke, drink, but all you can hear is her. Her shoulder brushes yours as she leans in. “You're here,” she says, eyes scanning your face.

“Jana invited me,” you smirk. “And I figured the quilting stories could only keep me entertained for so long.”

She laughs, low, genuine but doesn't question what you mean, but then her expression shifts, her eyes narrow slightly, focusing on something. She lifts her hand slowly and gently tilts your chin. “What’s that?”

You blink. “What’s what?”

She brushes her thumb under your eye it stings faintly when she does. “That,” she says. “You’ve got a bruise.”

“Oh. That.” You shrug like it’s nothing. “Piece of exhaust slipped from the chain. Caught me good.”

Her brow creases. “You didn’t tell me.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t know I had to report injuries to my client.”

Alexia doesn’t laugh. She just keeps looking and maybe it’s the lighting, or the proximity, but there’s something in her eyes that hits you different tonight. Less guarded. More raw. “You should be more careful,” she says softly.

You watch her. “You always worry about your mechanic like this?”

Her lips twitch. “Just the reckless ones.”

You clink your drink against hers without looking away. “Guess I’m special, then.”

Alexia smiles the real one, that rare, radiant one that turns her eyes gold and for a moment, even though the whole world is humming around you… It’s just you two. That soft golden look in her eyes doing things to your chest you’re too stubborn to name, when a voice cuts through the moment,

“There you are,” she says, thick with warmth and mischief, you don’t have to look to know who it is, but you do anyway.

Your mother’s standing there, hands on hips, eyes scanning the table with a grin so wide it should come with warning signs. She’s already clocked everyone especially the way Alexia’s arm is still touching yours. “I told Theresa,” she continues, loud enough for Alexia’s entire table to hear, “when I found you, you’d be surrounded by beautiful women.”

Alexia presses her lips together clearly trying not to laugh. You don’t move much. Just flick your eyes up to her with a flat look. “Did you need something, mother?”

She waves a hand, already over it. “Just letting you know the drinks arrived and that Camila is not interested in that lad with the mullet, no matter how many times he tries to teach her how to play pool.”

You nod once. “Good to know.”

“Enjoy yourself, mi amor,” she says, already turning. “But don’t be rude. Introduce your friends next time.”

Then she’s gone, back across the bar to her table, like she didn’t just cause a small earthquake. You sigh and shake your head, lifting your glass again.

“Theresa?” Alexia asks, amused.

“Family friend,” you mutter. “Runs a bakery. Always says I’m ‘a good girl who needs more pastry in her life it's not normal to have abs.’”

Alexia chuckles. “She sounds wise.”

You turn to her. “You laughing at me or with me?”

“Neither,” she says, eyes soft again. “I’m just glad I came out tonight.”

You watch her for a long second, then let your shoulder brush hers with a bump, “So am I.” her knee lightly bumps yours under the table now and then, both of you sipping your drinks, basking in the lull after your mother’s interruption.

That is, until you clock movement from the side of the room.

It’s Theresa’s daughter and your friend Camila young, sweet, carefully carrying your drink across the bar toward you.

Right behind her, the mullet.

He’s cocky. Grinning like he’s already won something. Gesturing like he's telling her the funniest story in the world. She’s smiling, but it’s brittle. The second she catches your eyes, she mouths silently

"Help me."

You exhale through your nose and shift your weight.

Alexia straightens, noticing. “Everything okay?” she murmurs, barely audible under the music.

“Give me two seconds,” you mutter.

You rise from your seat just as Camila reaches your side. You take your drink with a small, quiet thank you, and then you pivot to the guy beside her.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it. “Hey, man,” you say, voice level but cold. “Why don’t you head back to your friends?”

He pauses. “I was just—”

“Yeah. I saw,” you interrupt, stepping slightly forward, closing the space. “She’s not interested. You’ve had your shot. Time to walk away.”

His eyes flick between you and Camila, who’s now tucked safely just behind your shoulder. Then he laughs, holds his hands up, and backs away. “Alright, alright. Jesus. Didn’t realise I was stepping on your toes.”

“You weren’t,” you say. “But you’re stepping on hers.”

That shuts him up. He finally turns and walks off, muttering something under his breath that doesn’t matter at all.

You turn back to your oldest friend and tilt your head. “You good?”

She nods, smiling gratefully. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. “But maybe don’t follow guys into the back room to learn pool next time, yeah?”

She laughs and gives you a thumbs-up, hurrying back to the table you really should be at.

You drop back into your seat beside Alexia, she gives you a look eyebrows raised, lips twitching with the effort not to smile. “Do I even want to know what that was about?”

You pick up your drink. “Let’s just say I’ve got a strict no-mullet policy when it comes to people I care about.”

Alexia tilts her head. “You care about her?”

You shrug. “She’s a good friend, she’s family, kind of, known her since I was 2” you add, glancing sideways at her, “I’ve got a thing about stepping in when someone’s being ignored.”

Alexia just looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she leans in slightly and says, “Remind me never to bring a mullet around you.”

You grin. “Smart move, Putellas.”

🚗

You’re not even trying to pretend you’re not watching her.

Alexia’s across the bar with her teammates, laughing too loud, cheeks flushed, glass dangling from her fingers. Mapi’s saying something in her ear. Ingrid’s arm is around her shoulder and Alexia, she’s swaying a little. Her smile’s still the most dangerous thing in the room but tonight, it’s drunk, too drunk.

You’re sitting with your mother and both your friends, but your eyes haven’t left her.

You don’t even notice your mother watching you not until her hand finds your arm. “She doesn’t look steady,” she says softly, like she’s letting you off the hook before you even ask. “Go help your friend get home safe.”

You don’t answer. You just stand. You cross the bar in seconds, weaving through elbows and laughter and loud music. When you reach Alexia’s side, she doesn’t see you at first she’s too busy trying to pour herself the last of someone else’s drink, missing the glass entirely.

You gently catch her wrist, her head snaps up, and when she sees you, really sees you, her face changes. Surprise, embarrassment, then relief. Like maybe she’d been hoping you’d come after all.

“Hey,” you say gently, but firm. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out she just nods, slow and small, and lets you take the glass from her hand.

Mapi grins behind her. “About time.”

You ignore her. “I’ll get her to text when she’s home,” you say, already guiding Alexia through the crowd.

Once outside, the air hits her hard she wobbles, you loop an arm around her waist automatically.

“You alright?”

She nods again. “Too much wine.”

“No shit,” you mutter.

She leans into you without asking and you let her. You help her into your truck, buckle her in, crank the heating. You drive in silence, thankful you only had a couple drinks before going to soft drinks, every few minutes you glance at her she’s quiet, head leaning against the window, eyes glassy but calm now.

When you reach her street, she shifts. “I don’t wanna go in,” she mumbles.

You turn the engine off. “Why not?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

You study her face. She’s not just drunk. She’s worn down, like something’s caught up to her tonight, and all her usual guarding walls have melted away.

“Alright,” you say, soft. “I'll stay until you fall asleep then I'll go.”

She looks at you, blinking slow. “Really?” You nod and she just whispers, “Thank you.”

You unlock her front door with her keys, her chin heavy on your shoulder as she watches your hands move.

She’s quieter now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t come from being shy, no, not with Alexia, but from being too full. From holding back the words she doesn’t quite know how to shape.

You help her kick off her shoes at the door, her hand finds your forearm as she straightens.

“I’ll get you water,” you say gently, heading to the kitchen like it’s muscle memory. You’ve never been here long enough to pretend it is but you know her home better than you should given the time spent here.

She sits on the couch in a graceless sprawl, her head leaning back, eyes closed. Her makeup’s smudged, mascara settled just below her lashes. Her hair’s pulled loose from her pony, she’s beautiful, in that devastating, real way.

You bring the glass over, set it in her waiting hand, she cracks one eye open. “You’re not leaving?”

You shake your head. “Not until you’re asleep, that was the deal.”

She nods slowly. “Stay the night.”

You pause. “Alexia—”

“Not like that,” she says quickly. “Just… stay.”

There’s a pull behind her voice, like gravity, and something in your chest answers.

“I want you to stay where I can see you. I don't like the thought of you walking home alone, it's late.”

That hits somewhere deep, somewhere you don’t name, you reach to take the glass back before pulling her to her feet, her body pressing into yours, she leans her head to the side, resting against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your arm comes up behind her instinctively, letting her settle into the space like she belongs there.

After a long stretch of silence, her voice comes quiet, smaller than you’ve ever heard it.

“You're still here” you try to not laugh, at the fact even though you're the one holding her, she'd clearly thought maybe you'd gone

“I’m still here,” you say.

She nods against you, before doing the most adorable yawn, it was like watching when a baby yawns.

The stairs feel taller when she’s leaning on you for balance, her hand clinging to the back of your sweatshirt like a lifeline.

"These are dramatic stairs," she mutters, eyes focused like she's climbing Everest.

You smile small, not smug and keep her steady, hand pressed at her lower back as you guide her into her bedroom. "I’ll wait outside," you say once you reach the door. “Get into something comfortable. Let me know if you need help.”

She looks up at you, eyes half-lidded but still sharp. "You’d like that, huh?"

You give her a look. "Go get changed, Alexia."

She laughs softly, swaying a little as she walks into her room and closes the door behind her.

You wait in the hallway, eyes on the floor, hands in your pockets. You could leave. You could call her mother, or Alba, or one of the many women who’d trip over themselves to help her right now, but you stay, as promised, because it’s her and when it comes down to it, you care about her. Maybe too much.

When the door opens, she’s in an oversized Barça training top and cotton shorts, her bare legs already blotched with marks where you heard her bump into her furniture.

You wordlessly offer your hand again, and she takes it, letting you lead her into the bathroom. The light is soft, warm, she sits on the toilet lid as instructed, head tilted back looking at you.

“You gonna scold me again?” she murmurs, eyes closed.

“I’m not your coach.”

“You sure about that?” she smirks, barely.

You don’t answer, you just wet a cotton pad and stand in front of her. She doesn’t speak as you remove her makeup, slow and careful, like she’s made of something that needs preserving. Her skin is warm beneath your fingertips, flushed from the alcohol, but soft. Real.

Her eyes flutter open halfway through, watching you. “You always do things like this?” she asks, voice quieter now. “Take care of girls who get to go home with you? Or just me?”

“Just you.”

She doesn’t smile, but something about the stillness in her face shifts. You finish her eyeliner, reach for a clean cloth to wipe her cheeks. The towel grazes her jaw when she speaks again. “You should hate me.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t.”

She nods, almost like that hurts more than the alternative.

You rinse the cloth, hang it back up, and stand. She’s still watching you like you’re some riddle she’s only now trying to solve.

“You’re good at this,” she whispers. “At caring.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say, turning off the light. “Ruins the reputation.”

She lets you help her to bed, pulls the duvet around herself like armour. You wait until she’s settled before you move to leave. “Stay,” she says again, voice already heavy with sleep.

So you do. "I'll sit here until you go to sleep, ok?"

You curl into the armchair near the window, hoodie pulled over your head, watching her breathing slow as she drifts and just before your own eyes close, she whispers your name in her sleep.

🚗

There’s a golden streak of sun creeping in past the blackout blinds when Alexia stirs.

Her body’s slow to wake, dulled by the hangover pressing into the sides of her skull, but she registers the warmth of her bed, the soft ache behind her eyes, and the sharp, vivid memory of you in front of her the night before. Steady. Patient. Quietly good.

She turns her head and sees you. Still here.

Slouched awkwardly in the chair by the window, knees spread wide, arms crossed over your chest, hoodie pulled up around your ears. You’d shoved a spare throw over your lap sometime in the night, but your face was tilted sideways, pressed into your shoulder like you hadn’t moved once since she fell asleep.

You stayed. Her heart stumbles over itself.

She gets up slowly, legs unsure beneath her, and pads over barefoot. You’re asleep, and not in that light kind of way you’re fully out. There’s a crease in your brow even now, even resting, something in you never switches off.

Alexia crouches in front of you, watching the way your lips part slightly with every breath. She takes you in, the lines of your jaw, the faint purplish hue of the bruise under your eye, the grease still under your fingernails from work the day before.

The hoodie you’re wearing used to be her favourite before you stole it back, she reaches forward and tugs the hood back gently.

You blink awake, confused and slow, your eyes focusing on her. She sees it the flicker of alertness, the way you straighten in the chair like you're ready to protect something, even now.

“Morning,” she says softly.

You grunt, adjusting in the seat. “What time is it?”

“Too early.”

You rub a hand across your face, sitting forward. “You alright?”

She nods. “Bit of a headache. Nothing fatal.”

You lean your elbows on your knees, glance toward her bed. “You should get more sleep.”

She watches you for a second. “Why didn’t you come lie down?”

You shrug. “Didn’t want to over step.”

"I wouldn’t have minded.”

That makes you glance at her again, this time slower. Your eyes settle on hers. “You sure?”

She smiles, it’s soft, barely there. “You look good in the morning.”

You shake your head, smirking despite yourself. “You’re a menace.”

She stands up, takes a step closer, tugging your arm. “Come to bed. Have five more minutes.”

You hesitate and then you let her pull you.

The bed dips as you climb in next to her tentative, careful. She doesn’t hesitate, though. She leans into you, lets her head rest on your shoulder, one hand curling around your hoodie.

You lie there in the quiet, sun warming the room inch by inch.

You don’t know how long you lie there her head still on your shoulder, and your arm has gone a little numb, but you’re not moving. Not when her fingers are gently tracing the small patch of skin she found at the edge of the seam on your hoodie, her breaths still even, slow.

And then she shifts, just slightly enough to look up toward you. You look down at the same time she looks up. It’s quiet. Still and yet everything in you tightens like something electric is crackling through the mattress beneath you both.

She doesn’t speak. Neither do you. You don’t need to, because the way her eyes drop to your mouth and hover there is louder than anything she could say. Because when you tilt your head slightly, her breath hitches, because when your noses brush, there’s no going back.

You kiss her.

It’s slow unsure for only half a second until her mouth parts beneath yours, warm and open and wanting. She sighs into it, a sound that lands somewhere low in your stomach, and you kiss her again, like you’ve wanted to since the first moment she walked into your garage with too much attitude and not enough patience.

You shift, body over hers, hand braced beside her head, not touching too much, just enough, but her hands are bolder than you expect.

They move to your hips, sliding up your sides under your hoodie to your ribs. You freeze slightly when her fingers splay across your skin, hesitating like she’s waiting for permission, and when you don’t stop her, she slides the hoodie up to your shoulders. You sit back to help her, she watches as you pull it off.

Her eyes are wide, unblinking, like she’s trying to memorise you in this light, vulnerable, a little breathless, lips parted, heartbeat clearly visible in your throat.

You’re both suspended for a moment her head tipped back against the pillow, your body hovering just above hers, the world narrowing to the curve of her lips and the heat between you.

Her fingers, still trembling with that early-morning haze, find your abs, you catch your breath as she gently traces them, decisive motion.

Your lips brush hers again gentle at first, testing, savouring. Then everything shifts, her arms wind around your neck, pulling you closer. Your hands settle beside her waiting, holding her there as if you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you loosen your grip.

The kiss deepens, slow and hungry. You cup her jaw, thumb tracing her cheek, and feel her fingers play with the hair at your nape. The space between you ignites, the morning light, the faint scent of her hair, the rising pulse that thrums through your chest.

You trail gentle kisses down her neck, each one a promise. She arches into you, fingers tangling in your hair, urging you nearer. In that moment, all the tension and teasing of the past months dissolves. It’s just the two of you, breathless and real.

She presses her body up to meet yours, and when her lips find yours once more, full, open, searching, you know you’re exactly where you need to be.

You shift your weight, careful, keeping your palm flat on the mattress so you don’t crush her, but she’s not shy, not anymore, she stretches up like she wants to erase whatever distance is left, and your hand lands at the point of her hip where her t-shirt is bunched. You have to steady it, make yourself move slow, let this last. She makes a soft noise when you press your mouth to the corner of hers, then to her jaw, her pulse, her collarbone. She tastes like sleep and faint salt, and you want to run laps over every inch of her, learn her until you could do this in your sleep.

She whispers something you don’t catch, just a breath of a word, and it jams the air between the two of you. For a second you’re paralysed, the question in her eyes so open it makes your chest hurt, but then you nod once, slow, and she grins, actually grins, like she’s won some kind of prize, and you don’t have to be careful anymore.

Everything is fast and breathless, a scramble to get closer, her hands under your shirt and yours under hers. She’s soft and solid and so alive beneath you, and she’s laughing, like it’s the best joke she’s ever heard when you accidentally find her ticklish spot. You want to make her laugh forever. You want to never stop this, not ever. Her skin is warm and she’s tugging you down, hooking a leg over your hip, and you kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. 

You’ve never felt this way. It’s new and it’s terrifying, but it’s the best kind of terror, like standing at the edge of something huge and wild and knowing it’s yours for the taking. She moves under you and you want to cry, shout, sing, something, anything to let it out. There are no words for this.

No words for the way she pulls you in, the way the world goes blurry and bright and she’s the only clear thing. The way she gasps when you find her throat, her shoulder, the dip above her collarbone, the way she’s so close you could drown in the scent of her, the feel of her, and it would be the best way to go. You push her shirt up, slow and eager, kissing every inch of skin as it’s exposed. She’s unravelling under you, hands in your hair, breath catching in her chest, and you think, yes, yes, yes, this is it, this is it, this is it.

Everything is just her, only her. The sun creeping through the window, a witness. The quiet that should be awkward but never is, not with her. You lose track of your own heartbeat, the way it’s keeping time with hers. You lose track of the hours, of the light shifting from dawn to something brighter, bolder. It’s like the world is holding its breath, and you’re holding yours, everything is a blur of skin and touch and heat. She arches when your hand finds her waist, her side, lower, and you’re not careful anymore, not even a little. Her moan is a tug in your gut, and then you’re gone, mouth on her neck and chest as she moves and writhes beneath you, as she comes apart under your touch, as she gasps your name. 

You want to brand it into your skin. You want to say it back to her over and over until it’s meaningless, until it’s the only thing that means anything. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, like she’s looking at someone else entirely. She slings an arm over her eyes, and for a moment you think she’s embarrassed, but there’s still a smile breaking loose across her face, uncontainable and bright as noon. You slip your arm around her back your hand resting on behind as she rolls to bury her face in your neck, you whisper, "Don't go all shy on me"

"I liked that" she whispered into your ear, as your hand was smoothing over her skin.

You hum, "You did?" she nodded, you guide her leg over your hip and your hand moves in from over her thigh, her face reappears as she gasps and her head goes back when your fingers disappear inside her once again.

Her hand cradles your face as your 'busy hands' as she had always called them were indeed busy, she hums against your lips as she kisses you.

"Let me hear you" you whisper as her forehead is pressed to yours her body stiffening again, a breath gets caught in her throat and comes out as moan followed by your name, "Good girl"

Her shoulders come up tense both hands gripping your face as your fingers pump the veins standing out on your tattoo'd forearm, her chest was flushed red with a shine of sweat, "I'm gonna.." she breathes, but again it gets caught as your thumb finds her clit and begins moving in time with your fingers.

"That's my girl" you smirk eyes fixated on her, her eyes rose to meet yours as her breathing was ragged her chest heaving, her arm moved around your neck putting your mouth near her ear as she needed you closer, "Come for me" you whispered and her body instantly reacted, her head went back giving you access to her neck and your fingers slowed as you let her ride her orgasm out licking sucking and kissing her neck you quickly realised she liked.

🚗

The morning after is slow, unhurried.

You’re both in comfy clothes, Alexia in her oversized tee and messy bun, you in the hoodie she keeps stealing. The kitchen light is soft, bouncing off tile and kettle steam.

You'er perched on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, watching her try to fry eggs without setting off the smoke alarm. There's a smug smile on your face. She tries to ignore it.

“You want to help, or just critique?”

“I’m here for emotional support,” you say, reaching for a grape off the counter.

She turns, smirking. “Emotional support while I feed you?”

You hold out another grape like a peace offering. “Don’t complain. This is domesticity you wanted, no?”

She raises an eyebrow and takes the grape from your hand with her teeth, grazing your fingers deliberately as she does. “This is you eating my food and laughing at me when I burn toast.”

You grin wider. “Which is charming.”

She holds the spatular to you, you smile hop down taking it you raid her spices to make the eggs how you like them, her turn to sit on the counter watching. She wouldn't admit it but your eggs did look good.

You step between her legs, resting your hands on her thighs. Her laughter quiets.

“I like mornings with you,” she says softly.

Your chest tightens, just enough to notice. “Yeah?” you murmur.

She nods. “Didn’t think I would. I thought this would always be... fast. Dangerous.”

“You thought we’d be dangerous.”

“I thought you would be.” Her smile is smaller now. Honest. “You had the whole ‘too cool to care’ thing going.”

You chuckle, pressing your forehead gently against hers. “Still do, apparently.”

“No,” she says, and her voice is light but her eyes are serious. “You care. You just pretend you don’t, but I see it.”

You tilt your head and kiss her soft, slow, no rush to make it more than it is. You kiss her because you can because you want to, because it’s her.

She kisses you back like she already knows. The eggs crackle gently in the pan. The kettle clicks off behind you. Outside, the world starts its usual chaos. But in this kitchen, it’s quiet.

“You really thought I wasn’t interested?” you ask against her lips.

She leans back just far enough to look at you. “You never made a move.”

“I was busy trying not to prove I can stay when I want to.” She smiles and kisses you again, you laugh into her mouth, pull her closer by the hips. “Still hungry?”

“For food?”

You glance at the stove. “Might be safer to order in.”

She shrugs. “I’m good here.”

You hum in agreement, tucking your face into the curve of her neck, arms around her waist, her legs around yours. You both smell like sleep and coffee. Like something shared. Like something that finally makes sense.

There’s no big ending. No grand gesture. Just a mechanic and a footballer in a sun-warmed kitchen, burning eggs, stealing kisses, and building something they never expected to find.

Together.

The End.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Rough Sex w/ MW2

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Smut, Rough Sex, Restraining, Stomach Bulging, Unprotected Sex, Sexual Punishment, Use of a Strap-On, Implied Blow Job, Possessive Sex, Dehumanisation, Slut Shaming, Reader Blaming, Hair Pulling, Slight Dumbification, Blood, Dirty Talk, Profanity, Pet Names, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Ghost

“Just a stupid little whore, aren’t ya,” Simon growled as he pounded you from behind, fingers gripping your hips so tightly that phantom bruises descended upon your skin. The slickness of your abused hole did little to numb the pain of Simon’s rapid, unrelenting pace, of his engorged tip slipping deeper and deeper inside you, plugging you, making any form of escape from your impending unravelment impossible.

You could feel his cock, hot, heavy and ravenous, pulsating inside you, bringing you to the edge of electric euphoria with every thrust. 

“Good for nothin’ except takin’ my cock.” He spat, his hand sliding up your spine and rooting itself in your hair. He gripped at the base and pulled your head back, hissing in your ear.

“Isn’t that right, Darlin’?”

You wanted to speak. Wanted to tell him you were his, only his, but the words wouldn’t come out quick enough.

When you didn’t answer in time, he stopped. Pulled out, only the swollen tip remaining lodged inside.

Without warning, he pushed. Hard.

You’d felt full before, but this sudden influx of skin and muscle and heat was too much. It knocked the air out of you, made you cry out as Simon sank balls-deep inside you, impaling your shuttering, wanting body on his dick. He grunted, his grip on your hair tightening.

“That’s it,” he said as you whimpered, cried out. “Take it — take it like the slag you are.”

König

“You wanted this – you wanted me to take you. Fucking attention whore,”

König’s voice reached depths you didn’t think possible as he bounced you on his cock, his stomach coated in your juices as he lay beneath you, thrusting up to plant as much of his member in the tight cavern of your hole as possible.

Even from where he lay, he could see the outline of himself within you. He twitched. Tried to stave off from painting your insides white for just a little longer.

You had no choice but to take it – your wrists bound behind your back with König’s belt – to take every inch of König’s cock.

He stretched you out to lengths you didn’t think possible as he pulled you down onto the base of his member, causing tears to stream down your face as he hit a sliver of you you didn’t think existed.

“God, you’re nothing without me,” he asserted, teeth gritted and restraint pushed to the very limit. “Nothing but a rag doll on the end of my dick – only made for me to use as I please.”

You knew it was true, especially with the coil within you verging on snapping, sending you over the precipice of ruin. König gave you a sly, thin grin.

“Nobody else can fuck you like this, can make you cry like this.” His grip on your waist proved he wasn’t lying, shortened nails leaving crescent indents in your skin.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Soap

“Don’t tell me you’re cryin’ on me now, Darlin’,” Johnny said, not an ounce of sympathy or empathy in his voice. If anything, the realisation that you were just about holding on as he railed you from behind seemed to make him go faster, push harder, knocking his thick, meaty cock into you at a pace that could only be savage.

“C’mon, show me you can take it. I know you can,” he goaded — or perhaps encouraged. You couldn’t be so sure, especially as you could barely string a thought together, never mind the inclination to ask. He watched you, made dead eye contact with you through the mirror that put your undoing on display for him, his eyes piercing and ice.

At your silence, Johnny slapped your backside. Harsh. You yelped at the sting and jolted forwards, only for Johnny to wrap a hand around your throat and pull him back. His balls were flush against your backside, the tightness of your bodies together making him grunt.

“C’mon, mo ghaol — tell me how much you need this dick — show me how much you deserve it.” He squeezed your throat.

Valeria

“You were begging to be used by me — wearing those tight shorts like I wouldn’t notice.” Valeria punctuated her point with a harsh thrust, sending you banging against her desk, ribs aching, pressed against sleek wood. Everything hurt.

The strap-on she’d chosen was one she reserved only for correcting your most egregious behaviour. Apparently, this extended to your fashion choices, too.

“Trying to make my men lose focus, huh? Is that it?” The sound and sensation of your body welcoming the cruel length of her weapon made your cheeks flush and your hole clench, trying to pull it deeper, begging for punishment.

“Have I not given you enough attention? Or are you just hungry for anyone who lays eyes on you,”

You whimpered, trying to keep your head level as your girlfriend battered your insides with nothing less than animalistic fervour and rage.

“You wanna dress like a cheap whore,” she said, voice deep and husking as she lowered her lips to your ear. “Then I get to fuck you like one — my whore.”

Price

“I love you,” he panted. “I love you, I love you, I love you–”

He couldn’t stop – these last few hours with you would be all he had before he had to go on deployment again. And he was determined to make them count.

He’d stuffed himself into you, made light work of grinding your sanity down to its bare foundations as your body shook with the onset of another orgasm.

You were already so sensitive, every knock of his tip against your sensitive spot sending equal euphoria and pain through you.

“Gonna cum in you again,” he said, voice lethargic, words slurred like the blurring edges of watercolours. “Gonna get it as deep as possible. Want it still in you by the time I reach Base.”

The many loads of cum he’d already pumped into you weighed heavy in your belly, almost creating its own centre of gravity as you fought to keep your swollen stomach off the mattress. Anytime you failed, the sensitivity of your skin, the feeling of his load stagnant inside you, made you wince.

You could feel John’s cum leaking out of you as he plunged deep, deeper still, forcing his seed out of the small spaces which weren’t suffocated by his almost impossible girth. 

Horangi

“Been stretching you out for hours and you’re still- ngh— fuckin’ tight.” Hong-Jin said, almost as if chiding you. He grunted, balls-deep yet nowhere near satisfied, his resolve being milked from him.

“Gonna need to–” he grunted, “break you in,”

Without warning, he pulled out – only halfway – and plunged back inside you with an almighty push. One that, despite not having the power of his whole length behind it, forced a strangled moan from you.

His breath caught as he felt himself slip into a deeper, darker part of you, one which seemed to try and reject him as your hole pulsed uselessly around him, as if to push him out.

He persisted. Hissing.

When he pulled out, he spotted something.

A small streak of blood along his shaft.

“Doing so well for me, Love,” he groaned, slipping back in and re-establishing a rhythm. You mewled beneath him.

“God, you’re so good — just lying down and taking it – like my own personal fleshlight.”

Alejandro

“So this is why you’ve been acting so strange recently, hm?” Alejandro spoke between pants, arms at either side of your head, blocking off everything that wasn’t him. He gritted his teeth, grunted at the feeling of you tightening around him as he brutalised you with his savage pace, stretching you out and making your hole spasm around his cock.

“Just needed a good fuck, didn’t you?”

You were all but drooling as Alejandro quite literally fucked you dumb, no thoughts in your head save for the desperate electricity between your legs.

When you didn’t answer — or rather couldn’t, for your mind was scarcely able to keep itself intact for the feeling of ruin rapidly descending upon you — Alejandro took your chin between his fingers and forced you to focus on him.

“Didn’t you.” He repeated. To that, the fire in his eyes, you managed a sloppy ‘yes’. Alejandro hummed, pressed himself closer, chest-to-chest.

“Don’t worry, Cariño — we’ve got all night to fuck that pretty little mouth back into working order.”

Rudy

Years of toil, training and discipline have shaped Rudy into the unsuspecting behemoth he is today; as was evident in the way you cried out when his dick skewered you, stretching you out and making your back arch against the mattress. He felt himself pressed to the wall of your abdomen as your stomach met his. He shivered.

“He can’t fuck you like this,” he said, voice low and seething, the intonation of a snake. His usual puppy-eyes were sharp, as if of a feline disposition. He watched you as your eyes, almost having rolled back into your skull, refused to meet his.

“Nobody can have you. You’re mine — only mine.” He slammed into you faster, giving you no preparation and only using the wetness already dripping from between your thighs there to slip in. 

“Now, tell me who you belong to.”

Your mouth, agape with silent pain, released nothing. Rudy raised his hand, slapped you. You yelped, the sting sending a shock between your legs. You clenched around him. He growled, head dipping to your collarbone, where you could feel his breath, scorching and unrelenting.

“Let’s try this one more time,” he rasped. When he looked up, his eyes were black. Gone was the man you loved.

“Or I won’t be so forgiving.”

Graves

“You like bein’ used by me, don’t ya,” Graves panted, struggling to keep up with the pace of his own euphoria. He could tell you were close, too, from the way tears streamed down your cheeks and how you suctioned around him, pulling him deeper, pleading with him for more.

“Love bein’ my favourite little cum dump — so well-behaved, just for me.”

Nothing could be truer as you felt him thrusting into you at a speed that suggested anger. 

“Never be good for anything except taking my cock like a good slut.”

Your tongue lolled out from the corner of your mouth, drool dripping onto the sheets as Phillip allowed you your silence, especially considering how you’d earned it. Your obedience, your willingness to take everything he gave you. You scratched just the right part of Graves’ ego that had sustained him for this long.

His eyes glinted as he looked down at you.

“Ain’t that right, Doll.”

Gaz

Gaz’s change in personality, admittedly, frightened you. Especially as he stood over you now, having bound your hands together tied them over your head to the bed frame.

You’d tried encouraging him to just touch you already, to take you now as you were bound and helpless. Hell, you’d even ground yourself against his boot, working yourself up into a frenzy all in an effort to make him crack.

He didn’t.

“Oh no,” he said, wagging a finger at you. “You don’t get my dick yet.”

Already having used his belt to immobilise you, he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his thighs along with his boxers. Half-hard and beading at the tip, he eyed you, a cruel smile at his lips.

“I’m gonna fuck your face so hard,” he continued, taking you by the hair and forcing your lips to his pulsing member, watching your eyes widen. “That you’ll be eating through a tube for the rest of the week.”

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[arabellasfvv]

Ghost👎 pathetic simon👍

MDNI 18+ just porn without a plot.

He's behind you, towering over you like the giant he is. His rough hands on your hips pulling you back on his cock, strained grunts falling from his lips. He bends down, one hand tangling into your hair so he can twist your head, see your face. "Say thank you, birdie."

"For what?"

For what?? The answer stuns him, making his brows furrow. "For‐" "For making me feel like every other guy?" You interrupt, almost rude with the way you speak. He doesn't even have enough time to gather himself and speak up before you do again.

"Just get it over with." And when you say that, he growls. Like a fucking mutt being denied its toy.

His thrusts slowed as his frustrations build. How could you say that to him? He's good. Women always say he's good. Makes them feel full, and sated.

The way your walls hug him, warm and wet, your smooth skin against his own.. it's felt like heaven. But the fact you didn't feel it as deep in your bones as he did completely threw him off. It makes his frustrations turn to desperation. Groans trailing off into whimpers, quiet whines that try to express what he's feeling.

Now he wanted to work even harder to make you feel good.

Yet his body was betraying him in every way. His hips were stuttering, no thrust really the same, some were hard and deep, and then he didn't pull out right, then he pulled deeper than possible, slamming into you, before slipping out which was a complete nightmare because he couldn't find the hole again, poking aimlessly around your slit. Fuck.

His hands, normally steady and tactile, now had about the same dexterity as of a toddler. He was grabbing everywhere, like he was searching for something with no idea how to navigate.

You cursed under your breath, what the fuck. And that just broke him. His whimpers turned worse, louder, more desperate. Guilty dog. He did feel pathetic, having no idea where his mind went. It just seemed to slip out off his ears once he realised you didn't like this.

"Okay, Jesus! Get off, lay down," you snapped. Pulling your body away from him, expecting him to comply. And he did, thanking everything that is holy that he got a command. Something to follow, easy, familiar. Pinching the bridge of your nose you watched as he eagerly complied and laid flat on his back. You would've laughed at the imagine if it weren't so frustrating right now. You climbed over him, straddling his thick thighs. Your hand reaching down to line his cock up with your weeping hole. Lips parting in a silent moan once you sunk down.

His hands shoot to your hips when you start grinding down on him, feeling every bump and ridge of your walls. His orgasm came far too soon, catching him so off guard he couldn't even warn you. A sound, more of a mewl than anything, being ripped from his throat, his body tightening as his load filling you, hot and thick. Threatening to seep out the moment you moved.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. I'm about to zip tie your balls," you spat down at him, nails digging into his chest.

He flinched, guilt washing over him as the realisation of what had just happened hit. "Ah- fuck! I didn't mean to, I swear. Fuck, I'm sorry, love." God, you're scary when youre frustrated. "Just gimme a minute, I'll be—" you cut him off once again. Though this time not with words but with a lift of your hips, halfway up before you sink down again.

He's hissing through the feeling, "No, no, wait- nghh, please." Far too sensitive for the rhythm youre setting. But you don't seem to care, he's denied you pleasure and now youre chasing it. And clearly, you're not about to compromise that.

The sounds echoing in the room are obsence, the squelch of your arousal and his cum leaking out of you, forming a white ring around his base. Simons whimpers while he desperately tries to put his mind back together, mixing with your breathy moans when you finally manage to get his cock to hit that sweet, gummy spot inside of you.

"Make yourself useful," your hand comes down his wrist, dragging his hand away from your hip and down to your heat. Excepting him to get the hint. And thank God he did, cupping your inner thigh while his thumb gathered some of the slicky substance all around, lubing up your puffy clit so he could draw slow circles around the bundle of nerves. "Good boy."

You shift to squad above him instead, "Speed up," you croon, while doing the same. Bouncing up and down faster, making sure to repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside. His thumbs speeds up, firm and constant. But so do his hips, thrusting up into you, trying to meet your rhythm. You were gonna kill this man. Either through pleasure or anger. "That ain't what I asked for, is it?" "Sorry, sorry, sorry. You're just.. so good. So good, love. Feel so perfect 'round me."

Its absolutely torture for him to stay still, to keep his hips on the matrass when youre making him feel so good. But he's eager to please now. So he takes a deep breath, focusing on your body instead of his own. And it's worth it. The way your eyebrows furrow, the way those pretty lips fall open, the way your breath stutters, and the way you clench around him when you come, all of it is heavenly. "That's good... that's right," you praise breathlessly. The way your cunt is pulsing around him and the relief of making you feel good has him coming undone again. It's almost painful how hard he comes, it has his legs trembling and his eyes screwing shut tighlty.

"Don't get off," he protest weakly once you lift your hips. He doesn't want to lose that feeling. And his hands are urging you to stay down. His frown is almost pitiable when you get off nonetheless. Slumping against the headboard next to him. "Say thank you."

Oh, you're mean, throwing his words back at him. "Thank you. Thank you, dove. Felt so good." You did deserve it more than him.

His eyes wander down, his flaccid cock glistening, cum stuck in his blonde pubes. And then they wander over to you, watching your chest rise and fall with each breath, biting back the urge to suck on your hard nipples, to lick around the soft skin. He cant see much between your legs, your pretty thighs covering most of it from his point of view. And he truly cant help it. He shifts, slowly, the bed creaking lowly under his weight. He grabs your leg, spreading your legs so he can settle between them. Peppering kisses along your inner thighs, while his hands knead the supple flesh, the flexing muscles underneath.

"What's that gonna be, hm?" You hum in suprise, raising your eyebrows at him. A hand coming down to his shoulder, gliding along the tattooed skin until it reached the back of his neck. Wrapping around it, thumb playing with the little hairs along his hairline. "An apology."

"An apology? Huh. Won't find me complaining about that." He groans at the breathy laughter that follows. Everything about you is just so beautiful. His hand guides your leg to lay over his shoulder. His tongue flattening as it reaches your pussy. "I'll make it up to you," He assures, though he's not even sure if you hear him, it's all mumbled into your cunt. Before his tongue slips between your lips, poking at your stretched hole, leaking with both of your orgasms.

You tense up at the sound that follows, cringing at how filthy it is. If that's how he slurps up his own sperm you make a mental note to never eat soup with him. Yeesh. Your hand tightenings on his neck when he tries to push himself closer to you, wanting to get deeper, to taste more of you, be completely surrounded by you.

He is a good kisser though, eagerly devouring your folds. And you almost want to tug him up for a proper kiss. Almost.

Hes making sure to get every every bit from you, every sweat drop, every drop of slick arousal gathered around your crotch. Theres no way he hasn't swallowed a pube or two. But he isn't even noticing. Too lost in the taste. And the feeling of your hand gripping his hair, pulling him closer, encouragement to just keep going.

The hand that isn't firmly holding your legs over his shoulder sneaks with him between your legs, thick fingers pushing past your entrance. Callouses grazing your soft insides. Lips suctioning around your clit briefly. Before his tongue takes over, lapping up and down until your hips are grinding against it, wanting more and more.

Just before he can get desperate for your praise again you speak, "just like that, sweetheart. Now youre doing good." Boy, if he had a tail it'd be wagging like crazy like now. "Don't stop, dont you dare stop. M'close," you moan, words barely coming out right when his fingers finally find the spot, and hes not shy to abuse it. Quickly curling against it again and again until your back arches. His eyes shoot up, no way in hell he's missing your orgasm.

He prefers this one over your first, simply because of the pressure of your thighs clamping down on his head, and his lips being right at the source of what's holy to him. And now he's got a taste for it...

So when you try to pull away to come down again, he pulls you close again, pressing your hips against the matress, his eyes are more pupil than anything as he looks up at you. "I ain't done, birdie."

[uronlywon]

INTENTIONAL OR UNINTENTIONAL? ; drabble ➤ overstimulation with hyung line + jungwon . . .

pairing .ᐟ hyung line + jungwon x afab!reader

contains .ᐟ dom!heeseung, soft dom!jay, dom!jake, mean dom!sunghoon, dom!jungwon, jay being husband material at the end, sunghoon being down right mean

warnings .ᐟ MINORS DNI, porn without plot, overstimulation, use of pet names (pretty, baby, love), riding (heeseung), praising (heeseung + jake), mentions of dacryphilia (sunghoon), jealous sex (jungwon), lmk if there’s more

vee's note .ᐟ i wrote this in about 2 hours at 4am (finished 6am)  so if some parts don’t make sense, i’m sorry. feel free to tell me if there are any parts that i could improve a bit :D also you can kind of tell where my creativity plummets lmaoo

total wc .ᐟ [ 0.8k ]　　other works . . . masterlist ; read more !

LEE HEESEUNG (이희승) — intentional I feel like Heeseung is the type to make you overstimulate yourself. You’d be riding him, and after your first orgasm, he’d tell you to keep going.

“C’MON, pretty. Keep moving those hips f’me,” he’d say. Listening to his orders, you’d make an attempt to continue moving your hips on him, but due to the sensitivity you gained, your attempt was quite pathetic. “H..Hee, I can’t– ‘m tired..”, you whine, halting your movements to a stop. I just know he’d laugh at how fucked out you are. “Tired? You were just fine a minute ago, baby,” he teases, brushing the hair sticking to your face out of the way. “That’s fine, pretty, that’s why I’m here,” Heeseung continues, placing his warm hands on either side of your hip bones. “You look so gorgeous like this, Y/n. Could have you on my cock all day,” He would coo and end up moving your hips for you. ”That’s it, taking me so well, hm?”

━━━━━

other members ⬇️

PARK JONGSEONG (박종성) — intentional / unintentional I’m a little bit on the fence for Jay. I can see him overstimulating you both intentionally and unintentionally in the same fuck session.

HE'D start off intentionally, pushing you a bit after your first orgasm, “Sorry, love, just a little bit more–”, he’d say this because he was trying to reach his own high, but to do that, you’d have to hang on a little longer. Passing that, he wouldn’t realise you’ve already had enough, making it to the point where you have to tell him to stop, “Ha-.. Jay! Can’t take anymore!”. I feel like he just wouldn’t realise how many more times you’ve came after the first time, if that makes sense, “Ah fuck– I’m sorry Y/n.” In the end Jay would apologise and give you literally the best aftercare. He’d always wipe you clean with a damp towel and run a warm bath for you. “You okay now? Does it hurt anywhere?” Jay would question, peppering you in soft kisses.

━━━━━

SIM JAEYUN (심재윤) — unintentional Jake would be too lost in pleasure to realise you’d have already come. The man is like a dog in heat, not even kidding.

“FUUCK Y/n, you f..feel so fucking good.” He’s the type to just continuously praise you while you fuck, which is partially the reason why he wouldn’t take notice of your desperate pleas for him to slow down. “Sensitive– Jake… Jake! P-please slow-..” You’d say, but he’s so busy praising you whilst he pounds into your used hole. It would take him a while to realise you’ve been begging him to tone it down a little, only realising when he feels the sensation of your nails digging deep into the flesh on his shoulders. “Oh god, I’m so fucking sorry, baby, I-I didn’t mean to hurt you,” He’d say after realisation hits, and he would continuosly apologise to you over and over again. “Y/n, I’m sorry about before–” “I already told you that I’m fine, Jake,” You’d laugh.

━━━━━

PARK SUNGHOON (박성훈) — intentional Let's be real, Sunghoon is the cruelest one out of everyone. He will definitely overstimulate you on purpose, and he isn’t even sorry about it.

“YEAH– There you go Y/n, such a good little slut f’me, huh?” Sometimes, it would get so bad that you would be crying and begging him to stop, “Mmn! ‘t’s a..a lot, too much– Ah!~ Hoonie!”. To be honest, I think he has a little dacryphilia. Just watching your tears streaming down your pretty face turns him on. He would coo and mock your begs, degrading you in the process, “You’re already crying? I’ve only made you come twice, how pathetic are you?” Sunghoon just seems like the type to be really mean during sex, dismissing all your begging and just continuing to fuck you into oblivion “N-no more Sunghoon, please!” “Who’s Sunghoon? I only know Hoonie. You’ll take whatever the fuck I give you.”

━━━━━

YANG JUNGWON (양정원) — intentional Jungwon would sooo do it intentionally, and we all know that he is in fact a jealous guy based on the questions fans asked at fansigns.

HE'D have you pressed into the mattress of your shared bed after seeing you all over one of your guy friends, “You don’t touch your friends like that, huh?” He asked you, driving you to your 3rd orgasm of the night. Jungwon isn’t a mean dom, but I can see him intimidating you with his words. “Won ‘m sorry, p-please s-stop I can’t.. Can’t do another–” You’d apologise, then he’d scoff at you and start saying things in between thrusts. “Oh so now you’re sorry?” Thrust. “You sure didn’t seem sorry when you were all over that guy’s arm, yeah?” Thrust. “Surely you can give me another, Y/n. Isn’t that right? Thrust. He wasn’t going to falter, no matter how much you apologised or begged him to. “I-I really am sorry! A-ahn!”

LIKES ONLY GO SO FAR ! IF YOU LIKE IT, REBLOG IT.

©𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺𝘸𝘰𝘯, 2024 𝘈𝘓𝘓 𝘙𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛𝘚 𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘌𝘙𝘝𝘌𝘋 | 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥

[hyuukas]

HIHIIII if your rqs are still open then can i ask for p1harmony pussy eating hc’s? specifically jongseob hehe tysm beautiful

swim - p1harmony pussy eating hcs

warnings: pussy eating, cum eating, edging, overstimulating, somnophilia, spit, squirt, reader is referred to as “girl” (i might be projecting), degrading if you squint?? any feedback is appreciated (as well as reblogs, i’m just getting started!)

##keeho ᡣ𐭩

- he teases you before getting into it, caressing your thighs and rubbing his head against them.

- spreads your folds with his fingers before blowing on your needy cunt.

- edges you until you really can’t take it anymore, not without making you beg when he sees your pretty eyes filled with tears.

“keeho…” you whisper, feeling his teeth against your thigh, just to look down and see all the hickeys he had left on your skin. (…)

“baby, please! i need to cum” you sob, feeling desperate after all the times he had denied your orgasm. “mmh, should i let you? my good little girl wants to cum on my mouth?”

##theo ᡣ𐭩

- has you look at him at every moment, looking up from in between your legs while you run your fingers through his hair.

- moans just from eating you out, is literally rutting against whatever he can find to relieve the heat.

- will do it for fun, even if he doesn’t get anything in return (although if he does, he doesn’t complain).

“keep your eyes on me, love” he mumbles against your core, making you moan once again.

“taeyangie- let me do something, please?” you say, pulling on his hair to stop your movements.

he wasn’t too sure at first, but having you sit on his face while you suck his cock, he doesn’t think you could have had a better idea.

##jiung ᡣ𐭩

- does it to prepare you or as the main thing if he’s too tired to fuck you dumb.

- for the first case, he’ll use his mouth to harshly suck on your clit while he fingers you open, stretching you out to take his cock.

- if not, he’ll have you sit on his face, hands spreading your cheeks and nose against your nub. he pull you down onto him.

“does that feel good, baby? d’you like my fingers inside of you?” when you nod, trying to answer in between cries, he goes back to sucking on your clit.

“ji, please, want your cock” you pout, already craving him after he’s teased you for long.

##intak ᡣ𐭩

- this man is DEDICATED. i can only picture him as a soft dom or sub, but either way he’s a puppy who just wants to please you. he doesn’t care if he gets to cum or not (because he could climax just from giving you head…)

- digs his nails into your thighs and has you rubbing your cunt against his face. he buries his head there and rubs it, getting his entire lower face soaked in your juice.

- he gets so into it he wouldn’t notice you’re past your limit (but enjoying it ofc! he would realise if you’re really trying to stop). overstimulates you until you pull on his hair to make him stop.

“intak, baby, wait!” you whimper “‘s too much”. he pulls away at your tug on his locks, resting on your thigh with dizzy eyes.

when you make him lay on the bed and reach for his boxers, you see a wet patch of precum covering his hard cock.

##soul ᡣ𐭩

- he thinks you’re so cute. but he finds your pretty cunt even cuter. he goes crazy when he notices your light cotton panties allow him to see the outline of it; what can he do if not eat you out through them?

- it will take him a while to take them off, and will just stare at your spread folds for a few seconds, already pussy drunk, before spitting on it and rubbing his drool all over your cunt.

- if you let him, he’ll wake you up every morning with his head in between your legs, eyes closed when he licks you and pulling back every few minutes to admire the sight.

“sho…?” you say, still half asleep. the wet feeling on your core wakes you up, just to see him under the sheets, leaving your white panties covered with his drool before pulling them to the side.

“you look so pretty, baby. pull your shirt up for me?” he says, moving his hands to play with your nipples and ordering you to do so yourself when he’s too invested in eating you out.

##jongseob ᡣ𐭩

- he is INTO IT. will put your legs on his shoulders and pull you as close to him as he can, not without making you beg for it first.

- he might get a little dirty and teasing, but not mean (unless you’re into that…). i’m talking fingering you and eating you out until he finally makes you squirt all over his face, licking you clean.

- and he might make you kiss him afterwards, tongues intertwined and your taste being shared. most of the time he will rub his cock on your folds (the tip hitting your clit), and fuck you dumb, hoping he’ll make you squirt again.

“seobie, i’m gonna cum- seob wait!” you scream, feeling closer to the edge, knowing it wasn’t just a normal orgasm. he hums against your clit, moving his fingers at an impressive speed, curling them against that one sensitive spot.

after licking your juices clean, he towers over you, his chin dripping, getting closer to your face. “such a dirty girl for me, mmh? making it all messy” he says before kissing you deeply.

[guliexe]

━━━DON'T PLAY DUMB 18+

Nakakita Yuma x Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: perv!yuma, porn with a little plot, dom!yuma, reader is down bad, dry humping, teasing, dirty talk, possessiveness, slight choking, fingering, face sitting, spanking, p in v, praising, degrading, squirting, creampie, explicit photo is taken at the end, 80% of this is just pure smut lmao

♡ you fold from yuma’s teasing and he gives you the best fuck of your life

.ᐟwc: 5.1k (no proofread)

You’d met Yuma through your friends Nicholas and Maki, your best friends, alongside the rest of their friends, and over the past few months you’d been hanging out with him and the boys practically every weekend. What you didn’t know, though, was that Yuma had harbored a huge crush on you since the day he met you, and with it, the most perverted thoughts. Every time you’d bend over to pick something up, the bottom of your lacy panties would peek out from under your skirt, and he would stare, licking his lips. And when you would slip into a tight top without a bra, your breasts would press up and your nipples would harden, making him wonder how his cum would look all over them. Even when you would do the most innocent thing—like showing him your new set of nails—he would picture those polished fingers wrapped around his cock.

He would jerk off to you every night, imagining you sucking him off with your pretty mouth. His intentions towards you were pretty clear, but you were too oblivious to notice. You liked him a lot, more than just a friend, but you had no clue he felt the same way, and you were too scared to initiate anything. But the thing is, he knows about your lil crush on him, and wanted to tease you a little until you finally break. So when Maki brought up the idea of throwing a house party at their place—music, drinks, everyone crashing after—Yuma was thrilled. He knew you’d be there. Knew you’d show up in something cute, probably not even realizing the way you always drove him insane.

The night started off chill. You were curled up on the couch with a drink on the coffee table infront of you, laughing at Nicholas drunkenly trying to freestyle while Maki recorded. Yuma sat next to you, his thigh pressed against yours, a casual arm thrown behind you on the back of the couch. Every time you leaned forward to take a sip, his eyes dropped to the way your dress dipped just slightly on your cleavage, and every time you weren’t looking, he leaned in a little closer. You thought maybe he was tipsy. Maybe he didn’t realize how close he was. But when you looked up at him and found his eyes already on you, lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t—your stomach flipped.

As the night wore on and the group thinned out, Maki dragged Nicholas upstairs, yelling something about making sure he didn’t vomit anywhere. One by one, people started leaving, until it was just you and Yuma in the dim living room, the bass from someone’s playlist still low and thumping through the walls. He let his head rest back on the couch and ran his hand through his hair before turning to look at you. Half lidded eyes, cheeks a bit red from the alcohol. You stared at his neck, how his addams’s apple bobbed when he swallowed and how the light from the led strips on the walls perfectly lit up his face and neck. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked softly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your heart stuttered as you realised he’d caught you staring. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you slightly bit your lip. “Like what?”, you mumbled with a nervous chuckle, eyes darting away in a desperate attempt to look anywhere but at him.

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept looking at you, like he could see right through every layer of embarrassment you were trying to hide. His grin deepened, lazy and amused, and then he shifted—turning his body fully toward you, his leg brushing against yours as he placed his hand just above your knee, making your body freeze. “Like you wanna eat me up”, he murmured with a little smirk on his face. Your breath hitched. You glanced at him, wide-eyed, trying to tell if he was serious or just teasing you again. But there was something heavier in his voice this time. Something that made your thighs clench together under your dress. “I don’t—” You started to deflect, but Yuma put his elbow on the couch, his head on his fist and leaned in closer, his voice dropping low near your ear, “Don’t play dumb, baby”. The pet name made you blush even harder, your big eyes locked on his, and his hand started caressing your skin. “You know I’ve been watching you, right?” he said, his fingers brushing lightly along the side of your thigh, moving further up, agonisingly slow. “The way you dress around me, the way you laugh and blush everytime i give you attention…”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and searching. “You think I haven’t noticed?” You swallowed hard, heart thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, giving you away. Yuma smiled again, satisfied, and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering at the side of your jaw. “I think you do.” He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away—but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like that, like he was starving and you were the only thing on the menu. His nose brushed against yours, lips so close they ghosted over your mouth when he spoke. “Been jerking off to you for months,” he murmured. “Ever since the day we met, when you wore that cute skirt of yours.” You couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, already breathless, frozen in place under the weight of his voice.

The smug heat in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. Just like that, he had you wrapped around his finger again. “I wanted to wait until you cracked first,” he said, knuckles brushing up your inner thigh, reaching closer and closer to where you needed it the most, “but I think I’m done playing.” You didn’t mean to lean in. It just happened—drawn to him and his stupid lips. Your lips brushed his, featherlight, and for a second, neither of you moved. Then his hand slid to the back of your neck and pulled you the rest of the way in. He kissed you like he owned your breath, like every sound you made belonged to him, slow but hungry. His hand slid up further up your thigh, firm and unapologetic, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you closer, making your leg fall between his and lean closer. You gasped into his mouth when he squeezed, and he took full advantage, tongue slipping past your lips, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, harder.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, hips squirming under his touch, dress riding up just enough to expose the lower curve of your ass. “Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, “Been dying to do this.” You barely registered the words, too lost in the way his hand slid higher, over the thin piece of fabric of your panties on your hip. His grip tightened, feeling the curve of you on his palm. When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, breath shaky, pupils blown. Yuma’s eyes dragged down your body like he was undressing you right there on the couch. And then his voice dropped, low and certain, “Let’s go upstairs. Now.”

Your breath hitched again at the command in his voice. He was already moving, already reaching for your hand like he wasn’t giving you a chance to second-guess. His fingers laced with yours, and you let him pull you up from the couch, your legs barely keeping up with your racing heart and throbbing core. You followed him up the stairs and through the quiet hallway, your hand tight in his. As you walked outside of Nicholas’s room, you spotted Maki passed out on the bed, his arm slung dramatically over Nicholas’s chest where he lay drooling beside him. Neither of them stirred as Yuma led you past.He opened the guest room door, not even bothering to turn the lights on. The faint glow from the city and the moon was just enough. He closed the door behind you, then turned to face you.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything else. Yuma stepped in close, hands slipping around your waist to pull you against him. His lips found yours again, this time slower, less rushed, but deeper, like he was savoring it. His fingers slid down your back, then lower, gripping your ass under the fabric of your dress and pulling you flush against the hard bulge in his sweats. “You have no idea,” he murmured between kisses, “how many times I’ve imagined this.” You whimpered softly, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he walked you back toward the bed. He sat down first, then tugged you onto his lap with practiced ease, your thighs straddling his as his lips found your neck. He sucked at the spot just below your ear, biting lightly, soothing it with his tongue before moving lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck to your collarbone. Each kiss was wetter, messier, his mouth leaving heat and spit and little groans against your skin as he dragged his tongue lazily over the spot he’d just sucked.

You couldn’t help but roll your hips against him, slow and shaky, grinding down on the thick length pressing up through his sweats. The friction made your breath catch, made you cling tighter to his shirt as your thighs trembled around him. “Fuck—so needy for me already, huh?” he teased, a soft chuckle leaving his mouth. “Yuma…” you whined, voice barely above a whisper. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding your rhythm as he tilted his head back to look at you, lips red and shiny from kissing. “Yeah? You feel how hard you’re making me, baby?” Your only answer was a soft, desperate moan as you rocked against him again, your panties damp and clinging to you beneath your dress. Yuma leaned forward, licking a stripe up your neck before sucking another very visible mark into your skin, right over your collarbone, slow and possessive. Your hips moved on instinct now, slow, needy rolls that made your clit throb with every drag of your soaked panties against the thick ridge of his cock beneath the fabric.

You could barely keep your eyes open, lashes fluttering as your head tipped forward in the crook of his neck. Yuma sighed softly, one hand still gripping your hip while the other slid up, fingers slipping under your dress. He didn’t stop until his fingertips brushed between your thighs, dragging over the front of your panties—slow at first, then pressing in to feel just how wet you were. “Oh, fuck…” he breathed, a teasing smirk appearing on his lips. “You’re soaked. You like me that much?” You whimpered again, “Mhm…”, nodding, thighs twitching as his fingers pressed down more firmly, rubbing the slick fabric against your swollen clit. Yuma licked his lips, eyes locked on your face as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. The moment his fingers met your bare heat, you left a small gasp, gripping him tighter.

“Shit, baby. You’re dripping.” His fingers slid through your folds, slow and teasing, before circling your clit with a firm, deliberate touch. You whined, thighs parting further for him. Then, without warning, he pressed one finger inside, slow and deep, watching the way your face twisted, the way your body arched into his. The stretch made your breath hitch, your nails digging into his shoulders. He gave you just a second to adjust before slipping in a second finger, having him groaning into your neck. “That’s it,” he whispered, curling them slightly, dragging them against the spot that made your legs tremble. He worked them in and out, slow at first, drawing soft, wet sounds from between your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with maddening control.

You were already falling apart on his lap, hips grinding down to chase the rhythm, and Yuma was eating up every second of it, how needy, and pliant you were just for him. “My dirty, dirty girl,” he teased, lips brushing your cheek. Yuma pulled his fingers from you, watching them glisten before dragging them slowly across your inner thigh, smearing your arousal over your skin. Then he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Lay down for me.” he said, low and commanding. You nodded, breathless and dizzy, and moved without hesitation, back hitting the mattress and thighs still trembling. Yuma followed without missing a beat, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t get enough. He crawled over you, caging you in beneath him as his lips crashed into yours, hungry and rough this time. There was no patience left, tongues tangling, teeth grazing, your whimpers and moans muffled by his mouth as he kissed you like he needed you to breathe. His hands were everywhere—palming your waist, tugging at your dress, sliding up your sides until he pulled it up and over your head in one swift motion.

You gasped as the air hit your skin, his gaze dropped to take you in. “Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands slowly down your stomach. “So pretty laid out f’me.” He leaned back in, kissing you again, slower now but just as deep, his hand slipping behind your back to undo your bra and his mouth found your neck, leaving soft kisses on the skin. Once it came off, he tossed it aside and immediately dipped his head down, mouth closing around your nipple. He sucked, slow and deep, letting his tongue swirl over your nipple while his hand kneaded the other, fingers tugging and teasing until you were arching into him, breath hitching with every pull of his mouth. Then he moved to the other, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue. His mouth roamed, dragging wet kisses across the curves of your tits, leaving hickeys wherever he wanted.

Every mark he sucked into your skin throbbed with heat, and the slick trail of spit he left behind glistened under the low light. “Look at these perfect fucking tits,” he muttered against your skin, voice low and hoarse, tongue flicking lazily over one nipple before sucking again, hard enough to draw another desperate moan from your throat. “All mine.” His hand roamed lower on your tummy, caressing it softly without stopping his mouth. You whimpered, breath shaky, hands tangled in his hair. “Please…” His brows lifted, lips twitching into a filthy smirk. “Please what, baby?” he taunted, reaching down to palm your thigh, squeezing it as he kissed just below your breast. “You gotta tell me.” “I need you, Yuma,” you breathed, hips twitching. “Please…” “Oh, you need me?” he echoed, clearly getting off on your desperation. “Need to cum like a little slut while I’m sucking on your pussy?” He chuckled under his breath, eyes flicking up to yours.

“Mhm, please Yuma, need it.” His hand dragged slowly down your thigh, lips brushing over your skin, and when he reached the edge of your panties, his fingers hooked into the waistband and tugged them down. The cool air kissed your wet heat as he slid the fabric down your legs, his eyes locked on the way your arousal clung to your folds, glistening. “Fuck…” he whispered like it was a prayer, the sight alone enough to make him throb in his sweats. He dropped your panties on the floor and slipped his fingers between your thighs, parting you with two fingertips. His touch was gentle at first, sliding between your folds, dragging slowly through your slick just to feel how messy you already were. “Cute” he whispered, more to himself, rubbing circles around your clit before sliding lower, teasing at your entrance without pushing in. “You’re so wet, baby.” You let out a soft whimper, hips shifting under his hand, trying to chase more pressure.

Yuma grinned, smug, as he brought his fingers back up and spread your slick on your clit. “Sit on my face.” he commanded, voice low and serious. Your breath hitched, eyes snapping to his. “W-What…?” “I said sit on my face.” His eyes darkened as he looked up at you, jaw clenched slightly. “Don’t be all shy now.” You froze, face burning, thighs instinctively trying to close. Your hands fidgeted at your sides as your voice came out small. “I-I’ve never—I can’t-” “Yes you can.” he cut you off, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he sat up slowly on the bed, one hand firm on your waist. pulling you onto his lap, fingers gripping your thighs as he shifted you to straddle him—but not to sit fully. Just enough to hover over him, your soaked pussy glistening inches from his mouth. “Come on, baby” You tried to keep your weight off, unsure, trembling, but Yuma wasn’t having it. “Sit this sweet pussy on my fucking face,” he said, voice sharp. You hesitated, eyes wide, but he narrowed his gaze and grabbed a handful of your ass, pulling you down.

As soon as your folds touched his mouth, you moaned and immediately put your hands on the headboard. His tongue licked a thick stripe up your slit before flattening against your clit. “Shit, baby,” he groaned against you, breath hot. “You taste so fuckin’ good.” He grabbed both cheeks of your ass and grinded you down harder, his tongue fucking into you now, licking, slurping, messily devouring your pussy while his nose pressed right against your clit. You whined from the pleasure, your hand moved to grip his hair, thighs trembling as you started moving—tentative at first, then grinding down onto his tongue, chasing the way he flicked it against your clit. Yuma groaned, sucking hard, fingers digging into your ass to hold you there. “There you go,” he panted, “That’s it. Rub that pretty pussy all over my fucking face.” Your hips stuttered as you rode his face, the filthy sounds of his mouth working between your thighs echoing in the room. His tongue flicked mercilessly at your clit, mouth wet and open, then shoving it deep inside your hole. You were trembling, legs shaking, moans spilling uncontrollably from your lips. “Yuma—I’m… I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. He grabbed your ass tighter, pulling you down harder against his face, smothering himself in your pussy like he wanted to drown in it. He hummed into you, voice muffled by your cunt, and the vibration of it made your back arch. “Cum on my tongue,” he rasped when he finally pulled back just long enough to speak. His lips were slick with your arousal, chin wet, eyes blown with lust. And after some seconds, came. The orgasm ripped through you fast and violent, your whole body going tight as your thighs clamped around his head. You cried out, grinding down against his face as your pussy throbbed and pulsed on his tongue. Yuma moaned like he was getting off just from tasting you, licking up every drop. “Good girl.” he whispered against your soaked cunt. Before you could catch your breath, Yuma’s hands were already on your waist. He flipped you easily, your back hitting the mattress as he loomed over you, his body casting a shadow in the dim light.

His hands braced on either side of your head, his face still glistening with your slick, and that filthy smirk never left his lips. He leaned in to kiss you hungrily, making you taste yourself from his mouth, then pulling away quickly. “Look at you,” he muttered, eyes dragging slowly down your body. “All fucked out already, and I haven’t even put it in yet.” He sat up on his knees and grabbed his shirt, yanking it off in one smooth motion. Your eyes immediately dropped to his chest—broad and toned, your thighs immediately pressing together again. He noticed, and his smirk deepened. “You like what you see, baby?” he teased, voice low and cocky. You nodded, biting your lip, then his hands moved down to his waistband, pushing his sweats down just enough to reveal the thick bulge straining against his boxers. He palmed himself over the fabric, watching your reaction like it was his favorite show. His cock twitched under the touch, already leaking a dark spot through the material.

You reached your arm to his thigh desperately trying to pull him closer, his hand squeezing around his length .“You want it this bad?” You nodded quickly, dazed and needy, thighs clenching again at the sight of him. “Nah, say it,” he ordered, voice sharp, dominant. “Use that pretty mouth. Tell me how bad you want it.” “I—I want it,” you breathed, eyes locked on the heavy outline in his boxers. “Want your cock, Yuma. Please.” your hand moving further up. “Fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You sound so good when you beg.” He hooked his fingers in the waistband and finally tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock—and fuck was he big. Thick, veiny, flushed red at the tip and already leaking. Your mouth went dry at the sight of it. Yuma stroked himself once, slow, precum smearing over his fist. “Eyes up.” he said, grabbing your jaw hard and tilting your face toward him. “You’re gonna take every inch like a good girl, yeah?” You nodded helplessly, and he leaned in, mouth brushing yours again as he lined himself up with your entrance. He gripped the base of his cock and dragged it slowly through your folds, groaning low as your slick coated him from base to tip. He ran it up and down your pussy, smearing his precum against your clit, your breath catching each time he nudged the sensitive bundle.

You whimpered, hips bucking just the slightest bit, trying to chase the pressure, needing him to give you more. But Yuma just chuckled, low and perverted, his eyes glued to the way your pussy glistened under the head of his cock. He gave a few more lazy glides, letting the swollen head of his cock tap against your clit just to hear your breath hitch. “I should make you beg again. But you’ve been so good for me tonight.” He aligned himself at your entrance again, teasing the tip just barely inside, then paused. “Take a breath,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to yours, voice calm. And then he pushed in. Slow at first, just the thick head stretching you open, making your back arch and your hands grip his biceps. “Fuck—Yuma” you gasped, your voice high and trembling as your walls clenched around him. “Thaaat’s it.” He groaned, jaw tight, watching your pussy swallow him inch by inch. “Fucking tight…shit.” He pushed deeper, the stretch nearly overwhelming, your breath coming in short little whimpers as he filled you to the hilt. His hips finally met yours, buried so deep it made your stomach flutter. He didn’t move right away. He just held himself there, grinding his hips into yours in slow, deliberate circles, making sure you felt every single inch.

He pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, hard. You cried out, body jolting beneath him as he set a brutal rhythm, each thrust deep, like he wanted to fuck the shape of him into your walls. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down to meet every stroke, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the dark room. “Say it,” he panted, his pace unrelenting. “Say you’re mine.” “I—I’m yours, Yuma!” you moaned, voice high and shaking. “All yours!” He leaned down, teeth grazing your neck as he fucked you harder, the bed creaking under his pace. “Damn right you are.” Yuma groaned against your neck, biting down just hard enough to make your back arch and then kissing the same spot. His fingers wrapped around your throat, his other gripped your waist, pounding into you. Your moans came out in broken little sobs, your hands scrambling to hold onto his hair as each thrust knocked the breath out of you. He was so deep, thick and stretching you to your limit, the sound of his hips slapping against your soaked cunt obscene in the dark room. His hand slipped from your waist to your lower belly, pressing down firmly, and you gasped when you felt it. The thick bulge of his cock, deep and pulsing, outlined under the skin. "Fuck, baby" he rasped, palm flattening over the spot. "Look how deep i am." Your breath hitched, legs trembling around him as he kept thrusting. "Taking me so damn good." he muttered, his hand sliding up to your breast, giving it a squeeze. “Such a good fucking girl.”

“Yum-ma~ I’m c-close! Without warning, he pulled out, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Your pussy clenching around nothing. He grabbed your hips and flipped you over easily, pressing your face into the pillows as he pulled your ass up. “Stay just like that” he ordered, voice low and serious. You barely had a second to breathe before he slammed back in, the force of it making your whole body jolt. You moaned into the sheets, drool slicking the pillow as he pounded into you from behind, raw and relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you back into every thrust. He groaned, pulling out just enough to see the mess he was making. His cock gleamed with your slick, coated from base to tip, and where your bodies met, a creamy white ring, thick and sticky around him. “Fucking slut, creaming all over me.” You whined, flushed and wrecked, as he pushed back in, burying himself in and slapping your ass hard.

“You’re mine” he growled against your spine, hips slamming into you again and again. “You fucking belong to me.” He reached forward, fingers twisting into your hair and yanking you upright against his chest. The sudden pain made you cry out, your hands flying to the headboard again gripping it tight as his other hand slid down between your legs. His fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing slow, messy circles that sent a white-hot jolt through your core. You sobbed, grinding helplessly against him. “You like this, baby?” he whispered, filthy and smug right against your ear. “Like being used like this, takin’ my cock while I play with this little pussy?” “Mhm” you whimpered, nodding your head fast. Your whole body trembled, the pleasure hitting sharp and deep on your cervix, and then you started to move. Hips rolling back against him, desperate for more. You rocked yourself along his length, fucking yourself on him, your thighs shaking as the slick, wet sound of it got even louder.

“Just like that,” he grunted, jaw clenched. “Fuck yourself on my dick, baby.” His hand never left your clit, keeping up that relentless pressure as you moved on him, over and over, taking him deeper each time. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, again and again, until your moans turned into broken high pitched cries. Yuma snapped, his grip tightened, both hands snapping back to your waist as he slammed into you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. He pulled you back onto his cock, pounded into you relentlessly, each thrust hitting so deep your ass shook. “F–fuck, Yuma,” you choked out, voice high and shaking. “ s’too much, f—feels like I’m gonna p-pee—” His dick twitched in you, one hand sneaking around to slap down on your clit again, fast and messy. “Shit, let go, baby, trust me.” “Yuma—!” Your whole body tensed, then snapped. A cry ripped from your throat as you squirted around him, soaking his thighs, his cock, the sheets. His hips didn’t stop, watching the mess you made all over him. “Fuck, that’s my girl.” he hissed, eyes locked on where your cunt clenched around him, your slick pouring down his shaft. “Fuckin’ drenched me.”

You could only moan, every sound helpless, your body trembling under the overwhelming rhythm of his hips. He pressed forward, his chest flush against your back, breath hot on your neck. “Gonna cum in you,” he sighed, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix with every thrust. “Gonna fill you up so good, baby.” You sobbed his name, walls fluttering around him and making him whimper into your ear. His pace slowed down, sloppy and messy, slapping and grabbing on your ass, until he slammed into you one last time, his cock twitched as warm strings of cum filled up your insides. He stayed there for a moment, breathing heavy against your back, one hand still gripping your hip like he never wanted to let go. He slowly pulled back just enough to watch your swollen folds still wrapped around the base of his cock, his cum already beginning to drip out of you. You were trembling, breathless, face down on the mattress with your ass still raised for him like his perfect little masterpiece.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting his lip as he reached for his phone on the nightstand, not even hesitating. You whimpered softly, your face flushed, hazy and fucked-out as he angled the phone “Stay like that,” he said, thumb swiping the screen to find the camera. “Gotta have this—look how messy you are f’me.” The shutter clicked once, twice. A picture of your ass spread by his big hand, your pussy glistening and dripping with his cum. He set the phone down again and leaned over you, large hand brushing sweaty hair from your cheek before pressing a kiss to your temple. “So good for me,” he whispered, gently easing out of you. The drag of his softening length made you whimper again, sensitive and spent. You felt the bed shift as he got up, only to return with a towel. He cleaned you slowly, his touch soft and patient as he wiped between your thighs. “Got you, baby,” he said, pressing another kiss to your lower back.

“You did so good. Took it all for me.” Once you were clean, he crawled back into bed and pulled you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms, his hand rubbing soft circles into your back. “Let’s stay like this for a bit” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead. “Then we can sleep at my place, hm?” You nodded sleepily against his chest, your body relaxed, arm wrapped around him pulling him closer, softly kissing his collarbone as he stroked your hair.

my other works ➵ masterlist

A/N: this would’ve been so much better and so much more detailed but i’m too lazy to rewrite some parts and also i have no idea if there’s any mistakes i don’t wanna read it again pls tell me if there’s any

© guliexe

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[fluffylino]

railway inspired drabble ⚘️‼️

im fucking screaming at the scene where the blood drips out of his mouth and down into the other's mouth. aaaaa screaming without the s

-contains mature themes (chris is mean and not very nice, choking and strength kink, darker themes)

"trust me, darlin and stop trying to run"

his hand firmly pushing down onto your neck. fingers tightening around the base of your neck. you gasp, struggling to escape.

partly blinded by the rags tied over your half your face. catching a glimpse of the creature above.

.

.

this was a bad idea. wandering into the abandoned infirmary and nearby asylum for a few ingredients was not a great idea.

doing this for an acquaintance who you weren't on good terms with, made it feel worse. sometimes desperation fuels a person into doing things that are unusual.

a witch like you? in vampire territory?

no. this was the holy grave.

that too a place where no one dared to go... that was a death sentence.

confrontation with christopher. a man who no one believed was real.

was in fact very real. and very terrifying.

hiding yourself as the other zombified prisoners was the only idea that came to mind.

however it wasn't the best idea at all.

he'd hunted you through the corriders. chasing you down particularly till the open airs. barricaded and within the grass patches outside the asylum.

the end was near? or was it?

.

.

body arching upwards at the heat that licks up your legs. spreading straight to your core. a sensation that has you squirming.

everything blurring when his mouth finds its way to your heat. tongue slipping against your soaked folds.

canines grazing the swollen bundle of nerves in a way that heightens your senses. he's pulling you onto his tongue, tasting you entirely.

unaware of how you ended up in this situation. until you realise this situation wasn't taking place.

atleast in reality.

it was all in your head.

he was in your head. tricking you into being compliant. submissive only to him.

"you seemed to have enjoyed that, didn't ya?"

he cooes, laughing without much care for the fact that he had now kept you pinned to the floor with his booted foot.

hand slipping up to choke you harder.

"dirty girl. or should i say filthy little witch"

a flash of terror ignites within you. minutes to tasting death.

a little more force, a snap and your life would be over in his hands. in the hands of a blood thirsty cold blooded killer of the night.

"you thought i'd be dumb enough to not catch a whiff of your scent"

his lips curve upwards into a condescending smile.

"i'm smarter than you think. i'm everything you think i'm not"

"I knew it from the beginning. hiding? hiding gets you nowhere little one" and you fight back the tears in your eyes. going lightheaded.

watching him bite at his own wrist. whipping his head back with force. not a glimmer of pain in his expressions.

stoic and eerily cold. even as his arm bled. crimson red dripping out of his mouth. staining his chin.

his fingers cupping under your jaw. keeping your mouth open unconciously to gasp for air.

kicking at the grass under you at the warmth of his own blood dripping right onto your tongue.

tastebuds firing up at the iron like taste.

eyes fluttering as his darkened pupils stared straight into your soul. parting his lips further to spit more blood for you to swallow.

"h-hah" you gurgle, desperately trying to grab onto him. any part of him. wrapping weak hands around his covered biceps. clawing at the skin.

"take it like a good girl" and you moan. breathing heavily around the two digits he pushes past your lips.

pressing down on your tongue, making you swallow. his nails prodding deep enough to make you gag.

"i said take. it." and it shouldn't be so arousing. you can't control the slick that pools between your thighs. cunt throbbing and weeping for him.

even more so...now that he had imprinted himself on you.

you didn't know what to classify him under. an original vampire? a half turned werewolf?

whatever he was...he was powerful. controlling. thirsty for blood. thirsty for ruthless killing.

its only when you sob out. grinding onto his boot with relentless hips. that he pins you down. licking the redness that dribbles out of the corner of your lips.

"shush now, my sweet thing" he cooes, kissing the tears that stain your cheeks. his fingers tugging away the cloth covering your face.

"hush hush pretty girl" the vampire trails a finger down to your lips. firmly shutting you up.

"i'm in control of you from now"

.

.

.

.

.

the mv screwed up my brain and now all i can think of is mister christopher bahng-

[sulumuns-dootah]

Waking up from a wet dream while sharing bed

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

Characters: Satan, Astaroth, Glasyalabolas, Beelzebub, Ronové, Belphegor, Gusion

Warnings/Notes: Beelzebub's part contains Somnophilia, Ronové's part was inspired by scenes from this official music video to a song Mein Teil by Rammstein

‎‧₊˚✧ 18+ Minors Do Not Interact‎ ✧˚₊

    ༺☆༻

“Oh~!” a breathy moan turns into a gasp as the deliciously erotic scene in front of your eyes turns into a darkness with a faint light coming in through the window. 'So it was all a dream, huh? Well that's annoying. And just as I was about to finish.'

The irritation at your denied release seems to physically manifest itself as a faint red glow right next to you. Looking in its direction you realise that it's Satan's eyes glowing from your annoyance. A slight move of your legs to get a better look at his sleeping form reminds you of your very real need, which only seems to have become more intense from looking at the mostly naked demon next to you. Sleeping on his stomach,only in his underwear, the blanket covering his bottom half, exposing his toned back, and his head turned to your side.

Images from your dream resurface in your mind. The positions and the things he told you and had you in your dream. If only you could go back to sleep and continue from where it left of, or maybe replay it and this time without missing out on the ending.

“Do you have to stare at me like that? You know I'm awake, right... Fuck, you look like Beelzebub when he's about to devour the whole meal with the table and the waiter.” a voice, even deeper due to his sleepiness, grumbles at you while the glowing red eyes slowly blink.

“And how am I supposed to tell? Sleep like a normal person and I'll stare at you only when you sleep.” letting your frustration cloud your voice you lay back down and turn to your side, away from him. You don't stay in that position for long though, as a strong, muscular arm pulls you back into position on your back. With a grunt, Satan moves himself to lay on top of you with his hips between your legs.

“M'kay... Explain yourself. Why the hell are you awake at this fucking hour?” he mumbles and nuzzles his head between your tits. As simple and innocent as that action was, it made your ache for him even worse. A soft moan comes out of your neck and you try to use it as a subtle hint by following it by a long sigh.

“Oh?” a single-worded question turns into a chuckle as Satan's tired mind catches up. Even while barely awake, the demon can't help but tease you with few slow drags of his awakening dick against your thigh.

With a few grunts he pulls himself up to face you and align his now hard cock with your needy, but still clothed pussy. As sleepy as he still is, his hands are quick to move the fabric of your underwear away and plunge himself into you. Satan can't help but chuckle at how little resistance your walls give. So needy, huh?

Picking up a rather fast pace quickly catches you up with the bliss from your dream. Trying to anchor yourself you reach out for Satan's horns. His thrusts are forceful enough to make you move up the bed, making your hands glide on his horns. The stimulation from both ends makes the angry demon roll his eyes back and loll his tongue out.

God, he looks even better than in your dream. No, you don't wanna finish yet. You wanna enjoy this view for as long as possible. This time he's real and there's nothing that will take your release away.

Satan's strong arms travel down to your hips to slam you back onto his cock. His nails dig into the flesh, adding pain to the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and weariness. To return his actions, you trail your hands down his hair, by pulling on it, to end up scratching at his back. Your actions make Satan growl and increase his pace.

The demon's red eyes start to roll back again, but this time he decides to ground himself by biting down on your neck. All of this stimulation and pain together trigger your earth-shattering orgasm and as an attempt to not lose your sanity, your hand flies back to Satan's horn and squeezes really hard, in turn triggering his own orgasm.

While still inside you, Satan lies back on top of you and curls up to have his head back on your chest. ”That'll teach you to stare at me while I'm awake.” he murmurs at last and softly bites one of your tits before falling asleep again, you soon following after.

    ༺☆༻

“Y/N.” a deep voice calls out to you, shattering your very vivid dream about having your cunt stuffed full with just two fingers of a certain depraved demon. Your eyes open even slower than you'd like to. Why did he have to wake you up?

“My, my... How clouded your gaze is. Was the dream so salacious, you'd nearly forgotten that it's merely a dream?” a low chuckle comes from Astaroth.

“Yeah, I just wish someone didn't wake me up!” you're mad. You barely have dreams, and erotic dreams at that. And now that you finally experience one, it has to be rudely ripped away from you?

“I do apologise, but you were calling my name oh, so sweetly, doll. I'd hoped that perhaps it would be rather kind of me to allow you to experience such scenario in your waking life, rather than merely as an, albeit vivid, but still nonetheless a dream.” for someone, who seemed to have gotten woken up by your gasps and moans, Astaroth was still very articulate. It takes you a while to process what all those words meant. Well, at least he wants to make up for the scenario he'd robbed you of.

“Oh.. Um...” you try to form a response, but the demon doesn't really wait for it. You find yourself being positioned between his spread legs, your back against his chest. “Now, tell me. What wicked things did I do in your dream?” he murmurs into your ear.

“B-but you already know anyway...” despite being made to voice your needs every time, that one part of your brain made you feel embarrassed each of those times. A veiny hand travels up your inner thigh only to ghost over your clothed pussy. “I believe we've been over this many times, darling. I cannot give you what you crave if you don't tell me.”

“Uhm... Well... In my dream, y-your fingers were inside me and you were whispering to me the nice things you always do.” you close your eyes and rest your head on Astaroth's shoulder.

A small gasp comes out of you as the ghosting fingertips start to make a contact with the fabric of your underwear. The tickling sensation immediately sparks your arousal back to life. Letting out a shaky breath your hands move to Astaroth's thighs and squeeze them in anticipation.

“Now, that's a good girl. I do wonder, what exactly have I been saying to you to earn such lovely reaction. Seemingly, in your dream you've lost all shame, dirty girl. I've never heard you say my name so unashamedly before.” the long, slender fingers start to push onto your nub with slow, small circles.

“F-fuck...” you let out a breathy moan as your body quickly starts catching up to the point where it's been interrupted. And all of that before Astaroth even barely started doing anything.

“Mhm... Such a good pet. Just look at the way your legs are trembling already. My fingers are going to ruin you.” a low chuckle vibrates from the demon's chest as the slow circles start to pick up speed.

The delicious friction is interrupted when the pale fingers move your underwear aside, exposing your heated core to the cold air of the room. Running his fingers through your folds to collect your leaking wetness, the demon uses it to make a few more quick circles on your clit and then finally plunges them deep inside you. You're so aroused at this point, that if it weren't for Astaroth's amused hum, you wouldn't notice their entrance. Just the feeling of having them filling you would be enough for you to finish.

“How wet you already are for me, my dear. If this is how wet you get dreaming about my fingers, I wonder how ruined you'd be after merely dreaming of my cock.” he taunts as his fingers start to move. Your grip on his thick thighs strenghtens to the point where your nails are surely drawing some blood.

“Nnghh...” the knot in your lower belly is tightening at a dangerous rate and you know that once you finish, Leraye and Paimon in the rooms sharing a wall with Astaroth's room will know.

As the pace of the digits inside you picks up, so do your moans. Every so often they curl upwards and make you make you bite your lip harder. Your legs are ready to give up any second, until finally, you can feel yourself getting close.

“My, how wonderfully you sing, dove. I can feel you're ready to come for me. Come now, wake His Majesty Satan himself with your sweet voice.” the notion of having Satan break the doors down to the very same room where Astaroth's fingers are exploring your insides, makes you shiver. You don't know yourself weather from embarrassment or excitement. Either way, the added sensation helps you push over the edge.

With toes curling and your thighs snapping shut, a whine leaves your chest as the blissful feeling takes over your mind. The lips, previously talking to you in such an obscene way start to kiss down your neck to taste the sweat which had formed there.

With your eyes now closed, the world starts to slip from you again without a care for the position, you're falling asleep in. The last thing you somewhat remember is Astaroth pulling the cover back over you and laying down with you still between his legs.

    ༺☆༻

“My queen... What a way to wake me up, but we should rather sleep. His Majesty has asked us to do a lot of things tomorrow.” as your consciousness slowly returns to your body, you become aware of your hips slowly dragging themselves against Glasyalabolas' thigh on their own.

“Oh... I- I'm sorry... I think I just had an exciting dream...” you blush as you bury your head in the brutal demon's chest even more than it already was in your shared embrace.

“Ah, but I'm afraid your 'sorry' won't do much in this situation, pet.” Glasya responds and only now your core becomes aware of the situation it's caused. It just so happened that the thigh you were humping from your sleep also had now rock hard and already leaking dick in the same pant leg.

“I suppose the only way to make such thing up to me is by offering yourself to me.” a slight thrust against your heated core fully indicates to you exactly what the tall demon plans to do.

To your surprise, you're not rolled back onto your back and your clothes torn off. Quite the opposite, actually. Glasyalabolas merely pulls his length out and slides it between your thighs, which are resting on top of each other due to your sleeping position.

“You might as well finish what you've started. Well go on, get yourself off on my cock like you intended to.” he slowly starts to drag his shaft along your pussy. The tip teasing your clothed entrance and never entering. Your clit experiencing a delicious friction both from the movement as well as the fabric barrier between your heated flesh.

“M-my king, I need your cock inside me, please.” you grip onto his broad back and dig your nails in ecstasy. Sadly he seems to do the exact opposite as his hips are slowly coming to a stop.

“No. Think about this as your punishment. Now get to work or I shall punish you much worse tomorrow.” the thought of being spanked and whipped with a crop until you're sobbing sends a thrill down your spine. It almost makes you want to misbehave, but your body really seems to need this release, so you start slowly dragging your hips. The deep groans coming from the brutal demon are like music to your ears.

The closer you're getting the harder it is to keep your hips moving at a steady pace. A strong arm comes down to move your underwear to the side, unlocking a whole new intensity to your mutual stimulation. Glasya seems to also have picked up on your struggle and decided to help you out by grabbing your ass and moving your himself.

“My God, My king, this feels so good!” you sob into his chest as your walls clench around nothing.

“Hah, flattery won't make me go easy on you, dove.” a breathy chuckle leaves Glasyalabolas at your blissful babbling.

A large hand lands a few spanks to your ass, making you jump in surprise and fist the demon's sleeping shirt. You can tell he's getting impatient with the way he's moving you back and forth on his dick. His hips also seem to start thrusting again. All of this bliss makes you feel like screaming, but you bite your lip as hard as you can. If you woke someone up or even worse, made someone investigate, you'd surely be punished extra painfully.

The temperature seems to be only rising under the covers and you're starting to feel the familiar tingling, meaning you're starting to get close. The same hand from before now squeezes one of your ass cheeks, bringing you dangerously close, only for a low moan coming from Glasya to push you over the edge. As you cum, your thighs clench together stronger than before, pushing the tall demon to completion too.

“Good girl. Too bad it had to be me who finished us both off. I expect you waiting for me on the bed on all fours when I come back from my last errand tomorrow.” with his eyes already closed again, he grumbles. His softening dick is still between your thighs, but you don't really care. Now you have more fun to look forward to tomorrow.

    ༺☆༻

As your dream slowly slips away, the feeling of something wet against of your pussy and wet sounds mixed with moans takes over your senses. At first you think it's your, oddly, very early period, but then the wet thing starts moving. A sudden, brief wave of movement sickness takes over you as it seems that the bed is slightly moving back and forth.

A loud moan forces you to finally look between your legs and see Beelzebub having the time of his life there. His horn is fully drenched, making a mess of your oversized sleep t-shirt that bunched up above your abdomen. His green eyes are fully focused on the sight of your cunt, as if carefully deciding on which part of his meal he'll devour next. His hips are moving in a thrusting motion, rubbing his dick on the mattress, causing the bed to move like that.

A blissful whimper leaves your lips at the realisation of what's happening, when Beelzebub, who started to suck on your clit, slowly looks up at you, making an eye-contact. His eyes are clouded over with lust and his cheeks are red with blush. The sight alone is so euphoric, you close your eyes and allow your head to fall back onto the pillow.

Beelzebub licks a stripe from your hole to your clit and bites right next to it. “Wakey, wakey... Finally joining the party?” he chuckles and makes a trail of kisses down your inner thigh, starting at your knee.

“Mhm.. With a pretty invitation like this, one can't refuse.” your hand finds his golden hair and start playing with it. His hair is sticky with his horn cum, but you don't care.

“Exactly! You called my name so hungrily, smelling so divine, it led me right between your legs and you weren't even awake! Those are some bad manners, Y/N.” Beel playfully scolds you and pulls himself up so your faces are the same level.

You can feel his pierced cock throb against your thigh as he pulls you in for a heated kiss. The pierced tongue explores your mouth and makes you taste yourself. You hands travel from the demon's back to his ass to squeeze it, making him buck his length against your soaked core.

Beelzebub moves slightly down your body, to start playing with your nipples. He pulls one into his mouth, biting and sucking on it, occasionally running his cold piercing over it, making you whine underneath him. To tease him back, you start to run your tongue around the tip of his horn. His deep moans vibrate your nub back in return.

Lining up his manhood with your entrance, the king of flies only pushes in the tip, waiting for you to beg for him to push in even deeper. Instead of that, however you start stroking his horn slowly, to drive him insane.

Having provoked a reaction out of him, he starts slamming into your without a mercy. Stars start floating in the corners of your vision and you're pretty sure your neighbors are going to complain tomorrow, but who cares? It's not like you'll be able to go open the door to them, or go anywhere else for that matter.

The headboard of your bed is loudly banging against the wall and if you weren't having your insides rearranged by the strongest demon in Hell, you'd be worried about denting it or the bed falling apart.

You're both starting to reach your peaks. It seems like barely anything even happened, but who even knows how long he was between your legs, rutting against the mattress before you woke up. Deep growls leave the demon above you, indicating that he's holding back to allow you to finish first.

Your hand moves to rub fast circles into your clit. Finally arriving, you bite into Beelzebub's shoulder so your neighbors don't call the police on you. Letting loose, the demon stuffs his dick as deep as he can and fills you up with his cum with a loud moan.

“Wow... Stay the night?” you pull Beel into an embrace once he slips out with a few whines.

“Can't. Wouldn't be surprised if Bael or someone else was monitoring your place to send for me when I'm here. Besides, I don't want you to be in danger if angels decided to attack me.” he lights up a cigarette and offers it to you after blowing a cloud of smoke, ”I'll stay until you fall asleep, though, if it'll make you feel better.”

“Good enough for me.” you accept your small win with a smile and accept Beel's cigarette.

“Just make sure you don't have any of those dirty dreams of yours. If I have to come back here, I'll have you screaming the whole night without mercy.” he jokes, but you know his threat is real.

The two of you manage to once more sloppily make out, before you rest your head on his chest and fall back asleep.

    ༺☆༻

A thud startles you awake. Your eyes snap awake to see Ronove standing in front of the door to your shared bedroom. Even without being able to fully see his eyes, you can tell they're mischievously scanning your form as his leatherbound arms are crossed over his chest.

Why? You wanted to surprise your beloved demon by waiting for him, dressed up in a white lingerie complete with angel wings. Sadly, the lunatic infector took his sweet time and before you had the chance to present yourself, you apparently fell asleep. And only now, noticing the position of your hand, in your underwear, the realisation of having a wet dream completes the puzzle.

“Having fun without me, angel?” he enunciates clearly around the red ballgag in his mouth, his head cocking more downwards as if to meet your gaze more intensely.

“Well, what was I supposed to do when you were who-knows-where for so long?” the sleepiness fully leaves your body the moment he starts to slowly walk towards the edge of the bed. Ronove's strong hand yanks you towards him by your leg, making you squeak out. Your legs are forcefully spread out to expose the wet crotch of your lace bodysuit to the cold air of the room.

“So sassy, for a poor soul who's trying to clearly get ravaged by me. You must be really brave to dress as something I'm known to enjoy breaking apart. Or perhaps, you'd wish to experience the same, hm?” he kneels between your parted legs, leaning over your body, which is now completely at his mercy. Maybe you've actually made a mistake.

In mere seconds the large demon manhandles you into a kneeling position right in front of him with your upper body held against the front of his chest. A hand with black-painted nails comes from behind you to fondle your tits as the other one stays firmly around your waist.

“Ah, exquisite choice of lace, little one~” Ronove muses as the active hand moves down your body over the material, tracing the stitching only to arrive to your heated core. Instead of continuing his fondling there, however, he tears the fabric with one firm tug, eliciting a yelp from you at the sting of the action.

A slight chuckle leaves the lunatic demon and your upper body is roughly pushed forward, to leave you ass up, pushed against his growing hard on. The sound of a small clasp being undone is followed by his saliva-drenched gag landing next to your head resting on the bed.

“Now, when it comes to dismantling angels, I personally enjoy doing such while they're still alive. For me, the best part is, you see, the way they scream. So please, don't hold back.” his voice is now more clear as he purrs. The words he says make you even more nervous. What is he intending to do?

The sound of Ronove undoing his pants interrupt you from your slightly panicked thinking. His two large hands come down to spank both of your cheeks to rip the first scream of the night out of you. He's barely touched you and you can already feel tears well up in your eyes.

Another scream is pushed from your lungs when the strong demon's rather large cock gets slammed into you without mercy. You barely have the time to regain some air in your lungs when he starts punishingly pounding away. Your hands start fisting the sheets below you as each thrust pulls another small scream or cry out of you.

You can't see it from your position, but Ronove is very intrigued by the wings you'd chosen to wear. He reaches out to stroke them. The feathers feel nice against his hands. He really wants some of them in his collection despite not actually being from an angel. You're his angel and that's good enough for him. Still, the need to destroy is still present and so he can't stop himself from grabbing a fistful of the white, iridescent feathers and tear them off of the cardboard base and throw them into the air above you.

As the small fluffy things descent around and on top of you, you're shocked to realise, that Ronove's rough approach to you is already managing to start drawing out your first orgasm of the night. One of many. You cry out and writhe underneath the mountain of a demon, but there's not escaping.

“How deliciously you sing, my angel. If you keep this up, I won't be able to stop myself until the sun's come up.” he laughs hoarsely, almost like the brutal pace is not taking a toll on his stamina at all...

Sometime around your fifth orgasm you'd started hoping he'd finally be satisfied and allow the two of you to rest, but you did keep screaming and he did, indeed, keep his promise. By the end of the night you'd completely lost track of how many time's you'd called out his name on the verge of consciousness, barely holding onto your last threads of sanity.

As you passed out, completely exhausted, Ronove admired his work. Your bite and scratch covered form laying lifelessly, surrounded and covered by the feathers, which your wings few hours ago consisted of. He was starting to feel slightly tired too, but he had to yet add new feathers to his collection. And so he picked out few, which seemed practically unharmed and silently left the room to go update his collection room.

    ༺☆༻

Your blissful sleep gets interrupted by your body's involuntary twitch. If only there was a clock in the bedroom so you could tell how late at night it is.

“Oh, you're awake.” a simple statement forces your eyes wide open.

Rolling over to your other side, you're able to take in Belphegor, awake and watching some anime on his tablet. The light from his device gently illuminates his features from a low angle and interestingly highlights his peculiarly placed piercings.

“Some kind of dream you've had. Been tossin' and turnin' most of the time.” his eyes don't leave the screen for a second. With his head bent down, some stay strands of hair are loosely hanging in front of his face, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Images from of your dream suddenly start flashing in front of your eyes, reminding you of why your body kept thrashing around. You had a really hot dream. A vivid picture of the dream's Belphie's double-irised eye rolling back makes your thighs clench together. With that action more pictures arise.

Even dream you should've realised that it's a dream since the sleepy demon was uncharacteristically energetic. Tossing you around and bending you over various furniture that seemed sturdy enough at that moment before breaking it and moving on to another available surface.

“Must you glare at me, woman?” Belphegor interrupts your recalling. The vision of being pounded into while most of your body is in mid-air dissipates and you come too see him giving you a tired side-eye.

“Oh! Uhm... Sorry, just wondering how come you're awake.” you try to hide your embarrassment at being caught by squashing your face more into the pillow, still intently watching the demon's actions.

“Sure ya are,-” he pauses the anime, which only now you realise in actuality is a Hentai,”Y'know I gotta be awake sometime too, right?” a grumble comes out of Belphegor as he runs a hand through his hair to fix the stray hair back into place. With a slow blink his focus is fully turned towards you, expecting an answer.

“I mean, yeah, but why in the middle of the night? Why not during the day so we can do something together?” the three irises are staring at you intently, almost boring holes through you. Both of you know the answer why, but it's worth to try asking every now and then, right?

“'n why are ya awake then?” completely disregarding your questions, Belphegor sets the tablet on the nightstand next to him. His attention is fully on you and you know he knows. He has to. There were times he smelt your arousal before it even hit you.

You pull yourself up to sit and proceed to crawl on all fours towards him. Bringing your face extremely closely to his, you whisper: “I need your dick inside me.”

The demon's eyes slightly widen and he smirks. His hands find your hips and pull them into his lap, “Well you're lucky I'm in a good mood.” He's already hard, as if he'd expected your request. So he did know. “But ya still gotta do all the work.”

“Yeah, I don't think you need to tell me each time at this point.” you say with bitterness lacing your words. Was there even a time you haven't done all the work? Your hips at this point as if know from memory all the right movements to make you both feel good. Still, you want some variation, dammit!

“Hey, ya better be grateful that I'm letting ya have any. If ya don't like it, ya can use your fingers.” he grunts, his threat of leaving you needy only half empty. As you try to answer, he takes his length out and slams you on it, making you whine out instead. To his credit, his hands are guiding your hips this time, which already is more participation than usually.

“I-it's just that I'd like to change things up sometimes. Doing the same thing over and over again can get boring.” you try to answer him again, this time successfully. Belphegor doesn't answer anymore. From his movements, you can tell he's over this conversation. His head is tilted back as his half-lidded eyes watch you as you fuck yourself on his cock.

All of a sudden darkness starts creeping up into your vision, but it's not one of passing out or falling asleep. It's Belphie's power engulfing you. Your heart starts to race to the point where you're afraid it'll give out any minute. The building pressure of the void that's fully surrounded you and the king of sloth somehow makes the knot in your lower belly tighten with much greater intensity.

The very tips of your whole body tingle and are numb at the same time. The only thing that feels right is the movement of the pierced length that's dragging in and out of you. Your body seems to be moving on its own, as if he's the one moving you up and down despite not being able to feel his hands, or see them for that matter.

It's not long until you feel like you're either gonna die or have the most intense orgasm in your life. The sight of you must be one to remember. Your brain is so clouded over with pleasure and the sheer intensity of your surrounding nothingness, that the only thought you're able to muster up is 'This is it. I'm dying.'

The knot in your stomach coming undone hits you like a gunshot. Your eyes fly open as if there was something to look at in the void. The void doesn't last for long, though. The more you start feeling yourself move on Belphegor's still hard cock again, the more you're coming down and the room starts appearing once more, the emptiness dispersing until it's gone.

“How's that for changin' things up?” an exhausted question brings you back to earth and only now you realise, how much your thighs burn from the workout. Yep, you're definitely gonna have to be carried around for the next week.

Your body fully gives out and you slump right next to the demon. Only now you notice that he didn't finish alongside with you. You'd feel bad and offer to despite all your soreness help him get off, but looking up from his chest, you realise that he's soundly snoring away.

Oh well, maybe you can still put your fingers to a good use, just like he wanted you to. Unless you yourself don't fall asleep during it, that is.

    ༺☆༻

“Gusion?” your bare feet make their way through the hallway of your house. You're looking for your beloved demon, who you've failed to find sleeping next to you. Normally, you'd feel guilty asking for help with your problems, but you have the feeling he'll be glad to help out with this one.

A soft light coming from your office slash library reveals the location of the smart demon. Pushing the door open, it takes you a second to find him. The desk is covered in many scattered papers and some opened books, but the from of a tall demon is missing. Only after fully entering the room you spot him crouched down like a goblin, his back to you, intensely muttering to himself above a paper filled with numbers and symbols.

“Gus?” you call out to him. At first you're not sure if he's even heard you, but then his head slowly rises and even slower turns in your direction. His demeanor makes you slightly nervous. It's almost like you're his prey.

“I-I might have something I need your help with.” you squeak out but Gusion knew that already. When you interrupted him from his thoughts, the scent of your arousal hit him like a truck.

The demon's body triples in size as he rises from his crouching position. His sharp eyes are scanning your half-naked body, still clutching a corner of a blanket in your hands that's dragging between your legs on the ground. It almost makes you look like a toddler who had a bad dream and searches for its parents.

Each step he takes towards you helps him regain his composure despite wanting to do the exact opposite, but he can't, not yet. Once he's standing in front of you, his slender fingers lift your chin up to meet his gaze, ”Hm, and what can I help you with, love?”

He's teasing and you both know it. You drop the blanket and reach out to pull Gusion down to your level so you can look him deeply into his eyes. “You're smart. Figure it out.”

An amused laugh leaves the smart demon and his hands are quick to pick you up to lay you down on the paper-covered desk. A hopeful thought about all the ink writing being dry flies through your mind.

“Now, judging from how sweet you smell, I gotta deduce that you've had an interesting dream.” Gusion thinks out loud as he's undoing his tie. His hips slot themselves between you legs which have fallen open on their own. “Mmh... you're so soaked. Did you already try to handle your problem on your own?”

“Not quite!” you giggle on your little victory while you can, knowing that you probably won't be able to laugh once he's inside you. The smart demon hums contemplatively as he's pulling your underwear down, possibly coming up with the best punishment for your little taunt. Still, you decide to push your luck even further, ”Actually, I woke up with my fingers already inside me.”

“Semantics.” Gusion's head rises with a toothy smirk. Oh, you're in for a ride for sure. His hands spread your legs more than necessary until your thighs start to strain. As he's pulling his uncomfortable boner out, he contemplates: “Now, what am I working with here?”

You're about to respond with another witty remark, but all that comes out is a gasp from having the long, slightly girthier dick plunged inside. Just having it inside you is enough to reignite the fire inside your womb. The situation you're is just as hot as the dream you've had.

Gusion's thrusts are slow, teasing even. You could sound off and ask him to go faster, but you're smart enough to know it's just a ploy so that he can start pounding into you to the point the desk's legs will surely break.

“This what you needed?” the demon taunts you when he doesn't get the reaction he expected.

“Hm.. Not really. Guess you gotta come up with something else.” you mock pout in fake sadness. There's no way you'll let him win that easily. Your response lands perfectly as intended and only seems to rile Gusion more up.

“Well... Then you better hold on tight, because I'm not responsible if something happens to you.” a growl leaves his lips as he swiftly flips you over like you weigh nothing to him.

Your hands grip onto the edge of the desk just in time for Gusion to start pounding into you, making the desk slowly move on the wooden floor. Thankfully the desk's got those floor protectors or your floors would get ruined. Not that either of you care at the moment. Funnily enough, it was Gusion, who suggested them.

You can feel the papers underneath you get crumpled and wrinkled. Some of the book stacks start to topple from the surface on which you're on. The sound of the books hitting the floor interrupting the sound of your moans and Gusion's grunts.

A tattooed hand sneaks its way from your hips to your hair, tangling itself into it. It's not pulling, but it is firmly holding your head in one place as his hips force your body to move back and forth on the wooden surface.

The pain on you scalp, as good as it feels, gradually makes you wish you already finished. It's late in the night and you've got things to do tomorrow. Gusion can sense your frustration and his other hand moves between your legs to trace random equations on your clit.

Before he even manages to finish tracing the first one, you can already sense the cusp of your climax. To push you over the edge, Gusion leans down to your ear to deliver one more teasing line, “You've been quiet for a while now. Did I also manage to find a way to shut that smart mouth of your up?”

You finally come with a whine, making the demon above you laugh and with few more trusts he finishes as well. As the serotonin floods your brain, you're trying to catch your breath. A strong, inked arm hooks under your waist and helps you get up. Not for long though. The moment you're upright, your knees buckle as a warning that they're about to give out.

Sitting down on the chair in a short distance from the desk, Gusion sits you in his lap as well. His hand comes to your face to brush away any hair that stuck there due to the sweat. The demon gently pulls your face towards him so he can plant a soft kiss on your lips and mutters: “I just want you to know that this is my favorite problem to solve for you.”

[chelseeebe]

hot n’ heavy

18+. mdni. smut. breeding kink if you squint! exhusband!eddie

part two to yours, forever! i truly believe they would have three sons and one little girl that comes after r’s second divorce🤭 the p3 to this is my favourite however, i have some pornstar!eddie is reallyyyy want to get out before it’s posted hehe. pls ignore any mistakes i am so tired

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

eddie hadn’t ever lied about you still being the only woman in his life, he’d dated around after the divorce but had never, ever found anyone that came close to you. 

he does suppose that you were together for fourteen years. he feels like at that point, you were stuck together for life. 

and yet, he can’t fucking wait. 

sat on one of wayne’s loungers just waiting for you to walk through that gate and spot her. 

he’d sorta been seeing ashley for the past couple months or so, mostly just hooking up during those dry spells where you were content with your marriage. 

wayne’s annual barbecue was coming up and so he’d had the bright idea to ask her along, truthfully just to get you talking to him again. 

nice girl, pretty too but he knew you’d be furious. 

the kids bounce through the yard first, barely saying hi to eddie first before clambering on top of wayne as they usually did. 

you shuffle through next, the far-too-short dress sitting just around your thighs, a blatant attempt at garnering his attention. though you were no match for him, eddie had the petty game nailed down since 1998. from the moment you’d handed him those divorce papers, he’d taken it upon himself to piss you off as much as humanly possible. 

you haven’t realised yet, made obvious by the wide smile on your face. giving half-assed hugs to the various members of his family that sprawled around the garden, waiting for him last. 

but you don’t hug him, standing in front of the lounge chair with a frown, looking his outfit up and down. “i didn’t realise you were coming,” you quip. 

fucking lie. 

your dress wouldn’t have been half as revealing if you’d actually thought he wasn’t going to be here. 

eddie scoffs, sitting up in his chair, “why wouldn’t i be?” cocking his head to the side, waiting for the perfect moment to introduce ashley.  

“oh i don’t know, thought you’d be too busy pretending you can play guitar,” shrugging sweetly, but not backing off. 

his eyes narrow, biting his tongue to unleash the true beast, “have you met ashley?” gesturing towards the young blonde with a side smirk from hell, “she’s been so excited to meet the kids!”

your brows furrow, lip curling in disgust. he loves even more that you don’t try to hide it, practically retching in front of her face.  

sharp eyes flicker over to her, “nice to meet you.. ashley,” but your hand doesn’t extend for her to shake, instead you flounce off without waiting for her reply. 

“dave not here?” eddie jeers, holding the cool bottle of beer just before his snarling lips. 

“he’s at work,” you snap back, “you know what that is?” snarky in all your glory, sitting on the furthest, most opposite chair you could find. 

that’s alright, he can almost see right up your dress from here, purposely no doubt. 

wayne must have found that hilarious, bursting into a maniacal laughter, never on the side of his own flesh and blood. 

pfft. 

whatever. 

it wouldn’t be long before your dress was bunched up against your hips and-

“-eddie?” ashley barks from beside, snapping him out of maladaptive wet daydream, “can you show me the bathroom?” batting her eyelashes. 

holy fuck. the regret of ever inviting her had began to seep in, because in actuality, it had done absolutely nothing worthwhile in making you jealous. 

he nods, concealing the annoyance on his face by clearing his throat, guiding the poor girl past his relatives judging eyes and into the house. 

she grabs ahold of his hand, trying to pull him into the bathroom alongside of her. blinking rapidly when he stays put. 

“my kids are here,” he whispers, yanking his hand back, “i really can’t,” he could, he had a hundred times. just not with her. 

she pouts, dropping her shoulders in a huff, quickly pulling the door closed as eddie rushes off outside again. he couldn’t have you thinking he was screwing around with her now.

your eyes follow him from the door to his seat, wayne leaning over to whisper not-so-quietly about him.

he can read something along the lines of midlife crisis, wayne’s bellowing laugh after pretty much solidifies that theory. eddie’d be much more angry if he didn’t find it so endearing, wayne loved you more than eddie did, he was certain of that. 

wayne pats your shoulder before sending a sharp glance at eddie, a warning sign he’d seen, and ignored, many a times. 

-

an hour of meaningless banter and fake affection later, eddie finds his opportunity. 

you had disappeared off under the guise of helping in the kitchen, but he knows it’s an invite of sorts. you weren’t as nonchalant as you thought you were, sliding your gaze over his and then immediately at the open door.

a blind man could’ve picked up on that for christ sake.

he saunters off through the door, no doubt you were in there messing about with the salads or doing the dishes like you normally did. the garden is too loud for anyone to realise anyway, he figures he’s got a good fifteen minutes before anyone questions where you’ve both gone. 

you glance up at him walking through the door but choose not to speak, plating up the anaemic looking potato salad his aunt had made. 

“you not speaking to me today?” standing on the opposite side of the island, picking at the bowl of chips. 

“i have nothing to say to you,” turning up your nose to continue dumping the grey slop into a bowl. 

“that’s a lie,” eddie chuckles, leaning over the marbled counter, “i know you have loads of things you want to say to me today.”

you look up briefly, staring daggers into his soul, “why don’t you go back outside with your little girlfriend and leave me alone?”

eddie sighs rather sarcastically, “one, not my girlfriend and two, i’d rather be in here with you,” walking his fingers over the counter towards you. 

you scoff, but he knows you’re not serious because if you were, you’d have thrown the spoon at his head and laughed as it got tangled in his curls. 

“c’mon,” he beckons, nodding towards the stairs. 

when wayne had announced that he’d be selling the trailer in favour of a house, eddie think he physically jumped for joy. 

living with wayne and a pregnant you in that tiny metal box had began to drive him utterly insane, especially once wayne had retired and he had an approximate five minute window to have sex every day. 

you glance out of the window, making sure that no one would follow you up the stairs, before sighing and begrudgingly trailing behind him. 

“don’t worry, they won’t even notice,” slipping into the box room and shutting the door as discreetly as possible. 

to be honest, you’d lived in this room just as long as he had, it was yours as much as it was his. some of your posters still stay stuck to the walls, pictures of the two of you that you’d framed still linger. 

eddie waits with baited breath for you to start, prepared for the inevitable rant that was just bubbling to fall out of your lips. 

you stand poised at the other side for he room, hands on hips, ready to scold, “you’re seriously pathetic if you think bringing some kid would make me jealous,” clicking your tongue against your teeth, eyes flicking up and down his casual stature. 

there it is. 

the tirade of insults he’s been waiting for all night. 

“i fucking knew that’d work,” guffawing loudly, “you’re so angry and i love it,” swigging his beer with far too much confidence. 

“i’m not angry, i’m disgusted. there’s a difference,” crossing your arms firmly over your chest. 

“oh please,” rolling his eyes, “you’re married for fuck sake,” placing the bottle on his old dresser, the fun was just about to begin. 

“yeah. i am,” you nod, the deep furrow of your brow only exciting him further, “to someone my own age, not some fucking teenager.”

“she’s twenty three, actually,” in such a matter-of-fact tone that it makes you seethe, launching forward to twist his collar between your fingers. 

“you disgust me,” eyes like slits and a snarl that some rottweilers would be jealous of. 

“isn’t it a bit late for you to start lying like this?” a heavy hand meets your back, pressing your body into his as your heartbeats collide. 

“fuck you,” moving forward to connect your lips the same time he does, an angry battle that consists of guttural growls and an animalistic need to dominate the kiss. 

“just ask me next time sweets,” grabby with his hands as they get comfy on your hips, performing a waltz around the tiny bedroom floor to lie your body sideward on the edge of the bed, legs wrapping tight around his back. 

“everyone’s here,” you breathe, glancing warily towards the window, “what if they hear?”

“pssht, not like we’ve never done this before,” 

this bedroom had once witnessed the most explicit things all the while wayne was downstairs and hopefully oblivious. 

eddie’s hand glides over your thigh and under your dress, lifting higher until it’s bunched up at your hips, just as he’d pictured. 

“wear these for me?” he remarks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your deliberately worn lacy panties.

“mhm,” lifting your hips as they come down, hanging off of your ankle. 

he breaks apart for what feels like too long, rushing to get his belt unbuckled and his jeans down, before hoisting your calves onto his shoulder, your knees damn near touching your ears as he comes down on top. 

“jesus christ eds, i’m not twenty five anymore,” gripping onto his forearm for leverage. 

eddie scoffs, running the leaking head of his cock from your clit to your hole, delighted with the way you shiver and whine. 

he sighs as his cock slides in, taking one last glance at the window, he wouldn’t last long anyway, not in this position. 

“fuucking hell,” you breathe, tightening your grip on his quivering arms, letting your eyes fall shut. 

he’s messy, sloppy in the way his hips move, pressed flat against your glistening cunt. if this didn’t get you pregnant, he gives up. 

“i like it when you’re jealous,” he pants, brushing the stray strands of hair from your sticky forehead to get a good glimpse of your fluttering eyes. 

your nails dig further into his skin, it’d probably hurt if he weren’t balls deep inside of you, “fuck off,” your insults punctuated by the slick sounds of your body’s meeting. 

he moves slow, grunting each time his tip nudges against your sweet spot. fuck. the downright pornographic noises of your pussy wrapped him makes him animalistic with need. 

schlickschlickschlick in time with the old mattress and his balls slapping against your ass. 

your hands move up above your head, helplessly grabbing at the blanket, fingers untwining in the fabric. 

“ohmygod yes,” head thrown back against the mattress, seemingly no longer bothered about the family gathering just outside. 

despite being an incoherent babbling mess, your eyes meet his, “don’t.. ever bring her here again,” your whines becoming too loud to hear your words clearly. 

eddie slaps his palm over your drooling mouth, but he nods, more than happy to comply if it meant he could fuck you like this every time. 

“only did it.. to make you jealous,” losing his momentum, the churning in his stomach becoming too much to carry on. 

you’re too fucked out to reply, whimpering into his palm, the bedsheets twisted between your fingertips. if no one had heard you, it would be nothing short of a miracle, your gasps only partly muffled by his hand. 

you clench around his cock, calves trembling upon his skin while your hips move on their own, cumming around his cock, his sweaty palm working overtime to silence your loud mouth. 

eddie doesn’t last much longer, biting down onto his lower lip so he doesn’t alert the whole house to your precarious position. 

he’s shaking, collapsing on top of you as his seed paints your walls, saying a silent prayer that this time is the time. 

“oh.. fuck,” he heaves, sloppily pumping his hips into your leaking cunt before pulling out completely, well aware that you had ran over the fifteen minute allotted time slot he had given you. 

wayne would have noticed a whole ten minutes ago, surely waiting to make his snarky comments. 

he lets go of your mouth, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before getting up and as a gentleman does, slides your panties back up and your skirt down. 

it filled eddie with far too much satisfaction to know you’d have to walk downstairs with a skewed walk and a pussy full of his cum, everybody else none the wiser. 

“don’t walk down together,” you bite, running frantic fingers through your unkempt hair, attempting to clean the smudged outline of your lipstick. 

“nobody’s gonna care,” re-buttoning his jeans as he takes a smug sip of warm beer. 

you spin on your heel, shooting daggers at his grinning eyes, “your girlfriend might,” and with that you’re gone, slipping out of the door in a cloud of tangled hair and creased fabric. 

god, he loves you. 

far more than should be allowed for two people who are divorced. 

it was wise for you to go down first, you were a much better liar than eddie ever was. 

he makes a slow walk downstairs, his belt clinking rather conspicuously as he pulls it tight. 

wayne stands in the shadows at the bottom, waiting until he’s close to make him piss his pants before speaking, “i don’t even wanna know,” shaking his head at his petulant nephew, “don’t ever leave me with that girl again,” a warning, but his eyes are soft, almost cracking as the pieces click into place in his brain. 

“i wasn’t.. i didn’t do anything,” but his twitching lips give him away, “and i’m gonna take her home, don’t worry,” trying to shuffle past wayne unscathed. 

his uncle reaches out, smearing his thumb across eddie’s chin, “you left your fuckin’ lipstick on, dumbass,” only half-disappointed in his nephew, because eddie, and everybody out in that garden knows wayne’d be the first person to celebrate the two of you getting back together. 

he, rather unsuccessfully, suppresses his grin, walking into the kitchen like he was the luckiest man alive. 

you stand at the counter, back to him, poking holes into juice boxes, your hair a sudden nest and your dress sitting higher than it had before. anyone would think you’d been doing something you shouldn’t.

he slides up right behind you, “i’m gonna go take her home.. are you staying?” hand threatening to creep under your dress again. 

“yeah, we’ll be here,” you confirm without ever looking up. 

“i’ll come back then,” he didn’t want to be here without you, you’d done these things as a pair for long that it felt disrespectful to ever entertain the idea of doing it alone. 

as he turns, he meets wayne’s eye who had either been stood watching the entire time or had only seen his hand grab your ass, either way it wasn’t great. 

his uncle’s eyes say enough, silent in both their judgement and approval. 

eddie shrugs, walking back into the garden with a terribly hidden smirk and a sickening excitement to get back and see you again.