#easy like sunday morning AU

[superblysubpar]

Princesses Can Slay Dragons Too:

dad!eddie munson x mom!fem!reader

an Easy Like Sunday Morning story

summary: you're overworked and stressed, Eddie's an oblivious but well meaning husband & dad, and a trip to the cabin with familiar faces might be just what you all needed. | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

7.7k words (listen, I know it has no business being this long. I worked on it for a year. Idk what happened, okay?)

warnings: please read the new "general warnings" on the masterlist linked above - "reader" has a "name/nickname", mentions of Ronance, mentions of alcohol, mom stress and a little bit of description of some blood/injury and parental panic/ descriptions of shock about it. There is a twinge of "poetic", quick descriptions of smut as well as brief discussion of "unplanned" pregnancies.

This started from an ask last March, which I've since lost (so sorry anon if you're still out there), and it grew and sat and grew some more and then sat some more and now here it is. I've grown very, extremely, emotionally proud and fond of it. Hope ya like it! 💛

Summer, 2004

“Baby, volume,” your voice calls out over the faint music playing, the thrum of wheels against the highway and the wind. Eyes remain shut, but furrowed lines form above your brows when you hear the familiar ding of a coin being grabbed. A palm rests on your thigh, fingers squeeze gently around it as the music of the level starts its loop again. 

You need a coffee. Or thirty. Yes, thirty is good. 

“Squirt,” his tone full of warning, yet somehow still sounding sweeter than the syrup that clings to all of their fingers and the gray fabric of the old van’s seats.

Despite the early morning breakfast stop at McDonald’s being nearly twenty-four hours ago, and your insistence on packed sandwiches and veggies for lunch, and a stop for a sit down dinner - the stale scent of greasy food feels heavy in the air. Which has your brain cycling through the list that will rid your family of the trip when you reach your final destination - get out of the car, wrangle them into pajamas, teeth brushed, fight about sleeping when it’s already almost morning, clothes into washing machine, air out the car, make the grocery list for the week…

Screw coffee - you need a shower, you need a shot of alcohol, you already need a vacation from your vacation. 

A particularly loud grunt and the sound of something hitting or fighting or shooting has you opening your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them to find the dark highway lit by two gold headlights, showing off the yellow lines flashing past the driver’s window. Your mouth parts, ready to be the one to tell them no, like you always are, when he stops you. 

He grabs your hand, his thumb soothing over your knuckles as his voice drifts gently into the backseat, “Come on, I don’t wanna take it away…”

It’s endearing, the way he always tries, the way he gives them a couple of chances. Because at this point, you’re ready to take the damn game and chuck it out the window. This level is haunting you, all you’ve heard every second of every day, even when you’re peeing or trying to shower. You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming in the pixelated graphics, the sound effects now accompanying your daily tasks. 

A loud sigh falls from the backseat and with it, you’re certain the console is nudged one level lower. 

You hate that of all of your children, the one most like him is still awake. 

Sure, they’re all little gremlins, heathens, as he likes to call them - little tenacious mini monster versions of him that drive you up the wall but somehow make your chest ache with too much love. 

But this one, this one takes the cake every time. 

Eddie beats you to it again, the silver of his rings glinting in the green light of the dashboard as he lets go of your hand to reach into the back without looking. Out of the corner of your eye you see his bicep flexing, gently shaking the tiny knee in his big hand as he talks to the road sternly, “Lace. Volume off completely until I say otherwise, or Mario and Luigi are my best friends the rest of the week, capisce?”

“Caposh,” she grumbles, big red chucks swinging up towards the console and back down, her little legs don’t quite touch the ground yet, much to her dismay. 

You keep reminding her that she has lots of time to be as big as her siblings, that her ever growing shoe size and the jeans you bought for the upcoming school year (which she’s already complaining are too tight - remember, you need to ask Katie about hand me downs from Liv, or shit, maybe even Grace, this weekend) tell you she is going to keep growing - and fast. Part of you can’t wait, and the other part wishes she’d slow down. 

The sound vanishes completely and Eddie’s hand finds its way to your thigh again when you sigh. The part that wishes she’d grow up faster stirs, lit by the flicker of resentment when she listens to him so easily and not you. 

Eddie’s fingers run up your thigh, then back down, skin beneath the denim buzzing as he squeezes softly and clears his throat. 

“I think someone deserves an apology though, don’t you? ‘Cause I believe I heard you were asked already…”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at her when she does. 

For once, her eyes are on you and not the game, big and brown - just like his - and truly sorry. You smile softly as her brows furrow under bangs that just refuse to stay straight. She blows them away with a big huff as she whines, “It’s just so hard.”

Your head nods, temple resting on the seat as you murmur, “Yeah, I know. Thank you for turning the volume off when your dad asked though, I really appreciate it.”

Eddie swallows, his finger aimlessly circles over the skin above your knee as he blinks at the road. 

He’s always amazed when you do that. 

Far more patient than anyone deserves, far more understanding than any of them appreciate, and much too good to him. For him. Especially with how things have been lately. 

Eddie knew it’d been a little rough, with him being gone so much and the kids’ schedules just growing more cramped as they got older - summer was no longer the lazy days of kids riding around on their bikes and doing squat. It was full of sports and clubs, friends, all requiring a constant need to be dropped off, picked up, carted too and fro on seemingly hellbent on never lining up schedules. He’d been trying, he really had, to help you balance it all, but he had tunnel vision for things at work, he was so focused on his own shit he didn’t realize how much everything was affecting you. 

How much being alone with three kids, two goldfish (scratch that, one, but still), a dog, and a house that seemed to have endless tasks to keep it running was breaking you. 

He finds your hand and pulls interlaced fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, your palm, all while keeping his eyes on the road. You close yours again, trying to focus on the soft press of his lips to your skin and not the reason why he’s doing it. 

You know he’s thinking about last weekend.

On Friday, Caroline had complained that you only sewed new straps on her ballet slippers instead of getting new ones altogether. She was practically in tears because all the other girls in class had new leotards, new skirts, and new shoes and you promised you’d figure something out. She retreated with red cheeks and a slam of the bedroom door, stereo blaring behind it, the cusp of terrible teenage years promising to be worse than the twos. 

After that, Michael shoved you off when you tried to hug him as you dropped him at the school for a baseball practice with an exasperated, “God, mom, stop!” - nine was grown up and he was much too cool to be a momma’s boy anymore apparently. 

And to top it all off, Lacey had been following you around the house, that stupid game dinging and singing everywhere you went, one of the fish died and Lacey asked when it was coming back, and you somehow burnt the hamburger helper for dinner.  

When Eddie got home, he found you hunched over the coffee table next to a precariously placed glass of red wine, a sock in one hand and a shirt in the other, piles of laundry neatly folded around you and your favorite movie playing on the TV. If it weren’t for the position that was sure to have your back feeling rough tomorrow, your soft, even breathing revealed you were dead asleep. 

He had tried to ease you up, move you to the bedroom while trying not to wake you like he used to when his body was much younger, but you had shot up at the touch of his hand, the lightest sleeper of a mother of three. You blinked heavy eyelids while mumbling through sleep thick words about lunches for the two eldest who would be gone all the next day. Eddie had assured you he’d make them, and you were fairly certain you were back to sleep before your head touched the pillow. 

The next day though, something inside of you snapped. 

It had been better than the one before, but not great. You hadn’t showered, there was a leak in the kitchen that hadn’t gotten any better all week. The only break you had all day was picking the kids up from their activities, and making them a snack as soon as they dropped gear in haphazard piles in the entryway. 

After hours on hold, you just started clanging around with tools you didn’t know how to use, your head throbbing from the lack of coffee or water and the sound of Mario grabbing another coin somewhere to your right. 

Where was the real plumber you had asked Eddie to call? Maybe, if you concentrated hard enough, Mario would leap out of Lacey’s console, climb down the drain, and fight off the little mushroom guy who was-

You smacked the wrench against the pipe, repeatedly, like it had personally threatened you. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Sweetheart, stop! You’re gonna break it!” 

Eddie grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to see him standing with pizza boxes and staring at you with wide, blinking eyes. For a second, the sight of short curls starting to gray on the ends and lines next to eyes that were constantly squinting because he was smiling or refusing to wear sunglasses, had you forgetting you were mad, or stressed or…maybe you were just tired?

He cocked his head, trying to catch the gaze you let fall to the floor quickly as the kids shrieked about him being home. Eddie didn’t even get his question of if you were okay out before arms were wrapped around his waist and legs, all vying for his attention. 

You had swiped at your nose to ward off the familiar sting, pulled down plates and started filling glasses of milk and juice, before shoving the casserole you’d had prepped into the freezer. 

Then he snapped his fingers, smoothing a hand over Caroline’s hair and said, “Oh, hold on. I think you’re gonna like what else I brought home a lot more than the pizza.”

He left for the hallway, returning quickly, holding something behind his back that she tried to peek at and he tsked, singing, “Uh-uh-uh. Hold on. Your mom told me you were upset about your ballet slippers…”

Your shoulders rose, the pour of apple juice freezing over the glass. 

He didn’t. 

He smiled at you, oblivious, then at Caroline’s squeal of excitement and he kept going, “These aren’t new, but my co-worker’s daughter barely used them and…Ta-da!”

Eddie held out a shoebox with essentially brand new shoes and your body felt numb as you listened to her scream how much she loved them and him, squeezing him in a fierce hug as he kissed her temple. 

Caroline held them up to you, proudly, and you smiled, nodding, saying something, you don’t even remember what. You ushered everyone to the table. 

Lacey stood next to her chair, eyes darting over the hand-held game clutched in her fingers. 

“Lacey, put it away, time for dinner.” 

Ding! Bloop, bloop, bloop blah-bloop-de-bloop. 

Eddie slapped pizza onto plates, licking stray sauce from his thumb, “How was everyone’s day? What’d you do?”

“Lacey, I’m not telling you again. Put the game away.”

Her eyes flew up to yours, something fiery and far to recognizable behind them that made you blink as she just said, “No.”

“Oh!” Eddie passed you pizza, oblivious, “How was lunch? Did dad do as good as mom?” He ruffled Michael’s hair as your daughter and you glared at each other. 

Caroline nodded her head enthusiastically around a too big bite and Michael turned to you, pizza in his mouth on display as he talked, “It was so good. Can dad make our lunches every day? His was way better.”

You stood up from the table, without warning and without a word, walked to your bedroom, and slammed the door. 

Were you having an adult tantrum? Maybe. Were you proud of it? Absolutely not. But the rush of tears that fell down your cheeks and the sob that overtook you was the kind of angry crying you simply do in private and you had needed to get there quick. 

Footsteps jogged down the hallway behind you, the sound causing you to turn the lock on your bedroom door through blurry vision and gasps around your tears. As the knob tried to turn, you moved away with a hand over your mouth until the back of your knees hit the bed. 

“Babe, open the door.” Eddie’s voice was soft as the knob rattled again. 

“Liv, what the hell, open the door.” 

You choked on a sob, fingers still over your lips so you barely got out, “I’m fine, Eddie, just…have dinner without me. I’ll eat later.”

The handle spun back and forth again, the sound of his forehead hitting the wood and his pained tone slicing through you, “Olivia, please open the door.”

You curled yourself on top of the bed, watching the handle through blurry vision slowly stop moving. Closing your eyes as the tears fell swiftly, you prayed it was the kind of crying that would just knock you out and put you to sleep, because god, did you need to sleep. 

Only a few minutes later, maybe not even, the door swung open to reveal Eddie on his knees with a flashlight between his lips and a screwdriver in his hands and you, sobbing on the bed. 

He jumped up at the sight of you curling your arms around your waist harder, at the way you rolled away from him and pressed your wet cheek into the pillow. At the way your hoarse voice called out, “Please leave me alone Eddie.”

The door closed, the lock clicked, and there was a distinct sound of both items he held dropping to the carpet with thuds. The bed dipped and the heat of his body curled behind you, fingers gently brushed over the damp skin of your cheek and neck. 

Your body shook with more tears, eyes squeezing closed tighter when he pressed his nose to the back of your head while his arm wrapped around your waist, and he waited. 

The tears eventually slowed, your chest started to fall and rise more evenly, and the light filtering in through your curtains started to turn lavender, then blue. Eddie managed to remove your jeans without waking you, and he pulled the duvet up over your shoulder as he bit his lower lip raw. Your face still didn’t look relaxed, like it was crying and worrying even in your sleep. 

He left the room with with his fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, walking past the bathroom where water sloshed over the counter and soap slid down the-

Taking several steps backwards, his mouth opened, then closed at the sight in front of him, before he finally found his words and quietly asked, “Whatcha doing?”

His three children stood in a line in the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Lacey held a stack of plates and silverware on the left, on her toes, pink socks (that were supposed to be white, but there must have been a laundry incident he was unaware of) fully submerged in bubbles, her little arms hoisting them to rest on the counter halfway. Caroline stood in front of the overflowing, sudsy sink, her hands invisible inside it, and Michael next to her with a rag and plate. 

“We’re washing the dishes,” Caroline shrugged, like it was obvious. 

He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his jaw as he hummed, “I…see that. Why are you doing that in here?”

The three kids blinked at him, and he tried not to smile, because you weren’t kidding that they eerily looked like him when they did that. They were all clearly confused, and then Michael said, “The kitchen sink is broken. It has been all week.”

Eddie closed his eyes, your cursing under your breath and beating up of the pipes when he got home making much more sense now. 

All week? Why hadn’t you told him? 

Shit, had you told him?

He cleared his throat and he tapped on the frame. “Right. Well, thank you for doing them. Try to stay quiet, mom’s sleeping.”

His body had barely turned out the door before Caroline called out, nervously, “Is she okay?”

Eddie wasn’t a fan of lying, even if it was to protect feelings. But the sight of his three kids with concern evident on each of their faces told him they’d know if he did anyways. Something told him they already knew she wasn’t and it was him who didn’t know the answer. 

He sighed, entered the room deeper and kissed the tops of each of their heads, before he threw some towels over the floor that had puddles of water accumulating.  

“I think she really needs to sleep, and I’ll talk to her later. But I think you guys doing the dishes really helps. Thank you.”

So while his kids did the dishes in the bathroom sink and you slept, the dog and…one…? goldfish kept him company in the kitchen where he inspected the sink. 

It was an easy fix, but he didn’t have the part, and his stomach tensed with guilt as he thought about how you probably, definitely, asked him to look at it or call someone right away and he forgot. A simple drive down the street to the hardware store tomorrow, he’d have it fixed in less than an hour. 

He put the tools away in the garage, above the label for them that you must have made and he went into the small office space in search of a post-it to put on the sink. The office was intended for you, but years and kids and projects went by and soon it became a dumping ground of all things house. 

When he reached the desk, he found what he was looking for. There were plenty of post-its, in a variety of colors, lined up in a neat row above a large, tightly and neatly filled calendar. 

Eddie swallowed as his fingers brushed over the names of his kids, him, the fucking dog and fish - all with their own color. The house, the bills, the errands…all of it had colors, schedules, a science, a system.

But the thing was, you weren’t a part of the system - you were the system.

There was nowhere, in that entire calendar, that had anything remotely relaxing for you on it. No dinner or wine night with any of the girls. No book club with Nancy anymore, maybe because they moved, but he had a feeling it still wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t. No dates with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he took you out, or hell, made you dinner - when was the last time he even cooked dinner for the whole family?

He swallowed as he read over the entire month, and the next and the next. Anything that would have been considered free time, or your time was full of laundry, grocery shopping, dusting the fucking baseboards, because apparently you do everything? 

And Eddie knew he had colosally, monumentally, brutally, fucked up. 

So when the kids were in bed, and the kitchen was clean, and the lunches for the next day were packed, and the laundry was folded and put away, Eddie crawled back into bed behind you. 

He didn’t think you were awake, carefully letting his arm curl around you and his lips brush your shoulder in a wordless goodnight, an apology, a promise to talk about it as soon as you woke up. But then your words floated out and hung in the dark room and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie sniffled, trying to reign it in, he cleared his throat, but you were already rolling to face him and he had his palms pressed to his eyes as his words left him all scratchy and on the brink of a full blown sob. 

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare fucking say it again.”

Your fingers had curled around his wrists and tugged gently, until watery eyes were blinking at your own and you shrugged and whispered, “But I am.”

His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, noses squished together and gasps of air between parting mouths, fingers clutching at hips and necks as your legs tangled. 

When was the last time he fucking kissed you like he meant it? Like it wasn’t a quick goodbye, goodmorning, or a hey, doll, how was your day as he half listened? 

He shook his head, mouth catching yours in quick kisses between each softly spoken word, “No, I am.”

Your palms pressed to his cheek as your leg hitched over his thigh, breathless as he traveled over your jaw and down your neck for the first time in what felt like months. 

Maybe it had been. 

“Can you,” you tugged on short curls behind his ears as his tongue traced your collarbone which made you both groan, “Jus-just let me apologize?”

Eddie practically growled out the word no before his lips were back on yours. 

It was fast fingers pulling at clothing and sharp teeth nipping at lips and skin, no foreplay, ‘just fuck me’ quick, and quietly because of the kids, kind of sex, until it wasn’t. 

It only took him three thrusts to realize it wasn’t what he wanted. Quickly becoming memorizing touches that glided over skin and held with care, it was lips that whispered apologies and all the things he loved about you into yours, quiet and passionate pushing and pulling with each other, and hands gripping the others as you came together and said everything you couldn’t with intense eye contact, fingers deep in the curls at the back of his head as his name left your mouth only to be swallowed by his.  

His lips brushed down your shoulder and back up, over your collarbone and chest as your fingers scratched at his scalp gently. 

He hummed against your throat before whispering, “I think we should go to the cabin next week.”

“Eddie…” you started softly, already panicking about the missed events the kids would have to make up, the packing, the-

“Stop,” he kissed your jaw, then hovered over your face so his big, brown, sweet eyes could look down at you, “I can hear the stress coming out of you, and I just got it all out.”

You laughed quietly, fingers pressing to your eyes as you shook your head. Unconvinced, and if you were tired before, he’d just made you even more so.

Eddie kissed at your fingers, your nose, your cheek until he was nudging at the fingers again with his nose. 

“Baby, I promise, it’ll be a good vacation. I think we could all use it. And I swear, I’ll be the parent. You kick your heels up and get drunk on shitty wine with Katie, okay?”

And here you were, doing just that. 

The late/early morning arrival was not the shit show you were sure it was going to be. The kids listened immediately about being quiet entering the cabin at the late hour, especially after Eddie said if everyone woke up, the entire day on the lake would be ruined. 

You woke up, without an alarm, for the first time in…you didn’t know how long. Greeted in the kitchen by Steve’s wife, Katie, quietly squealing and grabbing you in a hug that seemed to melt the tension from your shoulders. Eddie handed you a steaming cup of a coffee accompanied with a kiss on your temple and a swat to Steve’s chest when he tried to do the same. 

The kids were already showered, dressed, fed - fruit and waffles and minimal syrup thankfully - and outside playing. You had your suspicions this was all largely due to Steve and his wife’s doing. If you dwelled on it too long, the comparison to how much better they were at the whole parenting thing than you could drive you insane, so you tried to ignore it. 

There was only one argument with Lacey about the Nintendo, and Eddie snatched it and pocketed it and simply shrugged at her scowl when he did and said, “Told ya, babe.” Michael complained about lunch, but only until Nora, Steve’s eldest and seventeen, said “Oh, I love chicken salad” with a wink in your direction. You’d never seen Michael eat so quickly before and he was a garbage disposal on a good day. 

And now, your heels were “up” leaning against the deck’s railing from your spot on the floor, a wine glass was in your hand. Katie was telling you all about Nora’s new boyfriend, Charlie, who Steve positively hated, as Eddie and him stood nearby, with beers and watching meat on the grill or whatever men do. 

“Charlie is the least of our worries though,” she waved her hand with an eye roll, sipping the pink wine with a grimace, “I mean, you know. They’re monsters. Why’d we have them again?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “If you think yours are monsters, mine might literally be the devil incarnate.”

She snorted into her glass and you laughed, swiping at your lips with a shrug, “Okay, too far. But god, they’re…I don’t know. But, seriously, you and Steve…”

Your voice fell as the boys yelled over the grill at two of the girls doing cartwheels dangerously close to the fire pit. 

“You guys, you really know what you’re doing. You’re a good team.” You smiled sadly, looking at the back of Eddie’s head and then at her. 

She was watching you closely, a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure you out, before she grabbed your hand and squeezed it and admitted, “I yelled at him about loading the dishwasher wrong last week. We didn’t talk for three days.” She frowned and shook her head and looked over at him and he flipped his spatula and winked at her and she smiled and turned back to you. “Things aren’t ever what they seem on the outside. We all have shit. It just matters if your shit is something you can trudge through together. If you can help clean it off each other.”

She frowned at the wine she started pouring. “I don’t think this wine is helping with my metaphors, but you get what I mean?”

You nodded, taking in Eddie’s profile as he talked with his hands and got louder as he told a story to Steve. 

“Yeah, yeah I do.” 

It was silent as you both stared at the guys, sipping your wine, until you whispered, “So he loaded it wrong, huh?”

“So wrong!” She exclaimed, grumbling, “Who puts plates all willy-nilly? They go in a straight, neat-”

“I said I was sorry!” Steve shouted from the grill, his hands on his hips as he glared at the two of you. 

Katie stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head with narrowed eyes and she grinned, a quiet and not as silent as they thought conversation about her paying for that later. 

You looked away, smiling into your wine glass when you caught Eddie’s gaze. He looked a little shocked when you made eye-contact, his cheeks flushed pink and you cocked your head with bunched eyebrows at him. 

An unanswered silent question though, because the kids all shouted as a black SUV pulled up the long, gravel driveway. 

A tall, lanky body jumped out of the backseat of the car before it was even in park, a head full of bouncing red waves shooting across the grass towards the literal swarm of children screaming, “Aunt Robin!”

She was down, on the ground, in literal seconds, the children forming a nice heap on top of her that the four of you all yelled about getting off at the same time, sharing grins that only parents who grew up doing the same thing and feel wrong for telling them not to could. 

Your eldest, was bounding over to the car, along with Olivia, ready for the third to round out the little trio of three musketeers - Zoey Wheeler. 

As they hugged and squealed about being back together, you all started down the steps to greet the late arrivals. 

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline standing a touch away from Olivia as the two other girls gossiped about something from school. 

But then Nancy was enveloping her in a tight hug, “Hey kiddo, hear you’re gonna be in the windy city pretty soon.”

Too preoccupied with your own waving of arms to tell her to stop talking, you didn’t notice Eddie whip his head over at Steve, who blinked with his hands raised. 

Your head fell as Caroline turned to you with curious eyes and a quiet, “What?”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but you were already talking, him blinking behind you. 

“I…I haven’t even told your dad. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. You and me, driving to Chicago to go to this dance store that Zoey and Olivia go to. It’s not new stuff, but their dance troop shops there and it’s all really nice stuff and - oof!”

Caroline’s arms were squeezing you harder than they ever had, face pressed against you as her words got lost and muffled, but didn’t lose their meaning when she said, “Thank you so much mom.”

Your fingers ran over her hair, lips pressed to the top of her head as you enjoyed the hug for as long as she’d let you. “Of course, honey. Happy early Birthday.”

The girls quickly started discussing what they’d do on the trip, and Nancy winced out an apology you told her was unnecessary as you hugged, all while Eddie gulped down his beer and Steve narrowed his eyes at him which made Eddie wave him off, grabbing another beer out of the cooler. 

“I am in need of assistance,” Robin called weakly, from her spot on the ground, now abandoned by all the children who were quick to return to their activities. 

Nancy sighed and drawled dramatically, “Coming, dear.”

Robin groaned from the ground, but giggled. “Thank you, sugar-pie.”

“Robs, I’ll leave you down there…” she warned. 

“Fine,” Robin shrugged, blue eyes staring up at the matching sky, “Dingus will-”

He was already hoisting her up, and grabbing her in a big hug only the two of them could find comfortable from the amount of squeezing suffocation. 

Nancy looked at you and Katie and sighed. 

“Wine.”

You were both already handing your glasses over with smiles before she could finish the word. 

She was thoroughly tipsy by her third glass, and the stress you could sense when she arrived - maybe it was a thing all you mom’s could sense, or maybe it was because of being old friends - was melted from her face as she called out, loudly, excitedly, “Robin!”

“Yes, my love?” 

Robin’s legs swung as they dangled from her hoisted up spot on the railing by the men. A baseball hat turned backwards over waves tinted red and silver and a sly smirk resting on her lips as she looked at her wife with more love than should be possible in a human. 

Nancy’s cheeks flushed and you all snickered into your glasses, because you all knew what was coming next. 

“I, uh,” Nancy cleared her throat, as big, blue eyes tried to blink innocently, “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

Robin grinned and nodded, “Lead the way, Wheeler.”

Nancy frowned, but clumsily made her way inside with a giggle. 

With a hop down, a salute, and a quiet, “Duty calls, boys,” Robin followed, all of your “boos” and “ow-ow-ow’s” slammed on by the door. 

Katie pulled out a stack of cards, the boys finally came over and joined you, and your legs crossed over Eddie’s lap as you hid your deck from him with a terrible poker face. 

He soothed his thumb over your ankle bone, wet his bottom lip before he grinned at you. “Baby, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“You have taken me to Vegas.” You touched your cards to your nose, hiding your grin.

Eddie sucked his teeth as he nodded, “Right, right, how could I forget.”

“Seriously dude,” Steve moaned at his cards, frowning, “Vegas was a mistake.”

Katie smacked the back of his head and he flinched, but with a glint in his gaze at her, “What the hell was that for.”

“They got Lacey because of Vegas,” she scolded, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Believe me, I remember. I don’t remember much, but that I do. It’s sort of hard to forget the results of that trip. What with the children who came out of it. Lacey, Annie and-”

“Luke is stupid!”

Steve sighed at the now sherbert colored sky. He groaned, “I knew it was too good to last.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your legs from Eddie’s lap as Lacey stomped up the stairs, huffing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie sit up, but you were already grabbing at your daughter’s crossed arms and pulling her towards you. 

“Woah, super mean word, let’s think of a better one.”

“A buttface!” She frowned, but didn’t resist your embrace as she climbed onto your lap, a privilege that was fleeting. 

“Nope, try again.” You shook your head, letting your chin rest on the top of her head as a hand soothed up her spine, while hers gestured wildly in search of the right word. 

“He’s…he’s…impossible!”

You hummed, great word - especially for a seven year old. 

“Why is he impossible?” You asked quietly, Katie taking the hint and getting Steve and Eddie to go back to a semi-normal conversation and their cards. 

Lacey fiddled with your shirt collar, grumpy and big lips pouting just like her dad. “We were playing Dragons, and he said that I had to be the princess and stay in the tree house while he fought the dragon and saved me! I don’t want to just sit there!”

Steve smiled around the lip of his beer and Katie rolled her eyes, looking at you with a mouthed, “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Ah,” you adjusted in your seat, hugging her closer as her fingers roamed to the necklace around your throat. “I would be frustrated by that too. I like helping. I don’t want someone to come rescue me, either.”

You glanced up at Eddie who smiled softly at you, watching intently. 

“Right. So I’m not playing. I don’t like him anymore,” she huffed, breath warm on your already sweaty skin and fingers leaving something sticky and smelling like pine trees all over you. 

“You don’t, huh?” 

“Nope,” she popped the ‘P’, but her gaze wandered over to the yard where the boy in question fought his sisters with sticks. 

It took you a bit, and maybe you were just soaking up the smell of her strawberry shampoo, or the way she fit perfectly in your arms, but you finally asked softly, “Hey, you remember Dimitri and Anya?”

Lacey shifted with a dramatic sigh, but she nodded. 

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t like each other either. But, then Anya showed him she could do anything he learned to do, right? And he listened to her? She helped save him in the end, remember?”

“Spoilers!” Steve grimaced and Lacey giggled which he smiled and booped her nose at. 

“So,” you lifted your daughters chin, big eyes that reminded you of someone else peering at you unwaveringly as you continued, “You go tell that Harrington boy that Princesses can slay dragons too.”

“They can?” Lacey asked, unsure, unconfident, in a way that melted your heart, put it back together and melted it again. 

You nodded and cleared your throat, trying not to cry. “Absolutely.”

She started to climb off of you, but you tugged at her waist, brushing a curl behind her ear as you smiled, “And baby?”

“Yeah?”

You kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help, kay?”

She nodded, kissed your cheek, and hopped off, bounding down the stairs with a sing-song call to her tone, “Ohhhh, Luuukkkee!”

Lifting the cards from the table, you smiled at the sound of your daughter antagonizing a Harrington and before you could make a jab at Steve, fingers were under your chin, and Eddie was tilting your head, lips on yours and stealing all of the air from your lungs. 

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and his hand cradled your jaw as you opened for him without thought, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt until loud clearing of throats came from your right. 

You broke away with a gasp, but Eddie pulled you back in for one more press of his lips and a whispered, “Sorry,” as he sat back down looking not sorry at all. 

Steve tried to hide his grin as he threw a chip into the pile and Katie grinned at you as she quipped, “Wow, guys, you’re worse than the lovebirds inside.”

Eddie didn’t look up from his cards, but he raised his eyebrows. “I seem to recall an incident in my home on my kitchen counter on my daughter’s first birthday, Katherine.”

“Touche, Edward, touche,” she beamed as Steve choked on his beer. 

He quickly changed the subject, swiping beer from his lips as he looked at you. “You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.”

Your wine glass froze halfway to your mouth and he laughed, coughed, covered his mouth with his fist. “I meant the talk with Lace. Not the kissing. Now that you guys’ll be closer we can…”

Eddie hung his head as Steve trailed off and you quirked an eyebrow. “Closer?”

Katie took a large gulp of her wine and Steve gestured to the grill with a hook of his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“I’ll help!” Katie jumped up and followed. 

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

He sighed, set his cards down, scooted his chair closer to you before his hands grabbed yours.

“I got a promotion, sort of.”

“Wh-what? Eddie, that's great!” You squeezed his hands, your heart hammering in your chest because he wasn’t looking at you still. The knowledge that there wasn’t really room for a teacher to get promoted stirring in your brain. “Wait, how…”

He grimaced, thumbs swiping over your knuckles as he nodded. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not so much a promotion, as it is a completely different job, at a completely different school. Or um, University.”

“In…in Chicago?” You were starting to piece it all together.

“Mhm,” he hummed, biting at his bottom lip that you instinctively reached up and pulled away from his teeth gently. He finally looked up at you, worried, and apologetic, but hopeful. “It’s, it’s a really great job. Tons of benefits. At the university. Way more pay. Flexible hours. I’d-I’d be home so much more. And I know, I know that moving is insane. But I just…”

He rambled, and you got lost, because you were thinking about telling the kids, about uprooting your entire life, about never seeing the patch of wall that the kids heights were on again. Your routine, your system, your grocery store, all pulled out from under you. 

But then you then thought about how you’d only been on this vacation for a day and how much less stressed you were. How Steve and Katie and Robin and Nancy would be in the same city as you again. About how happy your kids were with all of them, how happy you were with them. The support you’d have. The promise of more time with Eddie. The adventure.

“Okay,” you said softly, interrupting whatever he was saying.

Eddie blinked at you, mouth parted in surprise. 

“Okay? Okay what?”

You shrugged. 

“Okay, let’s do it. Let’s move. Take the job.”

Eddie swallowed, he scooted closer and he cupped your jaw, thumbs grazing over your cheekbones as he murmured. “Okay, let’s do it, like you’re excited and want to, or okay let’s do it, like you don’t think you have a choice and you’re stressed and sad and I’m gonna have to unlock the door with the screwdriver again?”

“I mean,” you laughed, brushing over the worried lines of his forehead as you did, “Okay let’s do it. It’s gonna suck to move and tell the kids, but I think…”

They always tell you, you see stuff in slow motion in moments of panic, fear, but you never really believe it until it happens to you - seeing it all happen before it did. 

“Oh my god!” 

You were pushing back from Eddie, yelling your daughter’s name as she climbed up a tree, her foot about to step on a branch that looked dead and rotting even from this distance, and then she was falling. 

There was a boy shouting beneath her, and his older sister’s shouting at him, screams of mom and dad that all four of you raced towards. 

Everyone’s footsteps except Eddie’s slowed when you saw the eyelids fluttering over brown eyes pooling with big, crocodile tears and the leg already swelling with bright red trickling down from it. 

Katie was shouting about grabbing the girl’s from inside, about ambulances and driving. Steve was pulling at all the other kids, reassuring them it was fine, and Eddie was focused on Lacey and Luke. 

You don’t really remember what you did. You had arms around you and you spoke, but you don’t know what you said. Ushered into a car by big hands and a little one grasping yours tightly. 

In the end, all it was, was a deep gash in her leg, nothing broken. Luke a little worse for wear with a fractured wrist, but he beamed when Lacey signed her name on the cast and asked you how to spell Princess before it, then kissed his cheek and told him thank you for saving her. 

The rest of the week was the same as the first day after that, save for the two kids who huddled next to each other on the couch on the deck, their temples pressed together as they shouted at the screen of the Nintendo Eddie gave back almost immediately. Day three of watching his kid that close to a Harrington boy made him rethink the whole move and said it wasn’t happening anymore, which Steve promptly replied with, “Dude, they’re seven. Wait till she’s seventeen and dating a guy named Charlie.”

Nora’s head had perked up from coloring with the younger kids, an expression almost identical to her father’s as she scowled. “I thought you liked Charlie!”

“I do, I do sweetie.” Steve rubbed at his temple and gave Eddie and you a look that said he really did not like Charlie. 

Time moved too quickly, and the light-hearted moments turned to memories, and soon bags were packed by the front door, and everyone was restlessly sleeping, not ready to say goodbye just yet. 

Which is how you found yourself quietly making your way down the stairs to the kitchen, when you woke up to the empty bed and cold sheets. 

You found him in the living room, eyes glued to the hand held device, his thumbs jabbing at it while he frowned. 

“She wasn’t kidding,” he whispered, the girl in question tucked into his lap, her leg propped up on a pillow and drool spilling down his white shirt. 

His arms flexed with each press, tattoos that were rarely on display anymore dancing under each movement. Short curls that the flecks of gray in stood out in the moonlight. Lines of worry and laughter all over his face, brown eyes gifted to all of your children because of the same ones maintaining their gaze on the console. 

You slid onto the couch next to him, curling into his side with a yawn and a gentle rearrange of Lacey’s legs onto your lap. Fingers gesturing for him to give it to you. 

Eddie handed it over, his arm scooping Lacey closer to his chest while his other wrapped around your shoulders. 

You kept your eyes on the game as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The breath huffed out of his nose hit your jaw as he quietly laughed, “Babe, what?”

Mario leaped over blocks as you told him again, “I’m sorry. I froze, I don’t know what happened. Thank you for taking care of her, of all of them, I don’t-”

“We’re a team,” he kissed your cheek, his smile stayed pressed to your skin, “You know, a wise woman once said, ‘it’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help.’”. 

A hum from your lips that fought a smile as his fingers squeezed your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin at the screen though, when you pressed A for the final time. 

“I think I know her. Same lady who said Princesses can slay dragons, too, right?”

The screen lit up with little fireballs, trills and chimes coming from the console signifying you beat Bowser - this time, all of which you quickly tried to cover up as Eddie shushed. 

“Mommy,” her sleepy voice muffled in his chest.

“Yeah, sweetie?” You whispered, console silenced. 

“Volume,” word almost lost to the yawn she gave before she was snuggling back into the crook of Eddie’s elbow and was out again. 

Eddie tried not to snort or let his laughter shake her as your mouth fell open in shock and he took the Nintendo back, moving on to the next level. 

You shook your head at your daughter, and glanced down at her wrapped and injured leg, at the peaceful features of her sleeping face. 

“Man, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you sighed. 

It was silent for a while, and your eyelids started to flutter closed too, when Eddie spoke again. 

“I totally thought Bowser was a turtle.”

[imxnotxhere]

Acotar Men Fic Recs

** Updated 03/07/2024 **

I already made a list for azriel which was actually meant as a list for all the characters I read for but I read a lot more of azriel fics because he's my baby and the list was getting too long. So here are the rest of the characters and I also added some more azzy drabbles sorry

Rhysand

@azsazz

dioxazine part 2 - fluff, smut, modern au, art school au

the lord's work - smut

if you should die before you wake - smut, rhys x cass x azriel x reader

just hold on - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

double duty - smut, rhys x reader x cass

what's mine - smut, rhys x eris x reader

lavender haze - fluff, suggestive

@tadpolesonalgae

mine - smut, check warnings!

knocked up - smut

vampire!rhysand drabble - smut

professor!rhys headcanons part 2 - smut

soothing - fluff, aftercare

@leafsandstarlight

easy like sunday morning - fluff, smut

@azrielbrainrot

my body keeps saying it's yours - smut

all over my skin - smut, rhys x reader x azriel

@writingsbychlo

home to us - fluff

rhys as a pleasure dom - smut - technically a drabble? blurb?

@azrielscrown

mirror mirror - smut

daylight - fluff

@acourtofwhatthefuck

shrinking violet - smut

@shadowdaddies

if i catch you i fuck you - smut

@fieldofdaisiies

rhysand... - drabble, smut

Cassian

@azsazz

mirror mirror - smut

take it - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@tadpolesonalgae

on the strategy board - smut

pools of sunlight - fluff

@leafsandstarlight

halley's comet - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut - az x cass x reader

@fieldofdaisiies

cassian... - drabble

@illyrianbitch

words of affirmation - fluff

Eris

@acourtofmenandthirst

runaway - angst, smut

fox hunting - smut

closed until further notice - fluff, smut, coffee shop au

smut blurb

smut blurb II

@leafsandstarlight

destiny's battleground - angst, smut

my lovely throne - smut

despite our differences - angst, smut, series

the prince of blood part 2 part 3 - vampire!eris

@tadpolesonalgae

servitude - smut

thumb prints - smut

@serpentandlily

sly fox, dumb bunny - series

@azsazz

the burning of the autumn leaves and the roaring of my yearning heart - angst, smut

soul on fire - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@azrielbrainrot

fire on fire - angst?

mind over matter - angst?

@gothicbabydollz

riding eris' face - smut, drabble

riding eris' thigh - smut, drabble

@honeybeefae

cauldron fated - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

making out with eris while giving him a handjob - smut, drabble

praise kink eris - smut, drabble

@fieldofdaisiies

eris' hands... - drabble

eris... - drabble

@theostrophywife

like you wanna be loved - fluff

Lucien

@tadpolesonalgae

solecist night - smut

@acourtofwhatthefuck

yell at me again - smut

personal problem - smut

the moon on a string - fluff

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut

drabble - smut, az x lucien x reader (kind of)

@gothicbabydollz

dom lucien - smut, human!reader

@fieldofdaisiies

lucien... - smut

@ceoofyearning

say yes to heaven - fluff

Helion

@leafsandstarlight

a high lord's scholar - fluff

@tadpolesonalgae

new mechanisms - smut

sweet like peaches - smut

[written-in-flowers]

His Goddess: Demon!Yunho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: incubus!yunho x fem!succubus!reader x incubus!hongjoong | side pairings: demonline x reader

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Yunho is a man of strong will and principles. Work comes first. Schedules come first. Yet, when it comes to The Mistress, he is willing to throw it all away to worship and pleasure her.

Tags: demon au, master/slave dynamic, mutual pining, body worship, facesitting, bigdick!yunho, switch!yunho, footjob, voyeurism, exhibitionism, threesome, m/m/f, bisexual sex, lesbian sex, bisexual reader, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m and f. receiving), double penetration, spit fetish, panty fetish, cum swallowing, facial, cream pie, mentions of violence, mentions of human sacrifices, masturbation, mutual masturbation, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, reader is a hoe and so is everyone else.

Previously on Pretty Lady > Next

Pretty Lady Masterlist

***

The key to being a good Head of House is knowing the masters. Yunho knew their daily schedules backwards and forwards. Each of them woke up at the same time, ate at the same time, went to work and came home at the same time. They took tea in the open-air garden on Fridays, went out to dinner on Saturdays, and slept in on Sundays. Yunho never missed a beat. He ran the meal services like clock work, counting down the minutes on his pocket watch. His masters never complained, and everything worked as it should. 

However, it all came to a head when you arrived. At first, you followed the same schedule as your masters. It was easy enough with Yeosang as your chief handler. Yet, one day the masters tell him you’re no longer their plaything. You are Lady YN, Marchioness of the Trees, a Lady of Eden, and Mistress of the Black Keep. This meant another set of likes and dislikes to learn, a schedule to follow, and a person to serve. Yunho expected you to follow a similar regimen as your former masters. 

You didn’t. 

Yunho never knew what you’d do for the day. With no employment, you didn’t need to wake up early. You never knew what you wanted to eat or drink. Wooyoung only made recommendations on your wardrobe, and you did your own hair and makeup. No schedule to maintain, you simply lived off your moods. You might go on a shopping trip, go to the salon to get your nails done, or walk about town with Jongho and Mingi. You may sit in your room all day, dancing or listening to music or read books and fashion magazines. Yunho never knew what to expect, and that annoyed him. 

The only consistent thing he knew was you visited your greenhouse in the mornings, checking on the plants and feeding Octavius. After you saw the masters off to work, you’d go with Jongho to the greenhouse. He’ll admit since you took over, the gardens appeared much more vibrant and lively. Octavius, formerly Dennis, and his offspring wanted for nothing, which kept the damned creature out of his hair. You’d been against feeding Octavius slaves from the city or disobedient servants. Instead, Hongjoong brought you scum from the lower dungeons to give to them. Certainly suffocating to death or being torn apart by vicious sentient plants was a worse fate. 

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you…”

He heard you from the entrance of the massive greenhouse. Your clear and resonant voice flowed through the branches and vines high above, accompanied by Hongjoong’s radio. Yunho only had to follow the sound down a path of bright flowers to find you near one of the mossy fountains. You danced along the edge of the stone pool, where water lilies and lotus flowers floated in the currents. He swore the lotus flowers glowed a faint pink light. Yeosang mentioned you’d been working on your botanical abilities. You knew how to regrow and speak to them; you could control their growth and patterns as well. But, that was about it for now. Watching you from afar, he understood the masters’ fascination and infatuation with you. 

You’re beautiful. You’re lively and glowing with life. Even in Hell, where misery and despair go hand-in-hand, you didn’t let it touch you. Being around you felt like being in a different time. Yunho grew up around the old-fashioned ways of his ancestors. You brought new music and culture to the Black Keep. He heard the maids saying things like “that’s bitchin’” or “take a chill pill, dude”. One of the younger footmen told him he had an “awesome bod”. Your carefree attitude and free spirit became contagious. Yunho liked it. It made his masters and staff happy, and that made him happy. 

“Don’t-Don’t you want me? You know I can’t believe it when I hear that you won’t see me-”

“-Mistress, your breakfast-”

“Don’t-” you whipped your head to him, dramatic and fierce, “Don’t you want me?”

“Mistress-”

“-You know I don’t believe you when you say that you don’t need me…” you stalked over to him, bobbing your head to the music. He found it quite comical. “It’s much too late to find. You’d think you changed your mind. You better change it back or we will both be sorry! Don’t you want me baby?! Don’t you want me ohhhh oooh-”

“-Mistress,” he laughed as you bounced around him, “I have your breakfast.”

You continued singing to your plants. He noticed the glowing lotuses brightened to the tune of the song, various pinks and whites in the dark water. A new ability, he assumed. He placed the breakfast tray on a table nearby, then turned back to you. You were breathtaking today. Not because of your tight high-waisted shorts or the blouse that flattered your shape. The light in your eyes, the carefree way you sang and danced around made you beautiful to him. He sometimes thought he might be in the presence of a goddess, a being higher than himself who came to bless him with her beauty. 

A beauty he appreciated every night through a peephole. 

“Thanks, Yunho,” you smiled, catching your breath. “Is it Cook’s egg bowl?”

“With potatoes, scallions and bacon bits as requested,” he nodded. “I took the liberty to brew you a dark roast this morning. Jongho mentioned you favored it over the medium we normally brew.”

“Aw, Yunho,” your smile gave him butterflies. Watching you come over to the tray, you fixed your coffee, “You’re so sweet.”

“I’m only doing my job, Mistress. It’s my duty to make sure you’re always comfortable and happy.”

“Or Seonghwa will feed you to Octavius?”

“It is a scary punishment,” he joked back. 

The fact that he’d made you laugh brought out a smile. “Ooop,” you giggled over your steaming cup, “I did it.”

“Did what?”

“Make the Head of House smile.” You hip bumped him, “Don’t be such a statue. You’re cute when you smile.” 

“I can smile,” he excused. He never realized it until he met you that he rarely laughed. Not that he can’t joke around, he could. His job simply took up too much time for that sort of thing. He took a look around to see if he caught Jongho anywhere. “Where is Jongho? He is meant to be here with you.”

“He’s with Yeosang,” you said, walking over to a swing made of branches and flowers. Sipping your coffee, a tangle of vines pushed the cart over to you and you started eating. “They're bringing more lights.”

“More lights?”

“Hongjoong wants to take pictures of me,” you said. “Did you know he does photography?”

“It is one of his hobbies.”

“His least sexual ones,” you noted, scooping up more egg and sausage. “I was looking around for a book in his room and I found his portfolio. He takes really good pictures. I mean, most of them were people in bondage or lingerie, but still tasteful. I asked him about them and he told me he likes to do it from time to time, so he said he wanted to photograph me.”

“You'd make a splendid model, Mistress,” Yunho said, trying not to notice your lips around the spoon. Did everything you do have to look good? “Will you be needing anything else?”

“Not right now, thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

He bowed, and then left. Then, he saw Master Hongjoong come through the greenhouse doors. He noticed the black duffle bag and camera around his neck. 

“Morning, sir,” Yunho stopped to bow. 

“Morning. Is YN here?”

“As always.”

“Good. Make sure nobody disturbs us for now,” he said, adjusting the camera around his neck. “I don't like being interrupted.”

“Of course, sir.”

Hongjoong walked down the garden path, and an idea came to Yunho. Lunch service wasn't for a while. His staff all knew their duties and knew the penalty for falling behind. He could spare a few minutes. 

Waiting until Hongjoong disappeared, he went down the opposite path around the greenhouse. He still heard the radio playing, soon followed by Hongjoong’s voice. Hiding behind a lattice divider of flowers, Yunho saw you and Hongjoong through the holes. It reminded him of the ones back in the keep: small concealed holes he'd cut into walls and paintings to spy on people. He'd originally done it to keep an eye on the staff, but he soon learned it came with other benefits. He'd grown fond of watching the masters with their servants. Watching their hard bodies rut into the soft forms of their partners aroused him to no end. The idea that they had no idea made him harder. Eventually, Master Seonghwa discovered these holes, and began enjoying them as well. Now, it was his favorite thing. H

e stood against the divider and watched you pose for Hongjoong. The photos started off innocently enough: you posing with flowers and on the edge of the fountain in various angles, and slowly removing clothing in each shot. Blood rushed to his core when you knelt naked in the fountain. Flower petals clung to your wet skin in places, and the glowing flowers added an ethereal mood to it. You might be a goddess emerging from the pool, covered in the flowers you loved so much. You could be offering him your body in exchange for his undying faith. 

Hongjoong stopped snapping photos when he could no longer control himself. You sat kneeling in the pool, thighs spread as vines crept up your body. Yunho’s jaw dropped when one of them slid into your mouth. You truly are a sinful sight. How could anyone expect to resist you? He stood there, hot around the collar, and observed. Hongjoong unbuckled his jeans, pushing his hips to your face as the vine slithered down your body. By the stifled moans, your vine had entered you. Yunho let out a soft sigh, unable to look anywhere but at you. 

You should be worshiped. You are an exotic nymph who comes to seduce and ensnare him. He'd gladly step into the water if it meant tasting your lips, regardless of what happened after. He knew he could have you now, if he wanted. No longer a pleasure slave, you could seek out others. He'd let you collar him right away. He groaned softly when Hongjoong tapped his cock on your tongue, sliding it up and down before pushing back into your mouth. Yunho began rubbing the tightness in his trousers when you spread your legs for Hongjoong. He watched the redhead set you on the dirt and slip into your warm cunt. He had a view of where you both met; the mere shadow of his thick cock filling you had Yunho stroking himself soon enough. 

It was when you rode Hongjoong that he came. You arched your back so your round ass stuck out. That way, he saw the hard cock stretching you. You looked so beautiful this way: hair tousled, body shimmering with sweat and your pussy wetting the dick inside you. He couldn’t help imagining you opening your mouth as he jerked himself over you. You'd catch every drop; his offering to his divine goddess. Yunho gripped the wooden divider in front of him as his body contorted to his orgasm. In quiet, restrained moans, he spilled his cum all over the floor. Your own orgasm came shortly afterwards, coming in time with Hongjoong’s upward thrusts. 

“Open your mouth for me, baby,” Hongjoong ordered, moving to stand over you. 

‘Cum in her mouth,’ Yunho thought hungrily. ‘Cum in her slutty mouth.’

He did. What he loved more was you licking Hongjoong clean. Yunho took deep breaths, tucking himself back into his pants when he noticed. Hongjoong's tip in your mouth, you glanced over to his hiding spot. He swore you made direct eye contact with him. You slid your tongue up and over the bulb of Hongjoong, sucking whatever remnants you'd missed the first time. He needed you. He needed to fuck you senselessly; he needed to worship and pleasure you. 

“Can we keep going, Master?” you asked innocently, stroking Hongjoong. “I haven't been fucked in such a long time. I can't stop now.”

“Give me those pretty lips and we can definitely go again.”

Yunho ended up watching each hot, sweaty, dirty round. He'd never cum so much before. You truly must be something divine. 

A goddess. 

*****

You realized you enjoyed teasing Yunho. Not only did the butler give adorable flustered looks, but his squirming contrasted his stern, professional appearance. It reminded you of Yeosang, who kept his composure even in the face of your naked body. You'd been sure that when he spied on you in the greenhouse, he'd come and taste you himself. But instead, he stayed hidden the entire time. So, you decided to signal him in other ways.

You spent a whole week eating creamy cakes and tarts to make white messes around your mouth. Yunho swallowed thickly when you locked eyes with him. He'd watch you lick the cream from your fingers or wipe it from your mouth with fascination. You thought for sure he'd give in then. Everyone else did. Instead, he’d offer his handkerchief, a white cloth embroidered with gold thread. 

You then tried a more direct approach. Yunho often came by your room for status reports from Jongho and Yeosang. Since discovering this, you often entangled yourself in the pair right before he showed up. He stayed to watch only once. You saw him drool over your bouncing breasts, and bend a little to catch them both inside you. You begged him to join, but he stayed silent. Couldn't he tell how badly you wanted him? When this didn't work, you started simply walking about the keep naked, especially in the servant areas. While you let other servants have their look, it was Yunho you focused on. He liked your tits, you knew that much. He'd bit his inner cheek when you allowed cream to drop from your chin to your breasts. 

He. Did. Nothing. 

Yet, his resistance only made you want him more. With his long limbs and broad body, Yunho stood out from the rest of the servants. You knew many female servants found him attractive, and you agreed. His curved horns came from the sides of his head, and in the right light you saw the silver bands gleaming around them. His tail, skinny and long, had another band right underneath the arrow-shaped end. Seonghwa explained to you that children of Mammon, Prince of Greed, often adorned themselves with silver or gold. He told you off-duty Yunho wore silver earrings and piercings. You doubted you'd ever see “off-duty Yunho” since Yunho worked more than anyone else in the Black Keep. 

Which is where your teasing came in. Out of all the servants, Yunho shows the least interest in sleeping with you. Aside from your first time with San, where he'd watched, the house manager kept his distance. He only really served the lords, since Jongho and Yeosang are your personal servants. But, as time went on in the keep, you began wondering if the incubus avoided being alone with you. Maybe he didn't enjoy sex the same as the others; he might be more spectator than performer. That did leave a smudge of disappointment, since you found Yunho’s puppy-dog eyes and large hands attractive. Now that you can sleep with whoever you like, you want a slice of every pie and cake in the place. He had plenty of opportunities to indulge in your pie, but did not. 

You wondered what made the butler tick. Yes, trying to coax him into your bed might be a bit messed up, but you knew he wanted it. You could tell whenever he saw you naked; whenever you showed him your tight sex being filled by someone or bounced your tits on purpose, his eyes lingered there until he remembered his place. Trying to get him only made you ache for him more. 

“Linette?” 

Linette, a succubus of 180 years, was one of the younger maids in the house. Tight brown curls hung around a heart shaped face, with pouty lips made for kissing. Her golden brown skin glowed from her beauty and her kind’s natural radiance; almond eyes batted long lashes that gave off an innocent appearance. In her black and white uniform, you understood the males’ fascination with her. She'd finished ironing one of Seonghwa’s shirts as you approached her. She stopped at once, and stood up straight. Thankfully, only you two occupied the scullery. 

“Yes, Mistress?” she asked in her soft voice. 

“I had a question, and I don't want anyone else to know,” you began.

“I swear anything you say in confidence will stay with me,” she said quite proudly. 

You moved closer to her, “Where are the peepholes?”

“The peepholes? I-I don't know what you-”

“-I know you know,” you said. “All the servants do. You must have looked through one before. I know they are in the secret passages around here, but which rooms? What parts of them?”

She fiddled with the end of her apron, clearly torn between honesty and lying. “They're mainly in the bedrooms,” she finally admitted, “But there are some looking into the study, the music room, the main library, the lounge and a few other places.”

You snorted amusedly, “You know where all of them are, huh?”

She turned away shyly. “All of us do, Mistress. It's a sort of recreational activity around here.” She stepped to you, “I can show you where they are, should you wish to enjoy them too?” 

“That’d be awesome. Where’s the first one?”

Linette escorted you around the keep. The first peepholes hid inside paintings around Hongjoong’s apartment: one looking into his bedroom and another in his dungeon. She then took you to the one in between books in the library, the two peeking into the lounge, one looking through a mirror in San’s personal gym, several in all the bathrooms, one inside a low painting in Seonghwa’s music room, and one peering inside the kitchen. She then took you through the dimly lit passages to a room you knew very well.

Your bedroom.

Linette explained yours is the newest, most popular one. You suspected this much whenever you caught a footman or a maid looking at you. Seonghwa mentioned it a few times to you, but you didn’t think too much about it. The possibility someone might be watching you intrigued you. You never minded in the brothel. Most of your work happened in the main room regardless, so you’d shed a lot of your shame since then. As she guided you away from your bedroom peephole, a sudden noise caught your attention. The last hole happened to peek into your dressing room. No doubt many servants watched you undress in here, seeing your body in a casual setting. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stopped to remove the painted corn plug.

“Fuck…”

A rush of warmth went over you when you saw him. Leaning against one of the dressers was Yunho. Head tilted back, you saw his pants pooled around his ankles and his shirt lifted up from his narrow hips. The softly defined abdomen tensed each time his cock twitched. Your mouth watered at the sight of him. It salivated more when you saw what he jerked himself with: a pair of red silk panties. Lightly, he rubbed your panties over his throbbing length. He lowered his head to watch your panties snag on the head. With his free hand, he stroked the clothed tip until the silk became sticky with precum.

“Wow….” you breathed softly, seeing him whimper at this new maneuver. “He’s bigger than I’d first thought.” You remembered the last time you’d seen that dick. It looked delicious even then.

“Hm?” Linette walked back to see what you’d found, and she giggled softly. “Oh yes. Yunho is pretty big.”

“I think I’d have to do size training with that,” you smirked at her.

“He really likes that.”

“And how do you know?” you crossed your arms and grinned.

“We’ve…We’ve done it a few times.”

“Really?” you gasped, intrigued. “What was it like?”

“Amazing!” she said, happy to see your positive reaction. “He’s so considerate and comforting. He’s more gentle than Master Hongjoong or Mingi, for sure. When I do it with him, it’s like the first time every time. He does have a fascination with panties, which I’m sure you can tell already. He likes to make me cum inside mine so he can keep them.”

“How often have you done it?”

“Not too often. We’re both really busy, but sometimes, you know, those pent up feelings come out.”

“Does he do it with only you or others?”

“Just Mingi and myself. They’re very close, and he knows I won’t tell the other servants.”

“Are you guys, like, a thing?”

“Not really. Yunho’s not the dating type, and neither am I. We like to keep it casual with no strings attached.”

“Huh, no labels. I get that. I wasn't the dating type either. I never found anyone worth dating in the first place.” You looked back into the peephole. Yunho’s hips began moving forward, his hand jerking him faster as he grew closer to his release. “He must taste so good.”

“He does,” she confirmed. She then giggled, “I mentioned it to him once, and now he cums down my throat whenever we do it. He says he likes seeing my mouth full of cum.”

“Dirty girl,” you looked back over to tease. You started liking Linette more and more. Not only was she as beautiful as you, but clearly didn’t mind speaking frankly about obscene subjects. “If only he'd let me get a lick. He wouldn't regret it.”

“Yunho has pretty strong willpower. He won't be as easy as the others.”

“Psh, tell me about it,” you rolled your eyes. “I've been sending very obvious signals, and he just stands there and jerks off. Sometimes he straight up runs away from me. I don't get what I'm doing wrong.”

“Nothing, I'm sure. Yunho isn't really like other demons. Sex takes a backseat to everything else.”

“Clearly.”

Your sex throbbing between your thighs, you watched Yunho’s body tremble as he came. His hand gripped the dresser behind him until the knuckles turned white. He fucked his hand as if it were a real hole, squirting into your underwear while he imagined your cunt instead. Or, did he fantasize about your mouth? Your ass, perhaps? You were dying to know. A distinct wetness pooled in your panties as Linette led you out of the passageway into a room you’d never seen before.

A room made of gray marble, steps in the floor lead into a pool of crystal clear water. Circular, the mosaic piece at the bottom resembles a lotus flower in white and gold. Not exactly big, it could fit a good number of people should there be a party.

“We have a pool?” you asked Linette in surprise.

“We do. You’ve never been here?”

“No, I wasn’t aware we had one. It looks great.”

Your body flushed with heat from your arousal, you untucked your polo shirt from your shorts and flung it off. Linette stood by as you undressed yourself, picking up the pieces on the floor. Once you were naked, you looked over to her. 

“Linette? Care to join?”

The question caught the maid off guard. “Oh, me, Mistress?”

“It’s cool if you don’t want to,” you told her. “I know not everybody’s into girls and boys. I’m sure if you went and asked someone else, they’d be up for it.”

She shyly stepped over to you, “I’d like to do it with you very much, Mistress. The men aren’t the only ones who peek into your room sometimes. Your beauty truly is unique around here, and you’re…a goddess.”

The thought that even the female servants desired you pumped up your ego a bit. Moving over to her, you held her by the hips as you brought her in for a soft peck. Lips plush like petals, their warmth and taste drew you in further. Kissing down her long neck, you untied her apron and tossed it aside. Heavy breathing flowed between you as you stripped her down, gasping when you saw her supple tits inside a white lace bra. Pert and supple, you took her dark nipple in your mouth to hear her softly gasp. 

A part of you knew your kisses fueled Linette’s arousal, the woman eager for more of you. Yet, you couldn't help yourself. Sex became such a big part of your life in Hell, that you can't go without it. All the oppressed feelings in your natural life came loose in your afterlife. You wanted to sample everything like a kid in a candy store. 

Linette let out a soft moan once you cupped her round ass, whimpering when you spread them. This. How did anyone expect you not to hunger for this? Especially with so many fine specimens around? Her desire became clear when she grabbed your ass in return, squeezing until you moved into her. No doubt the low water surface teased her smooth sex like it did to yours. She moved her hands to palm and sucked your tits while you groped her ass. The drug coming from your lips fueled the flames already burning between Linette’s thighs. The scent of mixed spices clung to your nose, and you hungered for more of her. 

You’d laid her against the steps, kissing down her stomach when the door opened. 

“Linette, there you are. I have been looking…for…you.”

Yunho stood in the doorway, dazed by the sight by the pool. It took him a minute to realize what he’d walked into, and you thought he’d walk right back out. Yet, he remained frozen a few feet from you. His eyes cast down your wet bodies, and he gulped. Keeping your eyes on him, you sucked on one of Linette’s breasts. The light brushes of her hands down your sides created goosebumps. Yunho stayed stock still as you both kissed and caressed one another. His attentive stare burned fires that you couldn’t douse out. His presence made each of you want to do more and more. You expected him to eventually give into his desires and at least stick his hand in his pants, but he never did. As you and Linette took things up a level, Yunho only spectated. When Linette turned you to face him, your back to her chest, he didn’t move a muscle. Seeing her begin rubbing your pussy, you thought surely he’d cave. Maybe he preferred his women to be clothed? He did absolutely nothing when you pressed Linette to the top steps and fingered and licked her. He might as well be watching a TV show by how much he reacted. 

Yunho stood by as you sisscored, your sensitive cores sliding up and down each other. Both of you realized you’d get nothing from the only man in the room, so you came together in front of him. Seeing you both breathing deep, collapsing on the smooth floors, Yunho only nodded. 

“Well done,” he said. “I quite enjoyed that.”

“You did?” you asked in disbelief. “You’re not even hard.”

“I can control myself, Mistress. Someone in my position can't indulge whenever we please,” he replied simply. He said this, but you knew he wanted it. “I assume Linette won’t be joining the dinner service?”

“She’ll be indisposed, I’m afraid,” you answered, crawling over and kissing her softly. 

His eyes lingered on your nude, wet body. You angled yourself to let him have a full view, knowing he’ll save it for later with another pair of panties. When his eyes wandered to Linette, and his attraction to her became clear. Linette, who must be a kindred spirit, did the same as you. Yunho, unlike any other incubus in the house, coughed and bowed his head to you. He left the room, but you knew the image stuck with him as he walked out. 

You and Linette laughed softly at his reaction. The two of you stayed in the pool for a while, talking and occasionally kissing. You learned Linette is the youngest maid out of the entire staff, which makes her the most sought after by the masters and others. She’d been born into a poor family, distant relations to Prince Beelzebub, Prince of Gluttony, and she started cleaning houses at a young age. Not everyone, she told you, became pleasure or house slaves. A good chunk of low-ranking demons worked in the houses of the elite as maids or butlers. 

“Like Yunho,” she said, drying herself off. “He’s a great-great-great-great-great grandson of Prince Mammon. He had a bit of money, and his father had a title but he’d squandered most of it in the gambling dens. Yunho became a butler to pay off family debts at first, but then he joined The Black Keep when he befriended Master Seonghwa.” 

“You know a lot about him, hm?”

She smiled shyly, “We do talk socially and after sex in his room. He’s so intelligent and wise. I’ve learned a lot from him since I’ve been here.” 

“Aw, you have a crush.”

“No, I don’t,” she shook her head, laughing. 

“That smile’s telling me different,” you teased in a sing-song voice. “Is he your type?”

“Tall, smart, with big eyes and a huge dick? He’d be anybody’s type.”

You and her laughed. You liked Linette, you decided. After this, she became part of your own “staff”: Yeosang managed everything (despite pretending it annoys him), Jongho tended to you personally, Mingi guarded you, and sweet, pretty Linette handled the cleaning and serving. It felt good, you realized, to have a group to call yours. Sure, they served you but not out of obligation. You didn’t have many friends in Hell. 

They felt like home. 

****

“Don’t leave me,” you murmured into his ear, slowly drawing out of your grogginess. “Stay here.”

Hongjoong’s soft giggle cut the silence, “I wish I could, Pet. I really do.”

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, and nuzzled his neck. You’d spent the night in Hongjoong’s bed, cuddling and talking as you both drifted to sleep. His job in the lower dungeons exhausted him, and he’d wanted comfort rather than sex. Turning over, he pecked the side of your mouth to avoid another sex-inducing kiss. 

“Just pretend it’s still night time,” you said, recalling a scene in your favorite Shakespearian play. “Everyone else is asleep, and the moon is still in the sky. You don’t leave for a few more hours,” you kissed his cheek and snuggled to his side. “Stay here.”

“It’s morning, babe,” he picked up on your playful banter. “Yunho’s going to come in here soon and draw back the curtains. You can’t sleep with the sun shining on you. It sucks.”

“No, it’s nighttime,” you said. “He’s too busy banging Linette to come in here.”

The comment pulled Hongjoong out of the conversation. “What? With Linette?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” as chatty as Hongjoong is, he can keep secrets. “But, they apparently hook up sometimes.”

“Ooh, where?”

“I guess wherever they’re both at?” you said, pushing red strands from his face. “She was showing me all the peepholes, and we caught him jerking off in my dressing room. That's when she told me.”

“With your panties, I’m assuming?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve dry humped him while wearing women’s underwear before.” You should have expected a lewd story. “I swore he came twice from it,” he chuckled, bringing you closer under the warm blankets. “I was trying on some stuff I’d bought from Wooyoung during my cross-dressing phase-”

“-You had a cross-dressing phase?-

“-Obviously, yes. Everyone has one,” he said quickly, “And he caught me. I asked him if he preferred the black lace or the violet satin, and he said he couldn’t choose between them. With a bit of flirting, I wore each one to see which made him cum harder. He likes satin or silk. He says they get wet easily, and he can feel it.”

“You never wear panties for me,” you flicked his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you liked that,” he said.

“I’d like to try it sometime.”

“Do you want a dress too?”

“Let’s start off with panties and see where it goes, yeah?” you both laughed, and you clung to him. “So yeah, Linette and him fuck on occasion. We fucked in that secret pool you have that nobody told me about, and Yunho walked in. Can you believe he wasn't even hard?”

“Yeah, I can. Dude's an enigma,” he said. “He can get hard and soft on cue. I have no clue where he'd learned it from, but it can be useful in certain situations. I don't think even your charms would work on him.”

“They didn't.”

“And you're disappointed,” he cooed, “Aw, the little slut didn't get the dick she wanted.”

“I haven't done it in a while.”

“You told me you did it with Linette.”

“That doesn't count.” 

He paused, “Would you, you know, do that again? With another woman?”

“I might. It'd be somewhere way more comfortable though,” you kissed his shoulder. “Yes, you can watch through a peephole or something.” 

“Psh,” he said, “The peepholes are for the servants. We get the two-way mirrors.”

“Hold on,” you said, shocked, “Two-way mirrors?”

“Yeah. The servants don’t know because they’re pretty well hidden in the walls,” he elaborated. “They’re not in every room, but most of them. Haven’t you noticed there’s mirrors in rooms where it'd be kind of odd to have them?”

“No, obviously.” Then, the thought came to you, “You have them in my rooms, don’t you?”

“Naturally,” he said. “I really enjoyed watching you and Jongho the other day. I didn’t think you’d be the dominant type.”

“I’m typically not, but I don’t know,” you idly traced his collarbone, “He’s so cute and submissive already. I couldn’t help it.” You then asked, “How would I know you’re there?”

He gave his wicked smile, “You don’t. That’s what makes it hot.” He skimmed down your side, reaching around to grab your ass, “One of us could be watching and you’d never know.” He reached down to kiss your breast, “So, feel free to touch yourself in front of one. You never know who's watching.”

“How spine tingling.”

A light knock at the door pulled you both from your heated world, and Hongjoong called for them to enter. Yunho walked into the room with the familiar sherry glass of cold serum. All the heat that built up fizzled away when you saw it. He must have guessed you’d try luring Hongjoong into sleeping with you. Either him or Seonghwa, you’re never sure. Hongjoong rolled onto his back and you rested on his chest. You both wore pajamas to bed, so you only felt him through the shirt and shorts he’d worn. A part of you longed to drag your clothed sex over the bare limb until you came all over yourself, but you knew better.

“Morning, Yunho,” he said in a hoarse voice, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning Master, Mistress,” he bowed his head. “Cold serum, sir. Master Seonghwa thought you might need it.”

“Of course he did,” he huffed. “He just wants her to himself,” he wrapped you tightly in his arms and kissed your forehead.

Since losing your slave status, you didn’t have to adhere to quality time days with your lovers. You mostly did to avoid them fighting over you, but if you preferred San over his brothers one night, they couldn't argue. They thought you never noticed the sneaky tactics they’d use to get you into their beds instead. Their small spats amused you; it made you feel desirable and important, two things you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“I suppose I will,” he grumbled, leaving the bed and taking the small glass. He downed it in one gulp, hissing from the cold syrup in his mouth. “I hate that crap,” he said. “I’m already going to the coldest place in Hell. Now I gotta walk around with this stuff in me.”

“Master,” you whined, reaching to his back to trace his spine, “I can warm you up.”

He laughed, “Yunho should have brought you one, naughty girl.”

He turned to kiss your cheek, narrowing avoiding your attempt at kissing his lips. “It won’t work anyways,” he said, catching on to it. “Cold serum’s pretty strong.”

“Even for my kisses?” you lifted your shirt up your stomach to the bottom curves of your tits.

“Especially those,” he said, reaching underneath to roll a nipple between his fingers. He smirked at your clenched thighs, “I have toys, baby. You can use those.” He smiled when he kissed beneath your breast, “My needy baby. You’ll get to have it later, I promise.” He raised your shirt over them, and took one in his mouth. The gradual whirls around the middle added to your growing arousal. “Go to your greenhouse if you’re so horny,” he pulled away. “Your little plants don’t say no to their mistress.”

“But I want you,” you pouted, sucking on his thumb. “I’ve gone too long without you in me.” 

“I know, baby,” he said, forcing himself to leave your side. You normally spotted a bulge by now, but not this time. Cold serum really did its job. “And you can have it later, like I said. Stop being a whore and get up.”

The insult only aroused you more. Hongjoong sensed this and laughed, “You like it when I degrade you. And people say I’m a slut. Here’s what you’re going to do then,” you gasped when he grabbed your pussy, mushing it with his fingers, “I'm going to go shower. While I'm gone, I want you playing with this lovely pussy of yours. By the time I'm done, I want you ready to cum for me. If you aren't ready before then, I’ll have to punish you. You do remember what I did during your last punishment, don’t you?”

“I do.”

He’d taken you close to orgasm multiple times before simply stopping. You remembered the frustration of him pressing a toy to your pussy only to deny you an orgasm. He’d gotten you dripping over his sheets before he left for “a snack”. The longest thirty minutes of your life with Yeosang instructed to keep you edged until he returned. Your household manager’s degrading remarks only took you closer, as well as the slaps to your cunt.

“And we don’t want that to happen again, do we?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“Keep playing with myself until you come back.”

“Good girl.”

Hongjoong kissed your cheek then left for his bathroom. With a soft click, you knew he’d locked it to avoid you going after him. You couldn’t fight off the irritation in you. Glancing over to Yunho, you wanted to see if he’d cave this time. Two women might be too much for him. Sliding your shorts off, you kicked them in his direction.

“Mistress?”

“You like watching, don’t you?” 

“Um, well, I suppose. Master Hongjoong said he didn’t want you doing…that until later.”

“He said to hold it until he came back,” you lifted your knees and spread them, putting yourself on display. In just your panties, Yunho could only see the outline. Yet, he did fixate on the spot of wetness blotting the white cotton. Wetting your fingers, you started rolling your clit in small circles. “I can’t help it sometimes,” you whined, the tight sensation pulsing in your walls, “I get so turned on. I’m sure you know how that feels?”

“I do, actually.”

“Even when you watch me?” you giggled at his stunned expression, “I know you do. You like watching me,” you wet your fingers again to rub your clit softly, “You like watching my pussy get stretched out by a big dick. Is that your favorite thing to watch me do?”

“Mistress, I don’t think this is very appropriate,” he said, gulping as he still looked at you. “But, if you must know, I enjoy watching you on top.”

“I knew it,” you gasped as you lightly brushed your hand over your clit. “It’s because you get to see them inside me, huh?”

“Yes,” he answered as if you’d asked a normal question. “Your moans also change.”

“Do they?”

“They do. You’re fully on top of it, so their cock is directly pushing on that sensitive spot inside you,” he said. “I quite enjoy hearing the long string of moans you give when you’re first on top. Sometimes, I see you get into a particularly heated moment and bounce on it right away.” He stepped forward until he reached the bed. Even having him right beside you pushed your arousal forward. He chuckled, “Or your partner holding you to them as they fuck into you hard and fast; your ass rippling and slapping against them each time just gives me a certain feeling.” His vulgar fantasies stirred more pressure, but you pulled away. Yunho let out a long breath when you pulled both sides of your underwear to the middle, isolating your clit and wetting the fabric more. “Mistress…” he breathed, his hand resting on your knee, “Oh, Mistress…”

“Yes?” you breathed out, using your finger to tease the hard nub. The long fingers trailed down your inner thighs back and forth, while he admired your wet underwear. 

“May I watch you?” he asked.

“Only watch? You don't want to touch me too?”

He let his fingers draw further down your thigh. “You're offering me the privilege to touch you?

“I am,” you said. You recalled what Linette said. She'd called you a ‘goddess’. “I only give that to so few people.”

“Then I truly am lucky,” he said. He lifted one leg and sat on the edge. Facing you, he stayed between your ankles to keep touching you softly. “I could watch you do this all day if you asked it of me.”

“You really like watching, huh?” you giggled, finding his kink humorous at this point. 

“It's like watching porn in real life,” he said. “I get to see your body move and bend to the passion burning inside you up close. I can see your cunt,” he said, taking a deep breath, “And how wet it gets. You are…..Divine, Mistress. I never miss an opportunity to look at you in your most intimate moments. It's like coming across a rare bird. You take in as much as you can because you might not see it again.”

“Except you see me way more.”

“Not nearly enough, in my opinion.” He massaged the backs of your calves, and said, “Keep touching yourself, Mistress. Let me look.”

“With my panties on?”

“If I may keep them afterwards.”

“I have plenty,” you settled yourself against the pillows, rubbing your foot on his crotch, “So yes.”

Yunho then sat on the edge and watched you tease yourself. He let out a deep groan when your foot started sliding up and down his crotch. His eyes, however, stayed on your hand. The slight pressure hardened against the curve of your foot, and you knew he enjoyed it too much for you to stop. You should consider wearing stockings next time. When you pulled your panties aside to show him, he undid his trousers and pulled himself out for you. Heavy breaths joined soft whimpers as you teased his cock and yourself for him. Your toes rolling over the tip, applying a mild bit of pleasure made Yunho hitch a breath. As you did this, Yunho ran his hand from your toes to your thighs each time. The gentle touch tickled slightly, but you sunk too far in pleasure to take it in. You giggled slightly when he took hold of your ankle to guide your foot on his length. His cock grew harder against the sole. You guessed he really could separate himself from his desires. 

Until now. 

Eventually, he withdrew his bare length for you to continue teasing. You turned your foot inward and stroked him on one side. Yunho gripped the edge of the bed, whimpering at the light touches. He gave a particularly breathy moan once you found his balls inside his pants. You found his grinding into your foot too erotic to ignore. Your clit pulsed against your fingers as Yunho surrendered. He propped himself up on his elbows and let you have more access to him. When he looked over to your center, you spread your other leg to give him a better view. You caught a trickle of drool in the corner of his mouth, which he licked up right away. 

He suddenly pulled you over to him, your lower half between his legs. Anticipation bubbled at the closeness between you. Putting your soaked underwear back over yourself, Yunho angled his cock to slide under it. His thick tip pressed to your swollen clitoris, passing over your entrance each time. The smooth cotton of your panties became see through with your juices, which made it stick to Yunho’s shaft. The both of you whimpered and moaned at the teasing. He sometimes popped out of them to tap and rub from the outside. The light slapping became wet the longer he rolled himself around, and you started wishing he'd stick it in already. Each touch sparked sensitivity that made you wriggle between his thighs. Locked by them, you could only grip his black pants as he teased you. 

Yunho’s mouth dropped when his cock accidentally slipped inside. You whimpered feeling the head pull in and out slowly. Suddenly, your entire body felt on fire, buzzing with electricity at the same time. The desperation for more couldn't be satisfied. Withdrawing, you saw his dick glistening in the morning light. His lips parted in each moan and eyes full of longing, he made such a beautiful, erotic sight. Pictures of him pounding you into the bed formed a hard knot in your groin. His tip didn't feel enough anymore. The torture made you rut against Yunho, angling to slide further down. 

“Shall I go deeper, Mistress?” he asked, pulling out and spreading your juices around. “I only aim to please you.”

“Yes,” you sighed, “Yes, go deeper.”

Yunho lifted your legs up and maneuvered himself to be on top of you. You held onto his shoulders as he slowly entered you. Having him buried in your cunt sent new waves up your body. Legs shaking, toes curling, you clawed at his shirt sleeves as he rocked back and forth. The feeling of his girth stretching you became an instant obsession. His heavy, larger form towering over yours, you could only lay there under him. Gradually picking up the pace, your mind started spinning. The orgasm you’d been ordered to hold might arrive early after all.

“Oh, Mistress,” Yunho breathed in your ear, hands on your breasts and lips on your neck, “You feel heavenly.”

His lips and hands went down your body as much as the position allowed. Yunho memorized each part of you. You could feel him pressing his thumbs into the plumper parts, and kissing every patch of skin he reached. He sought to learn every pleasure point, every little tick and moan that escaped you. You brushed your nipples into front of his vest, enjoying the smooth satin against the hard centers. He squeezed and sucked them for you, then held them to let you enjoy the sensation. Yunho truly did wish to please you. 

“Go faster, Yunho,” you said, a plea in your voice. Your hands going through his soft black hair, he obeyed your command right away. Soon, his hips slapped against yours, the position forcing your hips a bit higher. “Yes,” you breathed, head digging into the mattress, “Just like that. Please, keep going like that. It feels so good!”

“Anything for you, Mistress,” he inhaled. “Anything.”

You brought him to your lips, pecking the pale skin there before whispering, “Then cum in my mouth. I want you to cum in it the way you do for Linette.”

“Of course,” he panted, pushing harder, “I’d cum nowhere else. Consider it an offering.” He pinned you by the wrists and went deeper, “An offer-offering to my goddess.”

“A generous one,” you gave a breathy laugh, wrapping your legs around his waist to lock him in place.

Lips parting in every moan, his eyes closing, you knew he’d cum soon. You could almost feel him twitching against your bumpy walls; he’d finish any minute if he kept going. Your own orgasm bubbled in a pot deep down, your juices trickling out in every thrust. When he began his steady pace, his head pressed right to your sensitive core again. The both of you filled the room with your groans and moans, nearly crying and screams the longer it took. You did not even notice the other person in the room.

“Is my little pet close?” Hongjoong appeared beside you in his towel. “Hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” you cried in time with Yunho’s hips. “So fucking close. Please, let me cum, Master. Let me cum all over it.”

“Hm, I’m not sure,” he pondered. He sat next to you, and Yunho knelt upwards to give his hand room. Fingers rapidly moved over your clit side to side, you clung to his wrist as you wriggled around. “You look so pretty like this. Your pussy all drenched, panties doused in your pussy juice and precum,” he hummed, “Looks delicious. I don’t think Yunho wants to stop any time soon either, do you?”

“I’ll go as long as my mistress wishes,” Yunho said, holding your knees as he bottomed up. “But, no, sir,” he said, watching himself go in and out, “I don’t want to stop. She feels incredible.”

“She does,” Hongjoong agreed with his mischievous smile. You loved and dreaded that smile. “Keep fucking her,” he settled beside you, removing his towel to reveal a semi-hard cock, “I want to watch up close.”

Yunho did as ordered and continued at the same pace. Occasionally, Hongjoong spat where you met to wet you further or hold your panties aside for Yunho to go deeper. When you felt yourself about to burst, Hongjoong made Yunho stop and pull out.

“It’s so wet,” Hongjoong said, holding Yunho in his hand. He used your combined fluids to stroke Yunho slowly, keeping the butler on edge. “Come here.”

Hongjoong knelt up to Yunho and kissed him deeply. You laid there, shuddering from your denied orgasm as the two men kissed. “How come you’re not naked?” Hongjoong asked, unbuttoning Yunho’s vest and sliding it off him. “YN should see the hot bod you have. It’s to die for.”

“She wanted me to keep them on,” Yunho gasped. He let Hongjoong undo his shirt and remove it to reveal his slim torso and hard nipples. He bucked into Hongjoong’s hand as the latter sucked on them.

“And I want you to take them off.”

Yunho laid back on the bed to let Hongjoong undress the rest of him. Completely naked, Yunho’s body was no longer restricted by his clothes. Hongjoong continued stroking him and kissing his nipples until you crawled to the foot of the bed. Both of you on either side of him, Yunho lost himself in a blissful whirl. Two hands toying with his throbbing cock, two pairs of lips kissing and sucking up and down his chest, and two cores rutting into his strong thighs made him wild.

Then, you did the thing you probably shouldn’t have: you kissed each of them. Since he’d drunk cold serum, you didn’t think your amatory would counteract the potion’s strength. Hongjoong remained mostly soft the entire time, his arousal maintaining mainly a mood rather than a physical need. Yet, as you slid your tongue over his, the soft muscle gradually turned stiff. He let out a low, hungry growl that shifted the tone. His dry humping became more frenzied and his kisses became sloppy and deep. Yunho’s already horny manner inflamed your kisses.

“Suck my cock,” Yunho begged you. “I want to feel your mouth around it. Both of you.”

Neither you nor Hongjoong spoke, but instead went down his body to the aching cock. Hongjoong’s hand keeping it straight by the base, the two of you licked up and down each side. His dick, fully erect, twitched whenever a tongue flicked the head. You kissed it between your mouths, tongues sliding around to touch one another. Droplets of clear liquid were caught by either of you each time Hongjoong squeezed them out. You moaned once you saw Hongjoong sink the tip into his mouth. Little by little, Yunho filled his mouth until Hongjoong hit the bottom. The sight of Hongjoong’s mouth sucking the thick muscle made you gulp. He drooled over the head, then used his spit to coat it completely. When it was your turn, Hongjoong licked around the balls underneath, sucking softly while you worked Yunho’s dick. Yunho held onto every ounce of strength in him to not stick himself deep in your throat, but you knew he wanted to. 

It went higher when Hongjoong kissed down your back to your ass, which he smacked out of pure habit. Lifting your hips, he buried his face into your dripping cunt and immediately attacked your clit head on. Yunho grabbed your hair to start sliding up into your face. Saliva and more precum gathered around your lips, turning white as Yunho used your mouth. You couldn’t focus on anything else except them. All you wanted was to fuck both of them forever, enjoying them however you could.

They grew more excited when you moved to straddle Yunho. Hongjoong held him straight to help you slide the thickness back in your tight cunt. A constant flow of moans came once you were full. Hongjoong locked Yunho’s thighs with his own, wrapping his arms around you to help you ride Yunho, who’d lost all sense by now. Unable to move, Yunho surrendered to the pleasure.

“I don’t think Yunho will be able to resist his goddess after today,” Hongjoong taunted, pinching and rolling your nipples. His surprising strength had you bouncing from top to bottom smoothly, “Show him what he’s been missing, love.”

Hongjoong released you and you lost all control. Whirling your hips, Yunho moved around inside you. You rode Yunho until you both shuddered and quaked together. But, you didn’t want him to stop. You couldn’t let him stop now. Forcing yourself to climb off him, you rested on your side and Yunho took the signal. His larger body encompassed yours, pushing your leg up high as he fucked back into you. The desperate hunger became clearer. One hand gripping your tits, the other worked your clit. Hongjoong sat next to you, watching intently as he stroked himself. Right as your pussy started clutching his cock, Yunho withdrew and replaced his cock with his fingers and tongue. 

Head locked in your thighs, Yunho’s fingers abused your g-spot until you screamed his name. Cum shot out of your pussy into his mouth, each spurt making you more and more sensitive. Even when you finished, he aimed for another orgasm. Pulling you onto his face in a single roll, you clawed at the head board as you rode his tongue. You twitched each time it hit your clit, enjoying the spark it brought and feeling it fuel your desires. Yunho, controlled by his lust, had no trouble tossing you onto your back once again.

“Yunho,” you breathed his name, squeaking when he grabbed your ankles and pinned your knees to your chest. “God, keep going. Keep fucking me. Please.”

Yunho’s long fingers went in and out quickly, your wetness creating a slick slapping sound. He hungrily sucked and licked at your clit every so often to bring you to another orgasm. At the second one, you jerked and bucked as it hit you hard. The underwear he’d refused to remove felt sticky and moist. He readjusted them to the side before replacing his fingers with his cock. Your lips turned the reserved Yunho into a feral animal. You loved it. Pulling his hair, you brought his face to your breasts to force your nipple into his mouth. His moans tickled the supple flesh, his tongue swirling around it while he fucked you. You kept his face there as he brought you to a third orgasm. 

Yunho gave a few final thrusts as you came down, then straddled your chest. His tip inches from your mouth, you opened wide to let the stringy streams grow thicker and shoot onto your tongue and lips. His low groans came from deep in his chest, pushing through gritted teeth in each growl. His body constricted, muscles and veins in his hands showing. It finished in subtle shudders, the last bits dripping directly into your throat. You let him see the pool of cum in your mouth before you swallowed; the sight made him stick his tip between your lips to milk the rest. 

You moved your hands to the front to stroke him. He rocked through them and to your mouth. Once you had his dick in your hands, you couldn’t get enough. You wanted him to get hard again. You needed him to. You went too long without it. Right when you took him in your throat, something long slipped into your sore pussy.

“I can’t help it,” Hongjoong said. “Just keep sucking him, and I’ll dump it in you.”

You adjusted yourself for more room, arms wrapped around Yunho’s thighs. Having both mouth and sex plugged up, you gave them free usage of your holes. Nothing felt better. Hongjoong’s high, cracked moans became haggard and whiny as he came. The hot sensation you loved more than anything filled your sex. Hongjoong always fucked it back into you, hardly letting any of it come out onto the bed.

Your saliva wore off soon enough. You could tell in the way their muscles relaxed, and they grew steadily quiet. Each of them fell onto the bed, resembling puddles of jelly rather than men. While they recover, you let yourself sink into exhaustion. You became aware of the fluids on you, and you used the covers to wipe what you could with limp arms. As you wiped your chin, a long-fingered hand reached out to you with a handkerchief. It smelled of butterscotch, sweet and faint on the cloth. Yunho. You saw him inches from you, grinning sleepily as he wiped you down. You stayed still to let him continue. Another hand reached your thighs, cinnamon wafting from where Hongjoong laid. He kissed your thighs, sliding his hand tenderly over your gushing pussy. 

None of you said anything. You did not need to. Yunho pecked your cheeks, your nose and neck while his fingers danced along your side. Hongjoong laid passed out near your feet, dead as far as the world was concerned. 

“You really think I’m a goddess?” you asked curiously, not sure whether it was sweet words said under heated passion. 

“I do,” he said. “You must be one to be Lilith’s blood for certain. Whenever I see you, I find it hard to look away from you. It’s been that way since I first saw you. When I saw you standing in the sitting room, the fire behind you, wearing that ridiculous succubus costume, you enchanted me. I kept my distance because you belonged to my masters, but now…I don’t believe I can stay away.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. Who else will worship me then?” you teased, which made him laugh. 

“Plenty of people around here already do. Though, I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t be the first in line.”

The two of you giggled, and you finally gave into your exhaustion. 

*****

“You’re telling me you drank a serum, and when YN kissed you, you got hard again?”

“Yup.” 

Hongjoong knocked back his afternoon drink in one shot. He poured himself another from the small wicker table. Tea time on Fridays gave them a chance to talk outside of the house. Hongjoong didn’t particularly care for it, but it’s part of the regular weekend routines.  

“I don’t know if that means the serum was weak or her potency is that strong. It was,” he huffed, “Insane. I just wanted to keep going like a damn rabbit. The shit’s addictive. I mean, you should’ve seen Yunho. He got harder than me. I didn’t think he could do that.”

Hongjoong watched his brother rub his chin. His “thinking face”, San calls it. “We’d need to test it further.”

“Hey, she’s not a test subject,” San, sitting in the middle, cut him off. “She’s YN. She might’ve been our slave at one point, but she’s not now. She’s my Darling and I won’t let you poke at her like some kind of lab rat.” 

“If she isn’t interested, then I won’t do anything, but she must be curious. I know I am. I know you two are too.” He straightened up in his chair, no longer interested in the spread beside him. “Maybe I can call that slaver from the Scarlet Silk. He can bring something for us to work with.”

“If YN wants to, that is,” he said. 

“Yes, of course. Do you know if she’s awake ye-”

“-I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” your singing voice came from behind a nearby hedge. “I think we’re alone now. The beating of our hearts is the only sound-”

“-You have a lovely voice, Mistress,” Yunho’s voice came after. “Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

“I started singing with my mom, then I guess working with Yeosang helped too. Don’t tell him I said that, though,” you told him quickly. “We used to sing together in the garden all the time. Oh, hey,” you came from around an entryway with a smile, “Here you guys are.”

“Afternoon, Darling,” San grinned. “You look beautiful today.”

You wore the yellow wrap-around dress today. Wooyoung’s collection of 80’s fashion impressed you greatly, and Hongjoong liked the change. All of your changes delighted him. The keep felt so dead and cold. You’d brought life back into the house, and he couldn’t help admiring that. 

Maybe you are some kind of goddess after all. 

***

A/N: talk about smut from end to end lol we're finding out more about Lady every day. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to give it a reblog and a like <3

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part I : Humanist Seeking Person in Love

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

The story of a son who won’t love you, and his father, who will.

-OR-

the father-in-law AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Possessive behavior; Jealousy; Slow burn but like not really; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 7.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

1. Humanist Seeking Person in Love

The video you’d watched had said that the differences between a jamb nut and a coupling nut should have been obvious. A jamb nut, which was what you were currently looking for, was typically half as tall as a standard nut, or a coupling nut, and would be of a small, stouter shape compared to the other options. As you stare at the wall of overwhelming stock, the incomprehensible mess of steel, PVC, aluminum and plastic hardware you feel, a little bit, like you’d like to start screaming as loud as you possibly can, for as long as you possibly can. Just a rip roaring and rageful, top of your lungs, screech. Maybe it’d scare the leering men around you. Maybe they’d desist from the ogling of your ass in the tight confines of your ratty leggings, or the mildly pitying glances as your frustration and confusion becomes more and more obvious.

You try and take a deep breath, glancing down at your phone again and the screenshots you’d taken of the parts you need to fix your leaky kitchen sink. Zooming in, you hold the picture up next to the pipeware currently gripped in your sweaty hand and wonder again if what you’ve chosen is the right piece. You don’t understand why the hardware store, a local business, isn’t as neatly and efficiently organized as the larger chains, and why they make it so damn hard for someone without experience to come in and shop. You don’t want to buy the wrong thing and waste the money you already don’t have, you don’t want to have to make the trek back to this God awful fucking place. You hate the hardware store, you hate the way it smells, dusty and wooden, the cavernous hollow echo of it, the leering gazes of the men shopping, looking at you as if you’re some helpless child, something soft and easy to snap up and eat. You hate the memory of following your father around on many a Sunday morning after he’d forced you to come with him in some false attempt at bonding, at spending time together when really all it was, was another instance of you cowering behind him, trying to make yourself as silent and small as possible so as to avoid his anger and irritation. 

You look back down at the piece of PVC in your clutch, at the picture of what you’re supposed to be buying again, back at the other option, a copper bolt you think might look right but can’t really tell the difference, and you feel the backs of your eyes pinch and go hot and achy. A sharp, throbbing pain starting up behind your left eye and spiraling out like a stain to cover your forehead. You want to go home. You want your kitchen sink to stop leaking. You want the past year to never have happened. For your marriage to not have so irrevocably unraveled that the husband you’d so desperately fought to keep had left you out in the cold, divorced, very nearly penniless in a new apartment that you couldn’t make feel like home no matter how many fall scented candles and throw pillows you stuffed into every nook and cranny. You want to not have to make decisions like these and take care of things like this. You want very, very badly for someone else to come and take care of you, help you, make the choices that seem very hard in the moment but that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t really so difficult, but that still sometimes call for a second opinion, wiser, more experienced hands. 

And in that next blink, in a soft, deep voice that should not be as easily recognizable in your mind as it is given the handful of times you’ve actually heard it, your name, being murmured from behind you. The lilt of a question, the gruff of shock coating the syllables as it pushes against your bare nape. Soft as a sledgehammer, like ice water down your naked back, your shoulders hitch up to your ears, going tense and frightened, a hot flush of shame spilling through you, the keenest desire to run away from that soft voice as fast as your stupidly October flip flopped feet’ll take you. You hiccup the half sound of his name, not turning around, lashes fluttering quickly to prevent the dry heat of your eyes from spilling over, nerveless fingers going listless around the plastic nut. You don’t want to turn around. This is a cursed place, this hardware store, and you should never have come, and you really do hate it here. Deep breath, deep breath. Be polite, be succinct. You don’t need to talk to him. You don’t need to think about the past. Fuck the sink, fuck the pipes. You’ll just move apartments. You let a long stream of air out of your mouth, and then turn on the ball of your foot to face him. 

“Mr. Miller,” you breathe with a limp smile you know isn’t going to fool anyone. 

He frowns, the line of his mouth wavering as he tries to contain his displeasure. “We really back to that?” You shake your head, looking away from him as the last shopper in the aisle you’re inhabiting walks away, leaving the two of you alone. The store suddenly seems to exist in a vacuum echo, all other patrons seeming to disappear, all sound going out. You even feel the imitation of a hollow pop in your ear drums. When you look back at him, he’s really scowling now. His strong brow pulled down over those too pretty, thickly lashed hazel eyes that you know so well on another man, a younger version of him. 

It was the first thing you’d noticed about him, the first time Sam had introduced you to his father, they have the same eyes. The same but different. There was a coldness to Sam’s gaze that you hadn’t recognized until it was too late for you, but you recognized it now, with a painful sort of awareness, recognized the lack thereof in his father’s eyes, how different they were even in their similarity. 

He raises his brows at you, a pressing gesture, “Joel.” His name feels like salt on an open sore in your mouth. “What are you doing here?” And he looks at you, just a little bit, like you’re an idiot, or maybe that’s only you, for his voice is gentle when he says, “Pickin’ up supplies with some of the boys on my crew. What’re you doin’ here, sweetheart? Sam with you?” Your heart beats like that of a small and hunted creature, pounding painfully against the confines of your ribs while a hot, humiliated flush washes through your entire body, heat suffusing your face so intensely there’s probably steam rising off the surface of your skin. You shake your head quickly, a barely there jerk. You’re suddenly trembling so hard your throat aches as if it’s been pierced by a lancet straight through. Another sharp jerk, and he steps forward a concerned look marring his face. 

“You haven’t spoken to him.” It isn’t a question. 

“He’s been feildin’ my calls for months. Assumed I’d done something– something else, last time to piss him off again. What’s wrong? Everything okay?” He pauses, head tilting, and you can’t look him in the face as you say it, gaze falling to your fingers twisted around the nut. 

“We’re not together anymore. He– he left me. We got divorced six months ago.”

Shocked into silence he takes another step towards you, the toe of his heavy boot coming into your eye line. The ends are thick and rounded, and you wonder if there’s a casing of steel within, how much a kick in the ribs would hurt delivered by a boot like that, and the violent thought startles you, your eyes going wide, shooting up to his face as if worried he could read your thoughts. Ashamed that something like that in reference to him would even cross your mind, for looking at him, the gentleness in his gaze, the utter concern, a man like this would never hurt a creature softer than him, you know that. 

It’s funny, or strange, or a phenomena not easily understandable or explainable unless you’d had a certain type of experience with a certain type of man, but there was a sort of sixth sense instilled in a person who’d dealt with cruel men that made it easy to recognize when one had the capacity to hurt you and when he didn’t. There were, of course, those who were good at masking it, but there was always something, a way they held themselves or moved around others, the cadence of their voices, clues that spoke of the sort of man he was. And from the first moment you’d met him, you’d thought Joel had something that spoke only of gentleness. Despite his size and seemingly rough aspect, there was something about his voice, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved around those who were smaller or weaker or less, less alive, less potent than him, that was always careful and always aware. 

“What?” He moves as if he’s going to reach for you, and you flinch back, the curve of your spine bumping into the framing of the shelves behind you, face turning away quickly. He goes tense, forcing himself into stillness, the white of his teeth flashing in a grimace, but he puts his palms up in a staying gesture, it’s alright, easy, he murmurs, I won’t touch you, hands lowering to fist in the pockets of his jeans into tight balls of false restraint. As if he’s afraid of what they might do of their own volition otherwise. “What do you mean he left you? What happened? He–”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you. Call him again or– or I don’t know. It’s not my business anymore. He was never happy with me,” you stupidly add, finally braving a look back at his eyes again, a bitter laugh scratching up your throat, “You know this. Call your son, Joel.”

You move to leave, to get away from him, but he shifts, blocking your escape, sending your heart up into your throat. “Honey, wait–” but you’re spinning on your heel the other way, stumbling in your flip flops, and you think he says something about the wrong way, but you’re rushing, blindly trying to get away from him down the aisle as fast as you can. You’re going to cry, you can feel it, any second now. You weren’t expecting to see him, the reminder of everything that had happened, your marriage and its failure and the part Joel had played in it. A painful and jarring shock to your nervous system that you’d not been prepared to receive. You blindly scramble through the aisles of the hardware store, losing yourself to the gloom of the dimly lit back rows where plywood and carpeting are stocked, that detested dusty hollow smell intensifying. You take another blind turn, another, until the sounds of the store have gone faint and then a frightening pressurized silence. Bracing your palms against one of the eye level shelves you let your head fall between your shoulders, your bag sliding down your arm to hang and sway at the bend of your elbow. You watch the slow back and forth pendulous movement, eyes wide and blurred. If you don’t blink, you won’t cry, and you’re so fucking tired of crying over this. 

“If you were tryn’a get away from me, exit was in the opposite direction,” comes his voice again. Your eyes flutter shut, a single tear drips from the line of your lashes onto the dusty concrete floor. 

“Please, go away,” you croak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“What do you think happened? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“He– he’s a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart–”

Your stomach lurches, “Don’t call me that.”

But he doesn’t listen, continues on unheeded. “There’s gotta be something we can do. I’ll– I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him see that–” You let your head fall back the opposite way now, looking up at the high, cavernous ceiling of the store, another bitter laugh. It’s the only kind left to you now. 

“I don’t want him back, Joel. Be serious.”

“He needs you–” And oh, that makes you angry. 

“Fuck you.” You spin around to spit the words at him, rushing forward to shove at his rock solid chest. He doesn’t budge even half an inch. You shove again, again, a humiliating sob making its way up your chest. You blink then, you can’t help it, the tears fall unrestrained. It’s a specific type of humiliating, facing the estranged father of the man who you’d been married to, who’d been unable to love you, who’d abandoned you. 

Sam and Joel had been unaware of each other’s existence for almost twenty eight years, but two years ago, Sam’s mother had finally told him about his father, his name, where he lived, how they’d gotten together when they were too young, and how she’d split, scared and vulnerable, without telling him a thing. The two of you’d gone looking for the man, and you’d both been varying degrees of shocked at what you’d found. Sam, faced with a man so unlike himself he’d immediately resented him more than he already had for the fact of his absence his entire life. You, as well, faced with a man so unlike your husband that it had made you resent your marriage even more. Immediately welcoming, loving, patient, gracious and generous and forgiving of the fact that a son had been kept from him for almost three decades. Despite the severity of his character, his serious reservedness, he’d done everything in his power to open himself to this long lost son. Not once had the news been met with cruel anger or outrage. Joel had accepted his son immediately and without question, listening to his mother’s reasoning, accepting the fact that a mistake had been made, forgiving, willing to move on and embrace Sam in all the ways he’d been denied for so long. Sam hadn’t been able to fathom it. He’d been mistrustful, hostile, angry, all the things he always was but compounded and heightened to a terrible degree he eventually started taking out on you. 

And it was funny because the fraught, or lack thereof, relationships with your fathers had been the thing that had initially bonded the two of you. Too young and alone and without direction, you’d met him in your last year of college. The relationship had immediately developed without boundaries or reason, you’d been obsessed, a little desperate, unquestioning, and then married a few short months later. Two too young, too lost people, burdened with daddy issues. A terribly sad cliche. You’d never had a chance. You never should have been. And there’s a part of you now, looking up at this man, your ex-husband’s father, that wants to feel angry at him, that wants to spit in his face and say this is all your fault, everything that happened to me, everything that was done to me was in your name, and I blame you for all of it, but you know it’s without reason or countenance. And worst of all, anger, blame, resentment, it’s not anything near to the things you feel when you look at him. The memory of a small, dark restroom flashes in your mind’s eye, his eyes gleaming above your face, the thick slope of his shoulder, the patterned wallpaper behind him, sickening comfort. 

You go still and frozen, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt, jerking with a painful shiver from the top of your head, down the length of your vertebrae, to the tips of your toes that cramp and spasm. Looking up at his face, you can feel a pulse throbbing in the muscle beneath your right eye, and the way he looks down at you, as if he’s never felt as sorry for any other creature in his entire life as he does for you in this moment, so embarrassing. You let your head fall forward again, landing with a soft thump against his chest, an uncontrollable tremble moving like fire through your frame. “Fuck you,” you say again, whispered, soft and weak and without any sort of force behind it. “How dare you say that to me,” another tear. “He’s always needed you. It was never me he wanted, never me he needed. It was always you.” You watch as one hand withdraws from its pocket cage, lifting to push a soft tendril of hair back behind your ear. And there’s fire left in the wake of the brush of his skin at the hollow there. Another shiver of a worse kind, one of desire, one of lust, moves through you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it – I’m sorry, honey.” Stupid southern charm and their stupid pet names. You clutch at his shirtfront more tightly, press your forehead harder into his sternum, and he brings his hand to your shoulder, tucking you into himself more securely. He’s huge and warm and smells faintly of salt and sweat and laundry detergent. Something clean and fresh and masculine. He smells alive. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, moving through your hair. Fucking, Sam, he murmurs above you, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head in that disappointed fatherly way. “Tell me what you were looking for. What had you lookin’ so confused and irritated in the plumbing aisle?” You’d laugh if you could, a non bitter sort, but you don’t have the ability anymore, and that makes you so angry. Angry and irrational.

“My sink’s leaking, and I can’t afford a plumber because your son divorced me and left me with no money and no house and nothing for myself, and I hate this stupid place. I hate the way it smells, and I hate that nothing’s labeled clearly, and I hate the way you men,” you shove at his chest a little bit again, “look at me like I’m some dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right.” Even if that’s what you kind of feel like, a dumb little girl who doesn’t know left from right anymore. Slightly out of breath, you go limp and exhausted against him. His palm flattens at the center of your spine, supporting you, and it’s so fucking inappropriate. You should move away. You don’t know him well enough for this, he’s your ex-father-in-law, you shouldn't let him touch you, but should and should not and right and wrong and inappropriate or not has never really mattered to you where Joel Miller is concerned. “This is the worst place in the whole world,” you mumble, voice muffled from where your face is squished against the annoyingly hard and delicious muscles of his chest. You feel, keenly, like you’re being a little bit ridiculous, a little bit embarrassing, but his big hand is slowly moving up and down the length of your spine, soothing and comforting, and you can’t bring yourself to care. He’d been kind from the first second you’d met him, and then, at the worst moment, he’d been understanding, and you’d never really stood a chance against him either. 

You’d never had a chance with the son, you’d never stood a chance against the father, there had never really been much choice or possibility for you as a whole where either of them were concerned.

I was such a little person. Tiny in my insignificance, naivety, hope. Desperate to be as good as I could be, and pathetic in my failure to make myself into what I thought the world wanted of me. 

“You can’t afford–” He breathes out roughly through his nose, stopping himself from continuing. “Do y’know what it is you’re looking for? What part?” And you nod your head, still buried against him, unable or unwilling to pull away. “Let me help you,” and he says it so, so gently that it makes you want to stomp your foot and cry and throw a fit at the unfairness of it all. 

“Don’t want your help,” you can’t help the muffled whine it comes out as. All you want is for someone to help you. 

“Of course you don’t, sweetheart,” he soothes. “But let me anyway. S’the least I can do for talkin’ out of my ass.” You finally pull back, looking up at him, and he brings his thumb up to catch the wetness at the fine skin beneath your eye. “Please, don’t cry,” he whispers like it hurts him. 

And even though he’s currently catching the salt of your eyes with his fingers, you lie obstinately, “I’m not,” whispered back just as quiet. 

After he helps you find the correct piece for your sink, finally, which ends up being neither of the options you’d been previously weighing, a fact that almost sends you over the deep end again, and paying for it at his aggravating and overbearing insistence, he walks you to your car. 

“Is he still in Austin?” He asks as he holds your door open for you, your shopping bag still clutched in his hand. One of the guys on his crew had come to find him while you were checking out, but he’d sent him away with a shake of his head, said he had something to take care of. 

“I don’t know, but he sold our house.”

“Fuck– Where’re you living?” The sound of his spit curse has a wet flutter moving through you, shame following bitterly in its wake. 

“I got an apartment in the East Side.”

“And he just left you to fend for yourself? Took your fucking house?” He’s getting angry, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get angry. Something foreign like excitement jumps within you. 

“Well, that’s the point of divorce, Joel. You separate and are left to your own devices.” You reach for the little plastic bag, but he jerks it out of your reach. 

“He has a responsibility to you. He–”

“Again… the point of divorce.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that boy,” he mutters, shaking his head. And that’s the thing of it, you think, that’s always been the crux of the issue. Sam was always a boy, has always been just a boy… there had never been any chance. “Let me come help you with the sink. Let me fix it for you.” Something to take care of, that’s what he’d said, that’s what he’d called you, what he sees you as. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish getting the words out, full of regret, and a wish that it could have all been different from the very start. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” and he goes silent because he does, he does know, he’d known since the first time probably. It had been obvious in the way that a secret thing can only be between the two people involved in the unsaid. “I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”

“You still got the same number?” He asks.

“Please, don’t call me. Call Sam. He’s the one that needs you. He’s the one that–”

“And who’s taking care of you? Who’s gonna take care of you, sweetheart? You need someone too, we all do.”

A flash of that earlier anger again, and you reach forward to rip the bag out of his clutch now, angry because he’s right. Because he’d always seemed to have a grossly misplaced ability to read you exactly as you are. He’d read you for what you were from the first second he’d laid eyes on you, naive and hopeful and falsely in love with a son who’d never loved either of you in return. “Maybe,” you tell him, “But that can’t be you.” He looks away from you, gruff sound of irritation passing through his clenched teeth, and he drags a heavy palm down his bearded mouth. Fuck, again that provoking spit curse. The wallpaper in that dark restroom had been covered in little blue motifs, butter yellow details sparsed throughout. It had surprised you, the pretty and delicate design in the home of a, for all intents and purposes, bachelor. It spoke of intention and attention to detail, to his space, to care of his home. That dim moment was, strangely, sickly, the brightest memory of the entire two years of your marriage. 

“You still got my number?” He presses anyways. Unheeded or uncaring of you trying to push him away, and there’s something about that, that’s pleasurable, his inability to let a thing go where you’re concerned, his unwillingness to allow you to hold him at arms length. Like he doesnt care to be kept away from you, and so he won’t. You nod your head once, face burning, molars grinding to keep yourself still and in place. You’d felt, for two years, trapped, running in place, and now left limp and exhausted and colorless, and you hope that he can’t read that exhaustion in you. For some reason, that would be more embarrassing than everything else, for him to see just how defeated you’d been left. He gives you one of those looks, those direct, piercing, aggravating looks that you’ve seen from him before, aggravating in a way that is inciting, like a relentless tongue against a slick swollen cunt, God. Your hands are shaking, and he bends his head down to your level to look at your directly, “You promise me that if you need anything, anything at all, doesn’t matter what it is – that you’ll call me. No matter the hour, no matter what it is. Promise me.” Another sharp jerk of your chin, if you talk you’ll scream or make a sound not wholly belonging to the body of a girl, woman, whatever you are. Another nod, the mute shape of an okay passing through your lips. And his face is so concerned, his hand almost lifted in the imitation of what you have to tell yourself, as a form of self preservation, is an ill intentioned caress or hug, but that you know he’d mean as nothing more than genuine comfort. You deflate in relief when he doesn’t touch you, right here, out in the open for the whole world to bear witness to. Things like that, after all, are only meant for dark, wallpapered bathrooms. He’d already taught you this. 

-

The relationship had not been what either of them had expected, Sam and Joel, from the get go. There was a smallness to his son, a pettiness and a cruelty and a spoiled rotten vein through the core of him that was incongruous with who Joel was as a man, something that was glaringly obvious to all involved. And try as he might, in those early days, they could not overcome the disparity in their personalities. The attempts from Joel at closeness had been fraught with tension and unsaid resentments, and eventually Sam had given up, stopped answering his father’s calls, evading his attempts to connect. Your marriage had spiraled into dissolution shortly after that. As if the failure to find whatever it was he’d for so long hoped for in a relationship with his father had highlighted all of the things you yourself lacked, all the ways in which you were so specifically dissatisfying to him and always would be. 

The marriage had not ended up being what either of you had hoped for, the honeymoon phase quashed and dead early on, no brightly lit halcyon. Reality had set in quickly when confronted with the disjointedness of your pairing, a bone out of place, your specific inability to please him in the ways he’d thought you would when he’d first met you. There was something about you that had always been a little bit lacking, something ascetic and cold natured about your personality at times. Since you were a child, trying to appease an unappeasable father, to emulate a singular mother. Always impossible, always falling just short of utter failure. Not so terrible that you were outwardly obvious in your mediocrity, but never everything you could be. Painfully, succinctly average. Sam had come to realize this quickly. Perhaps, unaware prior to tying himself to you because the only thing you’d ever been not average at, was being a little bit of a liar, of being placatingly complacent when the moment necessitated, manipulative in a way that you found protecting. But you see, that’s what happened when you had a cruel father who always needed appeasing, something Sam, in his abject fatherlessness, couldn't understand. Funny, you’d said that to him once, near the end, called him abjectly fatherless, his weakness a consequence of his lack of a paternal role model, and oh, how he’d hated that. Endings could bring out such cruelty in people, you’d found. 

But the manipulation of a moment had become, in some ways, your only talent. The art of superficial gratification at a moment's notice as a way to keep the people around you falsely happy and calm. Like all small and frightened creatures, you’d learned your strengths well, but as all truths do, yours had eventually surfaced. The fact that you weren’t really so appeasing in the ways he desired, not so nice, not so perfect, not so subservient. That the persona was all just a way to keep him happy as a means of getting someone to love you, to stay because you didn’t know how else to be. 

Your mother always said you could’ve been nicer to him. She was a kind, soft, patient thing. Quiet and easy and always, always, above everything else, understanding. It was the worst thing about her. A detriment, a weakness, and she resented you for your resentment, for seeing her as such, but you could never help it. Always asking you why you couldn’t just be a nice girl, a good girl. 

You didn’t think you had not been nice, not been good. You had only been yourself.

Your father had always hated that about you, you being yourself. The man you’d chosen to marry didn’t seem to like it very much either. And she’d tried to instill her better qualities in you, your mother, so you weren’t all bad all the time. There could be a brightness and a lightness and a sweetness to you sometimes, it’s true. You weren’t always all bad. But there was – is still – also a bitterness and a resentment and an anger, a screaming that you could not quell no matter how hard you tried. And so you’d attepted to give him everything you could, your husband, everything you had at your disposal in all ways, to do and be all he could have ever asked of you during those two small years of marriage. Because truly, they had felt so very small, made you even smaller. 

Everything except for sex. You’d never been able to give him that the way he’d wanted. 

At first, it had been normal, sweet, soft missionary in the darkness, tepid insinuations of orgasms, always hushed, always exactly how he wanted it. But eventually, when the other parts of you began to fail, he got mean and callous and casually cruel. And as you pulled away physically, he called you frigid, a prude, boring, cold, bad in bed, didn't know how to make a man hard. And it had made you so agonizingly insecure, already a sensitive and anxious thing when it came to your physical form, he’d beaten you down, embarrassed you, belittled you.

With time, you’d realized the truth of it which had been nothing more than that you’d never really wanted him. He had never made you desperate, he had never made you wet. It was his character, his attitude, yes, but it was also him. He just wasn’t it for you, and it wasnt that you were a prude or frigid at all, only that you needed patience and understanding and care, gentleness. Things he possessed none of. 

You just needed a little time to warm up and someone who wanted to give you that time. 

The reality that your life had not been full of varied and foolish adventures, and that time had seemed to simply slip away like an echo in the brain from one moment to the next was duly painful. A handful of months of wan and false lust, two years of cold, bitter marriage, and now, six months of barren aloneness. Too many mistakes had been made, too many regrets, three big ones that could be held like stones scorched to burn by the sun in the palm of your hand so that even if you let them go eventually, their imprint would still be scarred into your flesh afterwards forever.

So, perhaps the divorce had been painful in the moment. Or not perhaps, there was nothing uncertain about it, you’d fought tooth and nail to make it work, to keep him with you. Prostrated and humiliated and debased yourself. But with time, it became obvious that it was a fantasy you decided you should finally cast aside, as all children do childish things at a certain age. And then, it had been the easiest thing in the world. After all, and let’s be honest now for a moment, the reckoning had come in the shape of his father. That is, at the end of it, the reason you’re really here. 

Sat now, before the open cabinet below your kitchen sink, leaky pipe drip, drip, dripping monotonously in front of your glazed over eyes, you think of him. He’s a large man, intimidating and dark and stoic. Taller and broader than his son. Lush, mahogany curls streaked with silver that speak of age and experience like the smile lines around his eyes. Deeply grooved when he laughs that beautiful laugh of his. He looks exactly like the opposite of whatever his son is, like he’d have the ability to make the opposite of you, to pull out of you whatever the antithesis is of what his son was able to. It had been immediate, the nature of your thoughts towards him. The desire, the desire, the desire, you had wanted like you’d never wanted before — like an illness, like dying. 

Your marriage had been circling the drain, and then you’d met him, and it should have been innocuous. He’d been kind and polite and welcoming, but also, aloof. Holding himself at a distance, something afraid that he carried within himself, like he didn't want to hope, like he was just a little bit scared of what it meant now to have a son, something to lose. You knew a little bit about that, the worst part of it all is never the cruelty, it’s the hopelessness. Everything had become so much worse after meeting him. An unbearable sort of awareness of something that your listless, frigid self recognized as man, man, man, something like hunger. Something slanted about the desire, wrong, sure, for he was your husband's father, and yet, you wanted him. You wanted to know what he smelled and tasted like, and what the weight of his cock on your tongue would feel like. If it was bigger than his sons, you were almost positive of that, if it would stretch the corners of your mouth to near splitting, the hinges of your jaw to aching. 

You’d met your husband's father, and had realized, painfully, with uncompromising clarity, all that your husband could be, all that he was not, all that he would never be. There was no comparison between the boy and the man, and it made you hurt. 

Your eyes flit back to the screen of your open laptop and the instructional video there, popping another fuzzy peach gummy onto the flat of your tongue, mouth full of sucking sugar. You’re going to fix this sink if it’s the last thing you do, and you’re not going to think about him again. But tomorrow, you’ll start not thinking about him tomorrow. The talent of a liar never really wanes.

The apartment is quiet, nothing but the cheerful crackling of your sweet pumpkin candle and the mocking splish splash of the drain pipe. You had, in recent weeks, come to think of your abandonment as something of an accomplishment. Perhaps, your loneliness is a good thing, you’ll tell yourself as a comfort, a sort of friend; you can’t be used against yourself again in this solitude, and oh, how you’d been used. That anemia in your character, the ascetic thread of your personality had been weaponized and wielded against you until you couldn’t tell up from down and left from right. You were certain there’d been cheating, even if you’d never had any proof to confirm it, merely grateful you’d never gotten sick as way of evidence. But you knew. And it could've been so much worse for you, of course, of course it could have. But he’d left your mind so off kilter, broken and confused and not yourself. Utterly damaged in a way that was humiliating and devastating when you thought of the way you’d been, such a little person. So often, not a woman, just a little girl. 

And then his father. Joel. Seeing him today – you had never felt the way you should have felt towards him. Like your eyes were open, awake for the first time in your entire life. A man like that – he was changing. And you wanted, needed very much to be changed. Seeing him today, being presented with that reminder of what he was, how he made you feel, how he’d always made you feel. There’s something ghoulish about you concerning him – about this desire. That ascetic or anemic or under-grown, illformed thing about you, exterminated in the thrum of how alive he is. How unlike his son. You’d never known what it specifically was, never been able to categorize it, and then there had been that moment, brought so low, six feet beneath the ground sort of debased, and he’d been there and you had been – unburdened from the weight of his own son, by him, and you’re not even sure he knew the extent of it. The power he’d wielded over you in that moment in the dark. And you can’t say it out loud, what it is you’d want from him, you can’t even say out loud what it is about him that changes you as it does – not a woman, just a little girl – but you think that if you could just see him, then you’d know, or maybe you could be brave. You don’t know what it is, but you’d know it then, with him in front of you, you’d have the answer to this question that’s plagued you for so long – how to be yourself in a way that is good.

You’re pushing yourself to your feet, fueled by the thought, fingers gripped over the ledge of the counter to pull yourself up, sink forgotten, stumbling to your front door, shoving your feet into your shoes and fumbling for your keys. How to be yourself in a way that is good. 

When you were seventeen, your father had been at his angriest. Angry in that way that all angry father’s are. Loud and brutish – an anger that is cowing, a sign of true weakness. Brute force in the shape of the man who gave you life. When you think of it now, even as a grown woman, you still feel that phantom limb of fear, and you know that it isn’t normal for a grown woman to be afraid of her father, and yet you are. And then to think that you’d gone from your parents home directly to the bed of the same sort of man, one even crueler, if possible. You’re forced to laugh your singular terrible, self deprecating laugh at the irony of it – even worse, if possible. For what’s worse than a person who constantly needs to be soothed into kindness and patience and calm? 

Once, in that terrible seventeenth year, funny and strange and unknowingly perfect, you’d been gifted the Farmer’s Almanac by your elderly neighbor. She’d said that she’d read it since she was a girl, liked the peace in knowing that the year had been predicted by experts and put down on paper. It made life seem more secure, more in control in a small way. You’d needed that during that turbulent time, locked in your teenage bedroom, lulled to sleep by the sound of your father’s anger and the year’s long-range weather predictions before your blurry eyes. It was so comforting to be able to read the future in text, catastrophe or sunshine, at least it was there. You still read it to this day. And there’s no congruity to the thought now, as you crawl into your car, a ghoul in the night, banging your knee on the hastily opened car door, sprouting gooseflesh in the cold; this desire, desire, desire that is the worst thing you’ve ever felt in your whole life, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop because there is something about control in this moment also. Control like knowing what the future will be like on paper, control like a man who is entirely grown into himself, who knows who he is and who he is not and is not uncertain, who will not yell, who will not hurt you. He has this – your husband’s father – you know he does. There is something about control, there is something about knowing how a thing will be, there is something about being yourself in a way that is good. 

-

You’d picked up the wrong wine on your way here. Rushing, trying to fix your makeup in the car, you’d gotten confused, chosen the one he didn’t want instead of the one he did. And it was nothing, or an accident, surely nothing to incite his ire, but he’s so fucking angry hovering in front of you. He looks at you, now sometimes, like he hates you, like you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He said you’d humiliated him in front of his father. That he was going to think he didn’t have good taste, couldn’t afford a decent bottle of wine. And you don’t know Joel very well, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to care about such things. Calling you an idiot in that poisoned shrill tone he takes on when he’s delivering a set down, and you’re trying to tell him to please, please keep your voice down, Sam, your father is going to hear you. You’d heard someone say once that a truly powerful man never feels the need to raise his voice, it simply isn’t necessary for him, and you’re reminded, terribly, of your father, with the sight of your shrill and seething husband in front of you.  And then a low toned that’s enough, son from the mouth of the kitchen, and it’s so much worse, entirely catastrophic in a way, and you’re rushing away so humiliated, face on fire, tear caught over the trough of your lower lid, trying the doors in the hallway for the nearest restroom. You hear the murmur of voices, one struggling to maintain composure, the other, cool and steady, then the slam of the front door, and finally, the silent din of his house settling around the two of you as you find a restroom to hide in. Your heart beats so fast it makes you nauseous, knees strangely aching, listening to the heavy steps of Joel’s boots, as if he’s trying to warn you with those measured, weighted thuds that he’s coming, coming, coming for you. Turning to face the far corner of the restroom, you press your palm over your mouth, face slippery and burning and so stupid, the soft swoosh of the opening door, a paused breath as he takes in your form huddled into the wallpaper, and then the muted snick of the door closing behind him, shutting the two of you away together.

Part II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

[risuola]

▶ COCOONED — one of those lazy mornings when you wake up trapped in a tangle of hands and legs.

contents: college+roommates!au, fluff — wc. 655

a/n: very short one, i'm still painting a little background to the friendship dynamics of our trio, but I wanna take this opportunity to thank you guys for supporting this little story I'm building here and also I wanna encourage you to help me out with it! if you have any ideas for entries, please let me know through ask box!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

Taking care of your friends came easy for you. You were always like this, affectionate and protective. It was a way of showing love, through those subtle acts of tenderness and both Satoru and Suguru always thanked you for it, despite occasional teasing from their side. They were grateful for your selfless and kindhearted nature, just as you were grateful for the boundless protection you were granted ever since you got to know them. Any bully you ever stumbled upon quickly turned tail when met with the sight of your two guardians – always taller than others, always stronger and very ready to resolve issues (in more or less civilized ways).

It wasn’t a surprise that living together brought you even closer than before. It became a routine for you to help Satoru with his eyedrops first thing in the morning – because the boy has eyes of an angel but needs to protect them from harsh sunlight and environment. Then, you always make sure that a jar of Suguru’s favorite candy is full for him, so that he can pop one right after he takes his daily medicine – the one that he swears tastes like a rug somebody used to wipe up shit and vomit. They, on the other hand, never fail to help you at home or bring you sweets from the store.

One thing you were slightly uncertain about at the beginning of the one-bedroom journey was sleeping with them. You wondered if one day you’ll wake up to a black eye because of some random muscle twitch of either of them or they’ll squish you in the middle of the bed because of course you slept between them, but none of those things happened and it’s been months already. What took place, on the other hand, was evolvement of your friendship to a much more touchy one. It always came natural to you three to cuddle; you never minded their hands on your waist or legs and they never complained about you draping over them, but in one bed, it became much more intense. A progression of friendly intimacy that all three of you grew to love. A comfortable tangle of bodies that became a safe space to you and the boys, something that happened naturally and you wouldn’t have it any other way. And they wouldn’t change it either, but–

“Satoruu–! Suguuu–”

–but there were mornings like this one. You woke up trapped in a death grip of both boys, stuck against Suguru’s muscular chest and with Satoru’s strong arm wrapped around you. The white-haired head was nuzzled against your shoulder blades and as you tried to loosen up the cocoon, you ended up twisting your upper body unnaturally while your legs stayed lodged between four, much larger male ones. Your butt was pressed against Gojo’s stomach and his hand was resting below your ribs, long gone underneath the fabric of your stolen t-shirt. Long, black hair was tickling your face whenever you tried to move away from brunette’s bare pecks. Immobilized and resigned, you let out a deep exhale.

Thanks god it’s Sunday and you have nowhere to be – otherwise you’d be very late, as none of your friends seemed to be bothered by the sound of your voice calling them.

“Get back to sleep,” Toru mumbled sleepily against your back and somehow pulled you even closer to his chest and you could tell that as soon as he finished speaking, he was back in his slumber. His muffled voice did something to Suguru though, because the man hummed lowly, a sound akin to a purr. You felt his lips pressing to the top of your head and he was gone too, with his large hand resting on your hip and his bicep underneath your cheek. Helpless and surrendered, you tweaked your position to get comfortable and allowed your eyelids to drop, slowly succumbing back into the dreamland.

taglist: @kibananya, @r0ckst4rjk, @rixo-19, @soraya-daydreams, @hyun0200, @ilykii, @roscpctals99, @mushkasstuff, @siimp4youu

[yanderestarangel]

Hi can I request Yandere Bi Han mortal kombat x male reader who is a normal human has no powers just lives his life normally headcanons of how he would be as a Yandere but you can also put a little smut in it.🥰❤️😍

yandere!bi han x male reader ౨ৎ ⋆🎀｡˚ [ HUMAN AU ]

TW ┆dark themes, au, violence, manipulation, non con, dub con, ftm reader, rough sex, age gap, stalking, emotional dependence, threat, v!sex, breedkink, praise, smut, mind break, eat out, anal, blowjob.

ʚɞ a/n: I need to make a bot on this concept.

♡ ┆I really like to think that Bi Han would be a martial arts teacher who works at some martial arts academy, he has always been extremely serious and stoic but has a love for his family roots of grandmasters and skilled fighters ─ he wouldn't differ too much from his persona as Sub Zero, without powers. The Asian would live a normal life in China and have a calm routine going to the gym teaching classes from morning until afternoon and going to sleep at night too tired to think about anything else.

♡ ┆He would go out on the weekends to visit his brother Kuai Liang who lives with his wife Harumi on the other side of the city and has a renowned clothing store in the city center. He can't feel many things other than coldness and is very closed to everything and everyone, being the typical "bossy" person in the room.

♡ ┆Bi Han couldn't take a life like this anymore, he tried dating but couldn't feel the same intensity as his former partners - which always led to nights of quick sex just to satisfy his carnal desires. Riding a motorcycle around was also his passion, something to distract him from intrusive thoughts on lonely Sundays ── He would also have several tattoos adorning his muscles and biceps.

♡ ┆But everything changed when you arrived in his life unexpectedly. You were looking for self-defense classes to feel safer but from the moment you entered his gym the long-haired man's cold heart practically melted and missed a beat momentarily, as if everything slowed down in his lap for moments and he just I could see you in front of me.

♡ ┆He was... Friendly with you, he managed to smile and even make small jokes which was new even for him, as if you had unlocked something in him. You talked about self-defense classes and he smiled widely for some unknown reason he offered private classes in the afternoon at no extra cost making you stay under the free and spontaneous pressure of the fight teacher.

♡ ┆So it all started there. You became his obsession and his point of fixation... He wanted to make you love him and make you just his. It was a crazy thought since he barely knew you, but not for long. You were his man, you needed to be his.

♡ ┆The self-defense classes started with Bi Han going easy on you, a few easy jabs and among them were the "innocent" questions that came out of his mouth, your relationship status, where you lived, how old you were, what your foods were favorites and your hobbies ─ a little interrogation disguised as a genuine concern from your coach.

♡ ┆You also noticed how he liked to press your body against his, keeping you close to his muscles while showing you how many times he could easily break you in half if he wanted. "You really are a cute creature aren't you? How long are you really uh?" Bi Han would speak in a deep voice as he stood behind you and held your body lightly with a muay thai movement making you look at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror ─ his brown eyes boring into you, he could make you scream and beg for him but... Not at that moment he wanted you to come to him because he wanted to, so he soon let you go and smiled sideways. "You need to improve your defense, little boy, let's practice the blow again ok?" he said, turning his back to you and adjusting his clothes slightly while trying to ignore how hard his dick was in his pants and how his pulse was racing just from touching you.

♡ ┆You would find yourself getting closer and closer to the older Asian, he would invite you to dinner with him, or a walk even offering to take you home, after all according to him "pretty boys like you attract wolves." And he was certainly one of those wolves a silent and effective predator in his goals.

♡ ┆He can easily manipulate you and get into your mind with lies, saying that the neighborhood is very dangerous, that delicate boys like you should stay alert and let him take care of everything and take you home every day, a less invasive way of enter your life without causing much suspicion for you or third parties.

♡ ┆When you least realized it, Bi Han would already be at your house, talking to your family and pretending to be the ideal companion you needed ─ a man who cared about you and only wanted the best for you. So he soon starts to put pressure on you, saying that he could help you more intimately, that you couldn't be alone in an unknown country and even offering to marry you so you could stay permanently in China ── things escalated so quickly it made you dizzy; but you were a strong man at first and ignored all the advances he made towards you until then. What led the man to use unconventional methods to make you his.

♡ ┆He started stalking you knowing exactly where you went and placing staplers in your house, always on alert in case you tried to find another relationship besides him. He would start playing psychological games with you, knocking on your windows in the middle of the night and entering your house at night to see you shaking in fear at every loud noise and dropped things he did, quickly hiding in the shadows and watching you like a damn ghost. It didn't take long for you to be psychologically shaken, mainly because he combined all of this with anonymous messages sent to your numbers with threats like "I'll see you from here" "there's no point in covering the windows" "I'm inside your house." You were so mentally fragile that you went looking for the only safe haven you could have at that moment in unknown territory... Your martial arts teacher, Bi Han, the same man who caused all this from the shadows.

♡ ┆So soon you would find yourself accepting his support, even leaving self-defense classes because he himself said he could protect you. He has been living at your house for a while ── However, he would soon change his mind, saying that it would be better for you to go to his apartment because your 'stalker' could come back there while he was away, it was the perfect excuse for him to have you under his control. Soon you lived more in Bi Han's house than in your own staying at his mercy, it was worth it for him to spend a whole month playing the terror in your mind, after all, now he finally had you all to himself. You will be spoiled with the good and the best, foods, clothes and the affection of the older man ─ movie nights watching movies and tight hugs with Bi Han's hair tickling your face... You've never had someone who cared about you as much as he did, so it wasn't difficult to develop an emotionally dependent relationship with him.

♡ ┆You would also marry him a few months later, convinced by him because you needed to stay in the country and have a better life, but with the marriage certificate also came his possession slowly climbing the surface... He calls you "cute hubby" and made a point of leaving you at his house when he left, under lock and key and away from the madness of the world. Bi Han had a perfect life now you were dependent on him in every aspect, especially mentally since he even took you away from your own family to keep it for himself and now he really he felt alive, with a beautiful boy by his side, the true love of his life in a completely sick and twisted way, just like his mind.

♡ ┆If you tried to leave his domain he would have to make you his carnally, biting you and holding you tightly to the nearest wall of the room and looking deep into your eyes. "I gave you everything, baby boy, You won't dare leave here, right? The world out there is cruel and dirty and you were born to be taken care of by someone, to be submissive to someone, do you hear?" And it wouldn't take long for you to become a trembling mess, clinging to his muscles for support as he pounded his dick into your pussy, with force and even cruelty to mark his territory in you ── he would hold your thighs and your neck with another hand, making you look at him with each rough thrust of his cock ─ the wet and obscene noise filled your ears and made you moan even more his dick was so good that with every kiss his tip had on your uterus you could feel your brain shut down for a few seconds making the asian laugh and whisper in your ear "good boy, a good boy for your owner hm? You're going to take all my cock with that beautiful pussy, aren't you? You're going to take all my cum and be a little slut who only thinks about sit on my dick until you get everything you want... So fucking beautiful..." He would leave you dripping with cum and with a sore clit.

♡ ┆On the bed, on the floor, in the bathroom, in the living room, even on the kitchen counter, Bi Han would fuck you all over the apartment. No hole of yours will be left out, you would have a sore throat from sucking his dick and having him force you to deep throat him or with him between your legs for at least an hour even if you were shaking and in pain he wouldn't stop eating out your cunt, until he left your flesh red and overstimulated by him. He will also fuck your ass while sticking two fingers in your pussy and making you moan loudly as he thrusts his hips against yours, praise pouring into your ears while you just moaned his name. "fucking hell-!, so beautiful and so broken ─ you're such a good slut begging for me like that, you want more, slutty boy? Want me to fill you up again?" He would moan hoarsely between slutty smiles and rhythmic skin-to-skin slaps ── After that you wouldn't think about leaving or going back to your old life, you belonged to him now and you were happy being his husband. Too broken to think about getting away.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #3

CH.3 Sunny Side Up | The Menu [4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Talking to Eddie became a little easier after that night. Just a little. You greeted each other on morning shifts with tired nods, maybe a small ‘hi’ from you, a grunt from him that you’d learned not to take offence to. You’d watched time and time again as Jonathan brought his coffee to the kitchen, handing Eddie a mocha full of chocolate syrup and the boy received another grunt in thanks too. 

The diner became more familiar, as did your colleagues and it made your heart ache a little when you realised you melted into their routines, their little world as easily as they did with each other. Steve knew your favourite song, liked to turn it up when it came on the radio, pointing at you with enough fanfare to make you flush when he sang the lyrics into the end of a wooden spoon. 

Robin had invited you to hers, an unofficial girls night after a Sunday late shift that became a habit without meaning to. You shared her apartment space the way she shared yours, leftover pyjama shirts in each other's drawers, rented movies swapped between television sets. And at times, when she was home from college, Nancy would join you both, curled on the loveseat with Robin as they listened to your horror stories from Chicago. 

Argyle would offer you rides to work, always passing you on the days you missed the bus, pulling over his brightly painted van with a lazy grin and a yell of “jump in my ‘lil Chicago pizza.”

It was easy, comfortable, a slow kind of life that you craved in the city, the long days and quiet nights that you were more suited to. Hawkins was far from the white picket fence dream, but you loved your little apartment with its view of the cornfields, the long road out of town that you knew took you to work. And when the bus stopped on Sundays and you walked to the diner, you’d pass that old garage the same way you did on your first day in town and wave to Wayne. 

It was easy. It was simple. 

That Tuesday, you clocked in early after swapping a shift with Nancy, the heat rolling into the side door with you as the sun rose. It was the earliest you’d started and the diner was still quiet, a lack of customers between the midnight hours that the truckers frequented and the breakfast rush. The radio was up louder than usual, the smell of fresh bread coming from the ovens, a huge bowl of batter on the counter beside some chopped strawberries, glittering with sugar. 

“Hey! Hey what's the matter with you, feel right? Don't you feel right, baby?”

You could see Jonathan in the front of the diner, setting clean tables with new cutlery, Argyle trailing behind him - not necessarily helping, but definitely talking animatedly about something. Jim was in his office, groaning over receipts and copies of everyone’s vacation requests, two empty mugs of coffee in front of him. You weren’t sure where Ed—

“Jesus, watch it!”

You gasped on instinct as someone collided with your shoulder, a dull pain that wasn’t all that sore but scared you nonetheless. Eddie was glaring at you, holding a hot tray of morning rolls aloft with a dish towel. 

“I could’ve fucking burnt you,” he snapped, setting them down on his station with a clatter. 

You winced, an apology on your tongue, already tasting sour. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t hear you say corner, or, or door or—”

You watched as Eddie’s frown disappeared momentarily, a soft drop of his expression that made you realise at the same time he did, that he didn’t give any of those warnings at all. You thought he’d apologise then, maybe back track with a rare smile but instead his scowl deepened and he set about pulling ingredients out of the fridge. 

“Stumbling ‘round like a baby deer, man,” Eddie huffed, his voice low, like you maybe weren’t meant to hear. But you did. “Gonna end up seriously hurtin’ yourself— or someone else. Not supposed to be in the damn kitchen, told you you weren’t made out f—”

Tears burned the corners of your eyes at the first sign of conflict but your heart pounded and you let yourself get wound up. You squared your shoulders, sucked in a breath and let the sting of your eyes and the lump in your throat fuel you. “Hey!” You snapped, only sounding a little watery, a little soft. “It wasn’t— it wasn’t my fault. You’re supposed to tell someone you’re coming if you’re holding something.” You blew out a breath, acutely aware of how Eddie was watching you with raised brows. “Especially something hot. And I don’t stumble.”

You glared right back at the boy, hoping you looked as intimidating as he did, throwing your hands on your hips for good measure until you felt too much like your mom and dropped them back by your side. You squirmed in the silence, pulling self-consciously at the hem of your uniform dress, still trying to keep your lips in an annoyed flat line, your brows as turned down as Eddie’s. Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, throwing a pound of butter into a huge mixing bowl. It made the station shake with a thud and he turned his back to you before he spoke, shoulders stiff, a tattoo that curled up from his back to the nape of his neck just visible for the way he’d pulled his curl up in a bun. 

“Why are you always in such a bad mood? Huh? And I’m allowed in the kitchen,” you added, hating that you sounded haughty, but fuck this boy and his attitude problem. The hot and cold act was starting to wear thin. “I work here too.”

He turned then, the sleeves of his chef whites rolled up to his elbows, ropes of muscle and lines of ink curling around his forearms. His fingers were covered in butter and sugar, and when he took a few steps closer, brows raised at you in a challenge, he smelled like cinnamon. “That right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t back down, even though your stomach flipped. You lifted your chin higher, tried to give it back to him as good as he gave it out. “You think I come here for the good of my health?” You wanted to bite, you wanted to sink your teeth in and draw blood. You wanted to hurt. The taste of honey on fresh sourdough lingered on your tongue.  “I heard the food is shit.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared at your childish barb, but as immature as it was, the boy gritted his teeth and stormed back to the work station. The bowls clattered against each, steel on steel and the spatula he’d been using got launched into the empty sink. 

“Just stay out my way,” Eddie grunted. 

 The sharpness of his words made your throat tight, face scrunching unhappily because what had you ever done to him? You decided not to answer, pressing your lips together instead and hoping Eddie didn’t see your watery eyes when you stalked past his table. You ducked into the office, slamming your locker door as you shoved your bag inside, shouldering into Steve by accident on the way back out. 

“Oh, sorry— hey, hey,” Steve frowned, catching sight of your face. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, just smiling and shrugging him off, already pulling out your pad and pen from the front of your apron, as if the quiet diner was suddenly full of people who were desperate for their orders to be taken. You didn’t look at Eddie as you left, disappearing between the table and booths, hoping for something to clean until a table filled up. 

You didn’t see it, you didn’t hear it, but Steve walked to Eddie’s station with a scowl that matched the other boy’s and stole the spoon that was in his hand. 

“Hey!” Eddie’s head shot up, eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. “Give me th—”

“Stop being a dick,” Steve scolded, holding the spoon over his head when Eddie tried to grab it across the bench. “You’re being an ass, man. And for what?”

Eddie glared, reaching for the stolen utensil and swearing when Steve rapped the back of his knuckles with it. “What’re you even talkin’ about?”

Steve scoffed, “don’t act dumb, Munson, it isn’t cute. What have you got against the new girl?”

Eddie didn’t answer, giving up and crossing the kitchen to rake through a drawer for another spoon instead. He stalked to the refrigerator too, still scowling, piling more ingredients in his arms as he went. He walked back to Steve with eggs and fruit, jars of spices that were all different colours. Steve was still standing, shirt sleeves rolled up, his name badge on upside down. 

“Well?”

“Steve, just—” Eddie let out a huff and set a pan on the stovetop, flicking on the switches until a blue flame appeared. It bloomed into red, orange and Eddie spooned some butter into the pan. “I don’t have anything against her.” His cheeks were hot, he could feel it. A pink flush that went across his nose and attacked the tips of his ears. He cracked an egg too vigorously, shell in the yolk, making it burst. He swore. 

“No?” Steve didn’t look convinced. He handed Eddie back his spoon. “Doing your damn best to convince her otherwise. Poor kid looked like she was about to cry.”

Eddie’s eyes shuttered closed at that, guilt gnawing a hole in his chest. He cracked another egg, watched it turn white over the heat. He really wanted a cigarette. 

The bell for the diner door rang, signalling the arrival of customers, a bleary eyed bunch of business men that looked like they were from out of town. Their suits were too sharp, close shaven beards and briefcases making them look like sore thumbs against the garish decor and sticky booth seats. Both boy’s watched you approach their table, smiling sweetly and nodding shyly as you scribbled down their orders. When you turned to head to the hatch, a piece of paper ready to be slapped onto the stainless steel bar, Eddie watched as the men eyed your behind, appreciative faces and shared whispers about the way your legs looked in your dress. 

He cracked another egg, eyes narrowed, chest tighter than before. 

“Say sorry,” Steve finalised the conversation with a friendly slap to Eddie’s shoulder as he passed him. You were only a few tables away, head ducked down, eyes hidden as you approached. Steve looked serious as he said, “fix it.”

—————

By the time the clock hit eleven am, Jonathan was coaxing you into going for your break, handing your orders to Steve as he cleared the table your customers just left. He waved away your protests, voice quiet and soft as he handed you the dollar notes that were left for you beside a ketchup stain. 

“I’ve got it,” he tsked. “Go on, go get some food or somethin’.”

So you smiled and pulled off your apron as you headed through the back, already sipping on a glass of lemon water you’d poured yourself at the bar. You could hear Steve greet a family at the front door, all charm and sweetness, and the radio in the kitchen was still playing. Breakfast was almost over but the place still smelled sweet, syrup and cinnamon, cooked pancakes and fresh bread, maple bacon that the diners always ordered an extra plate of. 

Argyle was at the sink, washing a pot and he smiled as you walked across the tiles. “Wassup Chicago town?” There were bubbles on his arms, a walkman clipped to the waistband of his chef whites and headphones around his neck. “You lookin’ for Eddie?”

You frowned without meaning to, wondering if you could get away with pinching some leftover breakfast without anyone realising. Jim didn’t mind, but Eddie was way too particular with his leftovers. 

“Uh, no,” you answered. “Should I be?”

“Think he was lookin’ for you.”

You didn’t get to ask anymore questions, or even laugh at the idea of the chef seeking you out, because Eddie was coming back out from the pantry with a new bag of sugar. His eyes flitted to you as he walked to his bench, cheeks a little pink and he sprinkled some of it over a bowl of chopped fruit before he said anything. He nodded to the stool he made you sit on the other day, the one at his station and it was only then you noticed there was a plate sitting. 

Two perfectly cooked eggs, sunny side up with a huge slice of orange that was arranged like a smile. There was a single blueberry in the middle of the plate, plucked from the bowl that Eddie placed beside it, finishing off the smiley faced breakfast. 

“You hungry?” Eddie murmured, his voice softer than it had been when you last ran into him. He kept his head bent, curls framing his brown eyes, lips twisted. “You didn’t have breakfast.” 

“Wh—?” Your lips parted, your apron still fisted in your hand and you rounded the station slowly, eyes on the boy like you were waiting for the joke to land. 

Eddie’s gaze shot from you to the stool and he tilted his chin once more. “Sit.” His demand wasn’t bossy, despite the bluntness. His voice was so much more gentle than you’d heard it before. The frown was still there, the stitch between his brows but his eyes looked softer, honeyed caramel, brown sugar, the stickiest kind of toffee. “Gonna get cold.”

So you sat, looking behind you to glance at Argyle, wondering if this was strange enough for him to take notice too. Sure enough, the boy had stopped scrubbing, his hands still in the hot water as steam rose up around his confused face. He was watching the both of you, eyes glancing between you and Eddie as he tried to work out what was happening. 

Eddie turned his back on you as you stared down at the meal he’d made you, eyes still wide and something inside of you sank at the idea of his walking away. But he spun back, a fork and knife in his hand, wrapped in a napkin. He didn’t hand them to you, but he slid them across the counter, his expression neutral - you couldn’t work him out. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and Eddie nodded. You wondered if Steve and Jonathan got their breakfast made for them when they went on break, if they came into the kitchen to a bowl of fresh fruit - mangoes and berries and brightly coloured slices of citrus. You thought it would be best not to ask. “Looks good.”

Eddie hummed and nodded, waiting until you picked up your cutlery and unfurled it from the wrapping. He made his leave then, cheeks pink, curls going a little frizzy in the heat and he ducked away, picking up a crate that he took into the freezer, the large door thumping behind him. 

The napkin fell to the table as you took out your fork, marvelling over the way the yolk burst perfectly as you dug in, golden liquid pooling across your plate. You picked up the blueberry nose before it got caught, popping it into your mouth and humming at the flavour. And when you looked down, there was a word scrawled across the napkin, faded black ink on white tissue. 

“Sorry.”

—————

Eddie made sure he waited long enough for you to be gone by the time he appeared from the walk-in, nose red with the cold, skin goose pimpled under his uniform - because fucking hell, why did he decide to hide in the freezer? He came back out warily, keeping his back against the tiled wall as he peered around the corner. You were gone from his station, your twenty minute break already over and he could see your empty plate and bowl stacked at the sink beside Argyle.  

He squared his shoulders and tried to act normal as he stomped back into his kitchen, frown set back on his face but his heart was thundering. It made him feel ill, the way his chest got right, the way his stomach flipped. His station was clear of your plates, but you’d left the napkin there, the corner of it tucked under a plastic quart container so it didn’t float away. 

There, in your much neater handwriting and the pink pen you liked to take orders with, was a reply to the boy’s scrawled apology. 

“Thank you.”

Eddie stared at the words for too long, until the rosy coloured ink went blurry and his cheeks turned the same shade. He wasn’t sure where you’d gone, but he could smell perfume he assumed was yours, lingering between the stacks of chopped strawberries, the halved mango on the counter. 

“You got a crush, my friend?” 

Eddie’s head snapped up, a scowl set back on his face instinctually. He liked Argyle, he didn’t mind him at all, but the boy was standing by the sink and was looking at him knowingly. Argyle grinned and raised his brows, waiting for Eddie to answer. 

“What? No.” Eddie slammed the napkin back down on the desk. Argyle was still grinning. “Shut up.” Eddie waited until the other boy returned to the dishes before he took the napkin and folded it up, tucking it into his pocket. 

He’d bin it later, he told himself. It wasn’t a big deal. 

—————

The day Eddie was scheduled off on the rota was a much busier day. It seemed like bad luck, the main cook’s day off coinciding with the monthly farmers market that was set up in Hawkin’s Main Street. The square was filled with stalls, fresh fruit and vegetables in crates, the smell of homemade soap, lavender and rose on the breeze. The tiny storefronts helped funnel the crowds in the direction of the diner, lines of cars driving to the restaurant for breakfast, their trunks full of fresh goods and Mrs Sinclair’s apple pie slices. 

It meant your day went too fast, the tips good and the chance of a break slim. Argyle was pushed to his limit, the freezer used more than ever as the full tables called for a quicker turnaround, the frozen burger patties being used instead of the way Eddie liked to make each one fresh. But Eddie wasn’t here and you certainly weren’t thinking about him, so he didn’t need to know. And when your shift ended at five, the dinner rush was just as crazy so you stayed on until six and helped Nancy clear a table of twelve guests, two families from out of town that had too many kids and there were lines of coloured crayon along the walls that just wouldn’t shift until you gave in and brought out a bottle of bleach. 

She was grateful enough that she split the table’s tip with you, something you tried to wave away but she insisted and stuffed the dollar bills into the front of your apron, not caring about the stains, the dryer grease, the spilled coffee there. Nancy looked just as undone as you. But it had been a good day - you missed the chance to eat, and maybe get something made for you by Eddie - but you had enough cash rolled up in your purse to start a new stack in your freezer at home and the bus back into town should be due any min—

The bus rolled past before you could get to the stop, the tires squeaking in protest as it passed you by, your feet not able to take you out of the parking lot quick enough. And it was still fine, there was still a little light in the sky, that navy-lilac kinda way that told you nightfall was coming soon, or maybe rain. Maybe both. 

So you pulled the strap of your bag across your chest and wished your uniform wasn’t as starchy and tight, ‘cause the heat still lingered even in the evening, warmth collecting in the shadows even as indigo coloured clouds rolled in above. The rain didn’t hit until ten minutes into your walk, a Misty drizzle that had you scrunching your face until it turned into a downpour. A heavy summer storm where thunder shouted at you from the distance, way out across the cornfields and making the sky flash white. You ran down the sidewalk where there weren’t many places to stop, to shelter and you suddenly wished more than ever that you still had your shitty old car that you barely needed to use when you lived in Chicago. 

But the garage was coming up, a familiar building with peeling red paint on its walls and a huge shutter that was already closed a third of the way. You hoped and prayed that Wayne was still around, wondering if it would be too cheeky to ask if you could finally take him up on the offer of that ride he once asked if you needed. Weeks of passing by and waving to him - and offering a snickerdoodle from the box you once took into work for Jonathan’s birthday - had built up a quiet sort of friendship. 

The garage was quiet and the bell sounded as you pushed open the door, the workshop floor stained with oil and paint, leftover footprints that would never clean off. Cars sat asleep, some with their hoods up, engines ripped out and dismantled on the floor, and thank god, there was still a light on in the office. A warm glow through a window, the outline of a man sorting through papers and his head lifted when he heard you bump into the side of a workbench, a tool you didn’t know the name of clattering to the floor. 

You winced and raised your hand in a greeting and an apology. “Sorry, hi— I just— it’s raining.”

Wayne laughed after he got over his surprise, beckoning you in with an oil stained hand. His tiny office smelled like gas and burnt tires but his smile was as friendly and tired as it always was. “Miss the bus?” He asked. 

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest. Out of the summer air, the garage was cooler and you were drenched, goosebumps trailing across your forearms. “Drove right by me.”

Wayne tutted, sympathetic and he pushed what looked like a stack of invoices into a tray for tomorrow. “That’ll be that Hagan boy, never should’ve been allowed the job. Doesn’t pay any darned attention to nobody.” The man patted down his pockets, searching for his keys. “Jus’ gimme a minute and I’ll drop you off, think the boy took my damn keys. Hey, son—”

Another figure appeared in the doorway, cutting off Wayne’s call. This man was tall and broad shouldered, with dark curls that weren’t tied back. They hit his shoulders, wild strands springing around brown eyes that quickly widened at the sight of you. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

“Hey!” Wayne snapped with a frown. He whacked the boy’s shoulder with a rolled up newspaper he grabbed from his desk. “That’s no way to speak to a lady. I raised you better than that, you little delinquent.”

Eddie looked astonishingly different out of his chef whites and your surprise showed on your face. Out of his uniform, you could see more skin, more ink. Tattoos curling around his forearms and creeping up towards his biceps, black leaking across lithe muscles that you didn’t get to see at work. He was all dark, black jeans with rips in the knees, a black T-shirt that was well worn, the band logo on the front unrecognisable from wear and from the fact that your music taste was wildly different. 

Jewellery he didn’t get to wear glitter on him, silver rings on almost every finger, skulls and orjer horned things around his knuckles, a silver chain peeking out from underneath his collar. There was a hole in the hem of his shirt, heavy scuff marks on his big boots. He was still scowling at you though, a familiar sight that made him look more like the Eddie you knew. 

You glanced at Wayne, still confused as to why he was scolding the line cook from your work. You looked back to Eddie, lips trying to wrap around an explanation. He made you feel like you weren’t supposed to be here. “I— the bus. I missed the bus.” You swallowed, an awful shyness coming over you, or maybe it was nerves. “It’s raining.”

The weather was making itself known as the storm closed in, heavy, fat drops of rain pounding on the tin roof of the garage, a deafening roar that only got heavier. 

“Yeah, no shit.” Eddie called back, raising his voice to be heard over the din and his cheek got him another smack from Wayne. 

“You better hope I don’t find out you talk like that in the kitchen, boy,” Wayne pointed an accusatory finger at Eddie, to which the boy merely rolled his eyes at. “I’ll ask Jim, he’ll tell me.” When Eddie didn’t reply, Wayne pulled on his jacket and set about collecting more sheets of paper. He asked Eddie for his keys and pocketed them before saying, “Ed’s, be a good ‘un and take my friend here home, yeah? I gotta finish up this mess.”

When Eddie raised his brows and dropped his jaw, you were pretty sure your expression was the same. Except you were burning, both at the embarrassment of Wayne being so sweet and the idea of having to spend time with Eddie alone. 

“Friend?” Eddie scoffed. “Since when?”

You wanted the floor to open up below you. “I can, I can just walk.” You jammed a thumb at the door, at the torrential rain that was still falling angrily outside of it. “I think the rain has stopped…”

Thunder bellowed from above. A leak in the corner of the work floor dripped onto an old tire. Wayne stared at you both, unimpressed. 

And that’s how you ended up in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. 

[bitchimasnake-sss]

tryin' his best ft. roronoa zoro!

i am once again thinking about zoro as a clueless boyfriend, completely new to the dating scene. no imagine, just imagine with me 😳😳

[modern au; zoro is a martial artist]

dont talk to me, im too busy thinking about the roronoa zoro as a confused husband boyfriend🤭 like can you imagine? the greatest martial artist of all time, the beast, the demon, the lord of the underworld. and yet, when you say, "i'm so tired, babe", he stands in all his 5'11 ft glory and goes blank. blank.

roronoa zoro was the sweetest man alive but holy fucking shit he was such an idiot clueless. for the past few days or so, the man had witnessed first hand how tired you were. your eyes were puffy, face dull and spirit broken. all those meetings at work; the relentless late-night calls, stay-backs and what nots had left you a mere husk of the woman you usually were. and so, he had decided to try his best to make sure his failing actions could comfort you when his words couldn't. and that started the chronicles of roronoa zoro's day of fuck-ups.

💚 zoro can't cook for shit. he knows that, you know that and your neighbour sanji (who is a chef by profession) knows that too. and yet one of these mornings, while the dew still clung helplessly onto the green leaves, he had gotten up and slipped into the kitchen. his plan was to surprise you with some breakfast. nothing too extravagant, maybe some easy mix pancakes? but all those plans came burning down when you were awoken with a shrill crash. hair knotted, face puffy, shirt slipping off of your shoulders and the first thing you see in the morning is zoro standing with flour on his chest and on the floor. and there lay an upside down steel bowl on the floor at the edge of his feet. "zoro?" you mumbled sleepily, assessing the damage, "what are you even upto? it's seven on a sunday." "yn- uh, you go back to sleep-i'll deal with this mess." if he was trying to appear nonchalant, he was failing. his eyes were blown out, forehead creased, lips pursed as if he had committed the worst atrocity mankind had witnessed. in a way, he had. he knew it was a sunday. he also knew it was your only day off so you should have been sleeping in instead of picking after his dumbass in the kitchen. "zoro?" you asked again but he refused to say anything more. when you gave him a look of steel, the moss-head carefully avoided your gaze before sheepishly admitting, "sorry. i was trying to figure out how to make you some pancakes." your gaze softened, "were you? that's so sweet of you, zo." you walked towards him, careful as to not step on the mess. your casual touched dusted off the flour from his navy shirt that had he slept in. once you were satisfied with the state of the shirt, you had resorted to an honest smile, "come on, let's clean this up first, yeah?" "but you should sleep-" "babe- with all due respect- if i leave you to clean this, i think you will set the kitchen on fire"

💚 on his next attempt to cheer you up in the afternoon, he planned on giving you a massage. you both had been dating a good few months and he had certainly touched you in more ways than just hand-holding but... this was new. he had never really done this for anyone before and so, what if you hated it or he did it wrong? but the man had put all his wayward thoughts aside. maybe his hands could knead away the stress from your aching muscles where his words failed to comfort you? and so, the bed dipped next to you as he came and sat down. you were lying on your stomach, scrolling on your phone. his fingers lightly skimmed your back and you jolted involuntarily at the intrusive touch. looking back, you muttered, "zoro? baby?" "just um, try to relax okay?" his palm flattened against your back. he applied some force, moving his hands up and down against your tank top, kneading the flesh underneath. you seemed to melt under his earnest touches, allowing your muscles to go slack under him. dropping your phone on the bed, you carefully had tucked your head under your arms and then, you yelped, "zoRO-" "yeah?!" he stopped all movements, panicked at your sudden reaction. "it hurt." you gave him a pained look before sighing, "you put too much force, babe." "did i? sorry" he chewed on the inside of his cheek, "sorry, really. do you want me to try again?" you gave him a kind smile before tucking your head back in under your arms and stuffing your face against the pillow. "it's okay, i am just gonna lay down for a while okay?"

💚 as truly a last resort, he called up nami and told her his problem (all grumbling and shit). after the red-head had laughed for five minutes at the martial artist's inculpabilities, she finally decided to help. she pondered for a second, staring at the screen intensely before saying "i dunno? me and vivi usually get like our favourite take out and just re-watch a comfort movie. it's pretty cozy and an easy way to deal with the general stress of life, you know?" "should i do that?" zoro mumbled, resting his head against the headrest of his car. he sighed, "did she tell you anything else if it's been bothering her? other than work i mean?" "she didn't say it out loud but having you as a boyfriend must be a pain in the ass anyways." "has anyone told you you're a royal bitch?" the words were harsh but his lips were pressed into a easy smile. "hah, yeah they have. but anyways, aren't you her boyfriend?" nami snapped back although she sported a smile of her own, "shouldn't you know what you should be doing to cheer her up? honestly she doesn't deserve an idiot like you." "hey, i've had a rough day okay? lay off of me." zoro bit back. "fine, whatever. just surprise her. i am sure she'd like it."

💚 and so, roronoa zoro's final mission had begun. he had picked up your favourite food from the chinese restaurant that you always ordered from. he had picked up a huge bouquet of flowers. and he had picked up a chocolate cake as desert. on the ride back home, he had even thought about what movie you both would watch. yes. yes. there's no way he could fuck it up now. he was ready to do his best. he opened the door with a wobbling right hand while his left held onto all the things. the cake carton was perched on his fingers, the takeout on another two fingers, the bouquet tucked between his bicep and chest. he wouldn't lie. it was a struggle to get everything in in one trip (especially with his level of patience when it comes to small, annoying things like this.) but it was all for you, so, it had to be worth it. tumbling in, he set everything on the coffee table in front of your tv. and then, he walked into the bedroom where you lay sleeping in the same position he had left you in the afternoon. it had been over three hours and you hadn't stirred even one inch. god, how tired were you? slowly closing the door behind him, he stepped back into the living room.

💚 your eyes were hazy and throat unusually dry when you stepped into the living room. your muscles were somehow even more tired and you were sure your body, mind and soul were incapable of doing anything but curling up and falling asleep again. on instinct, you searched for your boyfriend. "zoro?" you squinted at the man in front of you as he was in the process of setting down food on the table. and looking around, you noticed the huge bouquet perched on the sofa. "hey-" he turned towards you wide-eyed as if you had caught him doing something wrong, "uh- hi? hey? you're up already?" "whatcha doing? what's that?" you mumbled as you walked over to him, still not processing reality. as you stared down at the table, you wondered aloud, "food?" he sighed, defeated, "yeah." your brain fog cleared up and you looked up at his blushing face wide-eyed, "wait! you bought me food?" you turned on your heel to look at the bouquet and picked it up, "and this?" rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away from you, "it was actually meant to be a surprise cause i thought you were sleeping. but-" "zoroo!!" you practically lunged at him. your hands closed in around him as you rested your head against his well-built chest. hearing his quickened heart-beat, you eased even more against his familiar, scorching skin. you buried your face even deeper against him, "thank you!" his fingers danced over your scalp. his husky voiced was accompanied by calculated strumming of his finger over your hair, "i am sorry, it was meant to be a surprise, really." you pulled away from him to look at him in disbelief, "why are you sorry?!" he swallowed thickly, eyes scattering away from yours, "because- i dunno, i suck as a boyfriend?" he winced at his admission but continued nonetheless, "i tried making you breakfast, ruined it. i tried giving you a massage, ruined that too. i tried to set up a surprise date and fucked that shit up too." "zo." your fingers are delicate against his cheek, bringing his eyes back to yours. you gave him a small smile, "you tried. for me. that's what matters." although a smile blossomed on his lips, he washed it away with another sigh, "you're just saying that 'cause you don't wanna admit i'm a fuck-up in the boyfriend category." you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, "i am saying this because i love you. and you make me feel loved." "really?" you laughed, "i mean your massaging skills can use a bit of work but... yeah, other than that you're good. really." "i'm glad me being an idiot is endearing to you." he gave you a grin, "so, wanna eat? i'm kinda hungry." "yesss!!" you mirrored his smile. you paused for a second then wondered aloud, "you know what? i think i'm gonna call in sick tomorrow. we can hang out, just you and me." "oh, really?" he scrunched his nose up as if in deep thought, "then we gotta celebrate. you know there's cake in the fridge." "OMG I LOVE YOU!!" so, yeah, roronoa zoro might be kind of an idiot. but he was your idiot.

i wanna take domestic zoro and trap him in a bottle. i wanna just keep him like that. i really liked how this turned out lol. hope you guys did too <3

[bbieangel]

Sunday Mornings — Joel Miller x F!Reader (No outbreak AU)

Summary: He was usually the one in charge. But sometimes he would test your limits to the point where you needed to teach him a lesson.

A/N: Hello hello! I've been really inspired if you can tell lol. Something possessed me to write this and it's currently 4 am, so I hope you enjoy it. I would love some feedback on my writings and remember that my requests are open! I'll leave you to it. (and yes, the song "Sunday Morning" by Maroon 5 inspired the title)

Warnings and tags: Smut, lots of it. This is basically porn without a plot. Edging, breeding kink if you squint, f!dom and sub!joel. but then joel!dom and sub!reader. oral m receiving. unprotected p in v (it's fiction, please don't do this in reality), dirty talk, orgasm denial, reader has a vagina and breasts, joel is a tease, slightly rough sex, a little bit of pain being inflicted, after care (lots of it <3)

Word count: 14.4k (don't ask me how)

divider by @/ peony chance on pinterest!

It had all started Saturday morning while you prepared breakfast. Sloppy kisses on your neck, biting at your collarbone. His hands would knead your ass and breasts. He would whisper into your ear everything he wanted to do to you when he came from work and you wanted to hold him to that promise.

But of course, work wasn't easy and he came back wrecked. Only wanted to sleep and you weren't one to demand him anything when you knew his work left him feeling exhausted some days. But it frustrated you every time it happened, he would rile you up and leave for work, leaving you to satisfy yourself however you could.

That Sunday you decided to get up and take a shower. Sundays meant slow mornings and lazy afternoons either way.

You got out of the shower, already having changed into your night gown that looked more like a dress inside of the bathroom, and you felt your boyfriend's intense gaze linger on every curve of your body. From your toes to the last hair on your head, he gawked at the sight of it all. The way the nightgown hung over the swell of your breasts, how it was just barely covering your ass with a small piece of lace. Your skin was shining from that new body lotion you had tried out, the smell being intoxicating to his nostrils. He wanted to lick it off of you. It almost felt like a personal attack, as if you were doing it on purpose.

And the thing was.. you actually were doing it to provoke him. You had gotten tired of him teasing you all day only for you to end up having to use your hands to get some relief while he walked out of the front door with that shit-eating grin on his face.

A taste of his own medicine wouldn't hurt. And, either way, he always ended up submitting to you completely. Or so you thought.

He smirked when you got on top of him, straddling his lap without saying anything. When his hands began to make their way like snakes moving under your gown, you slapped his hand away.

He yelped, looking at you with a frown.

"Ow! What was that for?"

He asked, holding his hand like a puppy who walked with his wounded paw, hanging. You grinned at the sight, the way he played the victim perfectly made you chuckle every time.

"You're not in control tonight."

You explained, and the way your eyes darkened and your voice dropped two octaves seemed to make him realize you weren't joking. That you were serious about it all, and that both excited and scared him. Because he knew too well how dominant you could be when given the opportunity.

"So I can't touch you? Anywhere?"

He asked, his voice already giving away how he would submit at the snap of your fingers.

"No. Not until I say so. Understood?"

You said with the same tone as before. One of your hands crawled up his chest until you found one of the pebbles on his chest and rubbed it with your thumb.

He let out a choked up moan, taken by surprise. He bit down on his lower lip and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. At the lack of response, you pinched it.

He whimpered and gasped, trying to sound more hurt than he really was just because you couldn't find out that he liked a bit of pain.

"Answer me, Joel."

"Yes! Yes, I understand."

He said, his voice hoarse with desire and a hint of submission.

"Yes what?"

You asked, taking advantage of his current state. He gulped before answering, his cheeks flushed a pretty rosey pink that reminded you of a liquid blush he gifted you just a couple of weeks ago.

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

He said. Oh, how well trained you had him. Almost like a dog.

Your hands traveled up and down his chest, your nails barely even touching him. The feeling was so feathery, so teasing that he couldn't help but buckle his hips underneath you just to get a bit of relief. You pinched his nipple again.

"No, no. You either take what I give you or you don't have anything."

You said, waiting for him to answer. He was quicker to react this time.

"Sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again."

He said, his eyelids dropped while his chest rose and fell heavily, trying to get a grip on himself. It was almost too easy to get him to submit, but again, it was Joel Miller. The most stubborn person you knew.

So, you should've expected his next move as you leaned down, your lips hovering over one of his nipples. Your breath tickled his skin in a way that felt torturous and delicious at the same time. But you couldn't take your time, no, he wouldn't let you. He immediately pressed your head down against him, making your lips wrap around his nipple.

He was stronger than you so getting his arm out of the way wasn't a battle you were going to win. But you could use other strategies to finally put him in his place, such as biting down his nipple. He jumped, letting go of your head. The bite hadn't been that strong either way.

Your tongue lapped against the reddened and hard button just one, and then you pulled away.

"You know what? I'm tired of you being a goddamn brat. You're going to learn how to be in your place."

You spoke through clenched teeth as you pulled down his boxers, making him gasp. His cock laid against his soft stomach, all hard and already glistening with a bead of precum. The tip was a shade of red you would only see when he was really desperate, and this time wasn't any different.

You were going to give him what he wanted, or at least you made him believe that's what you were going to do. You spat down on your palm and wrapped your long fingers around his thick length, pumping him at a steady rhythm.

His back arched and your name fell out of his plush, velvety lips. The sound went straight to your core, making you drip with desire and clench around a ghostly feeling of the countless times he had fucked you that week.

He, on the other hand, was too far gone to notice that. His eyes were closed as he groaned and gripped the sheets to try and ground himself.

"Eyes on me, pretty boy."

You commanded and he complied, looking at you with these chocolate dripping irises of his. The ones that had made you fall in love with him in the first place, and ones that could make you melt into a puddle of nothingness.

You nodded softly at him.

"I know, baby. It feels so good, doesn't it?"

You cooed, the sound of your tender voice contrasting your harsh actions as your pace picked up drastically. With that, you earned a louder moan from Joel, one that indicated you had found the perfect pace. One of his hands went to touch your cheek but he seemed to remind himself of your previous boundaries, so he held back.

"Good boy, Joel. I knew you could be good for me, baby."

You spoke into his ear and all of the hairs in his body stood up, sending a delicious pang of warmth to his lower stomach. One that stirred his closeness.

Suddenly, you slowed down, which pulled him out of his almost drunken state. His eyes snapped open at you with a look of betrayal, almost.

"Darlin' why are you stoppin'?"

He questioned you, his legs trembling with need for release.

"I don't know."

You shrugged, leaving him to overthink the reasons as you leaned down. You took him into your mouth, not even giving him time to adjust to the warmth and dampness of your oral cavity before you moved down, down, down..

Until your lips touched the base of his cock. He cried out your name and his grip on the sheets only grew stronger. You, on the other hand, inhaled deeply through your nose, combating against your gag reflex.

"Sweetheart, if you don't move I'm— mmph— Imma c-come.."

You let him go with a pop. He let out a whine, something you had never heard before. Joel Miller was, indeed, a whiner after all.

He grunted with frustration, finally picking up on what you were doing. Denying him the right to have his orgasm.

After a few seconds you started pumping him with your hand again, making his face twitch with pleasure. His skin seemed golden under the cast of the sun that slipped through your curtains. Slow mornings with lazy sex were a one thing, but slow mornings where you could edge Joel Miller? That hadn't happened before, and you were enjoying every second of it.

As you grabbed one of his balls and started massaging it, he tried to close his legs with a moan. His abdomen contracted in a way that told you he was about to be close again.

"Ah, ah. Keep them spread for me, baby boy."

You spoke lowly and he complied with a whine, looking at you with glassy eyes.

"Oh.. What's wrong? You don't like being edged?"

You said with a mocking pout. He whined again at that, knowing he was in a place you had been countless of times. This time he would get to feel how frustrating it was to get your orgasm being taken away at the last moment, over and over again.

He nodded, his eyebrows scrunched up in the most beautiful way.

"N-No, ma'am, I don't like it. Just.. let me come."

He spoke, his voice was ragged with desire and you were afraid he would draw blood from his bottom lip if he kept chewing on it like that.

"Is that the proper way to ask me? Try again."

You spoke, letting go of his length once again. The absence of your skin around him left him feeling the way his heard was pounding on his ears. Not for too long, though, because you were back at taking him until his tip was touching the spongy skin on the back of your throat.

He let out a ragged scream, then gasped for air. He hit the mattress like a wrestling player did when they were being grabbed with too much force.

"I'm gonna— darlin'— I'm—"

He said, and once again to no one's surprise, you pulled him out of your mouth. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of his length all covered in your saliva and precum just pouring out of his red, angry tip.

"Please, please ma'am. Please let me come, I promise I won't tease you again."

He panted, looking at you with glassy eyes. His expression was a sight to behold: his lips were slightly swollen and parted, his chest rose and fell rapidly at the way he tried to catch his breath, his cheeks tinted almost red.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and his hair was disheveled. All spread out for you, Joel Miller was begging for you. And it made you feel proud, so much that for a moment you forgot the power he actually had over you.

At your lack of response and the way you were almost gawking at his cock, he flipped you onto your back and caged you under him. You gasped in surprise but he was quicker, holding your wrists above your head.

"I'm tired, darlin'. I'll make sure I get my fill until the neighbors are complaining 'bout your damn screams."

He spoke, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

He almost ripped your panties apart by how hard he pulled them. He would never hurt you, never touch a hair on your body. But when it came to being rough he almost transformed into a different person.

You immediately felt two of his thick, long fingers stretch you out. He pumped them easily, given how wet you already were.

"Yeah, she's so wet for me. Already makin' a mess of the new sheets, isn't she?"

He spoke and you could only nod as he curled your fingers, touching that spot he knew by memory now. You arched your back.

"Shh, I know she feels good. M'gonna fill 'er up over and over."

He whispered in that velvety, smooth voice he managed to pull out in moments like this. His southern drawl was ten times sexier during sex.

He pulled his fingers out, all slick and shiny with your juices. Your hole clenched around nothing, making you feel empty.

He brought his fingers up to your lips, you already knew what to do. You parted your lips open and he pushed them inside, the tangy flavor making you hum in pleasure. If Joel Miller knew one thing you would never admit, was that you loved to taste yourself.

After you licked his fingers clean, he pulled them out and sucked on them. He gripped your hips and aligned himself with you, making you squirm when the tip threatened to enter.

"So eager for me, baby. Look at 'er, clenching 'round nothing. M'gonna give her something to clench around."

He said, hovering over your body until your lips were almost touching. With one swift movement, he drowned himself inside of you, making you spill onto the sheets.

He groaned and you let out a cry, at which he hushed you.

"Shh, I know. I know it hurts but you brought this upon yourself, darlin.'"

He spoke as he started moving without giving you even a second to adjust. Your walls clenched him in ways that made him almost delirious.

He moaned and panted into your ear, adding to the whole overwhelming experience.

"She's so tight, honey. Gonna milk me dry, isn't she?"

She spoke and you could only babble incoherent sentences, too far gone in the mixture of fading pain being quickly replaced by pure pleasure.

"Mmph—Joel.."

His name rolled off your tongue so sweetly, so desperately that it almost broke his dominance. But again, you had played with him for a long time, making him look pathetic.

And he would return the favor.

As he picked up the pace, your hand tried to go to your sex so you could rub your clit in search of that release you desperately needed. But he pulled your hand away, holding it above your head again.

"This ain't 'bout you, sweetheart. I will come first, then we'll see what I do with ya."

He spoke as he started thrusting you harder, the room being filled by the pat, pat, pat of his hips snapping against your skin, and his balls hitting the swell of your ass.

You closed your fists around the air because, if your hands were free, you would be carving your name on his back.

As his body started trembling you knew he was close, also by the way his cock twitched inside of you.

One, two, three thrusts and he gripped your hips so hard you were sure you would walk around with bruises for the next few days. The warm liquid of his seed spilled inside of you and, by consequence, onto the poor sheets that were almost transparent by now. He groaned and panted onto the crook of your neck.

After catching his breath he pulled out, collecting the remaining of his semen dripping from your hole and pushing it inside once again.

"Gotta keep it inside, darlin'. And ya better do because if not, m'gonna fill you up again."

He said and you whimpered. You could feel your little bundle of nerves pulsating with need, and he simply left you unattended.

As he went to the bathroom you held your legs up against your chest, clenching tight so nothing would spill out. He came back with a rag to clean up himself and you, but when he raised an eyebrow at your direction you knew you were fucked. Quite literally.

It was impossible to keep it inside, what did he think? That it wouldn't drip?

Without speaking, he brought you over to the edge of the bed and placed a pillow under your pelvis to hold you up. Then, he went and positioned himself between your legs again.

"This is what happens when you try to be dominant. What did you learn today, darlin'?"

He asked as he buried himself inside of you once again, making you cry out in pleasure. Your pussy was just exhausted from keeping up with him, and so were you. You just wanted him to let you come on his dick, or without it, you couldn't care less anymore.

"T-That I shouldn't –fuck, Joel – I shouldn't try to be dominant."

You spoke as hot tears streamed down your face, your legs trembling as he put one over his shoulder. You screamed in pleasure when the new position angled him better to touch that part of your cervix that made you see stars.

"That's a girl.. If you keep up, Imma let you come. Is that what you want? You wanna come?"

He asked, and you knew it was better to answer rather quickly.

"Yes! Yes, please. Please let me come."

You responded desperately, grasping his arms and digging your nails on his flesh. Take it as a way to return the bruises on your hips.

He kept on hitting that same spot inside of you, making you squirm and call out his name like a prayer. He wouldn't give you a break, wouldn't let you catch your breath.

Suddenly, he licked his thumb and pressed it against your clit, making you grip the sheets.

"Please, p-please, Joel. Please let me."

You mumbled and he smirked at the sight of you. Your hair was sticking to your face after sweating so much, and your lower lip was swollen from biting down on it. Soft, glistening tears made their way down your cheeks.

"'s okay, princess. Imma take care of you. Just gonna fill you up once more."

He spoke in a slightly breathless tone. His body was covered in sweat as well and his face scrunched up every time he would push his cock into your cunt once again. He picked up his pace and began rubbing your clit without stopping.

You wanted to come? Fine. But he wouldn't be gentle about it.

Your moans began coming out more shortly and fast paced, leaving almost no space between one and the next.

"Come f'me, sweetheart. Let me hear you while I fill you up again."

He spoke against your ear, holding your waist now. His hands trembled as he spoke, he was so close.

You were drenched at this point, mixed juices dripping to the floor as you felt him twitch once again inside of you. A rush of white painted your walls and that was the deal breaker for you.

You screamed as you came, tears coming out harder as you gripped his arm like a lifeline. You weren't sure when it would ever stop, the endless waves of pleasure hitting you over and over again.

The next thing happened all while you tried to recover. Joel pulled out with a grunt and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, then reached for the wet rag and very carefully cleaned you up.

He scooped you out of bed and had you sit down on the toilet, all while he changed the sheets into new ones.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart. I jus' need to change those sheets, okay?"

He said before kissing your cheek lovingly. When he came back he didn't even let you walk back, oh no, he couldn't let you lift a finger. He scooped you back up and laid you in bed, tucking you in.

You felt as if your limbs had turned into jelly and your mind was still too focused in coming down from everything that had happened. So, he wasn't surprised when you simply closed your eyes and let yourself be pulled into his chest, cradling you with his arms.

Before that, though, he helped you sit up just for a moment so you could chug on a glass of cold water he had brought for you. That helped make you feel a little bit more composed.

He spoke loving words to you, telling you how amazing you were and how much he loved you. Sunday mornings were almost ritually like that with Joel: wake up, have sex, and go back to sleep in the arms of one another.

His fingers gently threaded your hair when slumber called you and you answered, falling asleep on his chest. His movements became lazier and slower until they came to a stop when he also fell asleep, all while keeping an arm over your waist.

Because, no matter how rough he was during your most intimate moments, he would always protect and care for you. Even in his sleep.

[strvngeweather]

It's All Greek to Me; a one shot.

🕮 PAIRING: collegetutor!jimin x partygirl!reader 🕮 GENRE: College AU, smut 🕮 WORD COUNT: 4.8k 🕮 WARNINGS: Smut, Smut, Smut 🕮 SUMMARY: After failing your college classes, you need a tutor. But if tutor, why so damn hot? 🕮 AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was originally going to be a full-length fanfic, but I decided to make it a short one. I still may expand on it. Let me know what you guys think. Also, my bestie gave me the idea when she said, "Jimin look like he likes ass." LMAO.

Despite your hatred for hangovers, you always ended up with one.

Today was no exception. As the resident party girl at Loren University, there was no way you would ever miss a weekend rager, but as your alarm clock went off for the fifth time that morning, you began cursing at yourself. Maybe going to a party on a Sunday night wasn’t a good idea.

Scheduling a tutoring session at eight in the morning was an even worse idea.

You had many strong suits, but English wasn’t one of them. It was the one subject you had struggled with since you were in high school. Analyzing the words of dead white men from centuries ago was just about as much fun as watching paint dry. Numbers were much more your thing. They were easy and in the words of Cady Heron, ‘Math was the same in every language.’

But you needed to pass. It’s not as if you were here on your parents’ dime like the other kids. You were a scholarship kid and if your grades slipped, so did you. Out the doors and on your ass. So, when you got your last paper back with a big fat ‘D’ written on it, you knew it was time to take action. And that meant getting a tutor.

You just happened to forget that today, on this bright and early morning, with a pounding headache and dry mouth, you were supposed to be meeting him.

Again, you ask, who the fuck schedules a tutoring session at eight in the morning?

With a groan, you grab your phone, hoping to hit the ‘snooze’ button on your alarm one more time before you really had to get up but when your eyes read the time you realize that it’s damn near eight-thirty. How many times have you hit the snooze button? You wonder but realize you’re only wasting more time. Without a second thought, you hop out of bed and into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and running a comb through your curly hair. Your make-up is smudged, and you still have on the shimmering dress from last night but there’s nothing you can do about it now. You grab a hoodie off your desk chair and hightail it to the school’s library.

.

Inside study room 007, you find a very annoyed, albeit very handsome senior waiting at the table. Laid out in front of him are a stack of books, notebooks, and flash cards. Pens and pencils are lined up neatly in a row. He all but glares at you as enter. Before you can speak, he glances at his watch and then looks back at you. “You’re late.”

“I know,” you say, out of breath. “I got caught up …” you scramble, trying to think of a lie instead of admitting you had spent the night throwing ass to Megan thee Stallion and Cardi B but your folder of excuses in the very back of your brain shows up empty. That might be for the best, you realize as you look over your tutor.

“Partying?” He finishes the sentence for you. His eyes rake over you in judgment. “Maybe that’s why you’re failing English.”

Now wait a damn minute. You scoff, crossing your arms. Your brain is foggy, you desperately need a glass of water – and, not to mention, your skin feels beyond icky. The last thing you can do right now is come up with a proper comeback so the only thing you manage to utter is, “Or maybe English is just hard.”

“You speak it every day, how hard could it be?”

“Whatever,” you say, sitting down across from him.  “Can we just … start?”

Jimin checks his watch again. “We might as well. We’ve got thirty minutes left. Let’s make the most of it.”

“I thought I had you for an hour.”

“Yes, and you were late so that hour has turned into thirty minutes. I’ve got things to do, Ms. L/N. I can’t wait around for you all day,” he replies, picking up a black ballpoint pen. “Let’s get started.”

“I’d much prefer it if you called me, Y/N,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “And you’re Jimin, correct?”

He nods curtly. “Alright, Ms. L/N, your form said you have an upcoming paper that focuses on the themes from Nella Larsen’s Passing. What part of the story are you at?”

You roll your eyes but choose not to correct him about your name and instead just answer his question. “I’m not on any part.”

His eyes brighten. “You mean you’ve already finished? Well, great, let’s jump right into discussion –”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not on any part because I haven’t started the book.”

Jimin looks at you as if you grew another head. “Your essay for the book is due next week. The book is less than two hundred pages. What do you mean you haven’t started yet?”

You shrug. “I figured since it’s such a short book I could probably finish it and write the essay in the same day.”

“And what day were you planning on doing that since our study session is right now?”

That day was last night but as you both knew you had gotten caught up with … other things. “I guess I figured we’d start the book together and I’d just get the essay done next week.”

Jimin sighs. “Ms. L/N, whatever you manage to vomit onto paper will not bring your grade up in the slightest if you follow your method. I guarantee that.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes – again. “That’s what you’re here for. You’re my tutor so tutor me in the right direction.” Jimin studies you for a moment and then he begins carefully putting his things away into his messenger bag.  “Wait. What are you doing?”

“Ms. L/N, you can reach out to me once you’ve read the book but until then, we have nothing to discuss. I only meet with students who are serious about their education,” he places his bag over his shoulder and nods toward you. “Have a good day.”

“Um, hello! You can’t just leave,” you say, getting out of your chair.

“I can and I am,” Jimin replies, and with that, he walks out of the study room. You begin to follow him but decide against it. What good would that do? He was rude and had judged you from the moment you walked in the door. You didn’t need a tutor like that.

You decided you were going to go to the campus café, buy a large coffee, and then go home to take a much-needed shower.

. . . .

“He was a jerk,” you tell your best friend, Winter, taking a long sip of your mango-pineapple smoothie. “He left right in the middle of our session.”

Every Tuesday was the same. A morning class and then a lunch date with your bestie, Winter, at your favorite smoothie place about twenty minutes away from campus.

She shakes her head but not at him. “Y/N, I love you, but you were late. You didn’t read the material, and you had the nerve to have an attitude. I would have walked out on you too.”

Harsh but it was the truth. You weren’t quite ready to admit that you were somewhat at fault too. “Okay, but I’m saying, he didn’t have to be rude about it though.”

“What’d he look like?”

“He would be fine as hell if he wasn’t so rude,” you answer honestly.

She shakes her head, amused. “What did you end up getting on your essay anyway?”

After the last encounter with Jimin, you decided you’d find another tutor, but in the meantime, you were going to stick with your tried and true. You did exactly what you had told Jimin you would do. You read most of the book in one evening and managed to type up a paper in the same night, confident that you had aced it. But when you looked online, checking your grade, you realized Jimin had been right. Regardless, you weren’t going back to him.

You sigh. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Winter replies. “Because if Jimin is right, then I think you should give him a call.”

“Jimin Parker?”

You and Winter look up to see Jennie Kim hovering above you. Her freshly dyed blonde hair cascaded in waves down her slender face. You may have been the resident party girl, but Jen was the resident party queen.

“Hey Jen,” you say, motioning for her to take a seat. “Yeah, Jimin Parker. You know him?”

She sits between you and Winter. “You mean that gorgeous senior? Ugh, I had him as a tutor last semester.”

“How’d he do?” Winter says, giving you a knowing look.

You lean forward. Jennie was known for many things but having good grades was not one of them. In fact, you wondered how she managed to make it this far without being kicked out. But, if Jimin could manage to get her grades up, then he truly was a miracle worker.

“Amazing,” Jen gushes. “I got an A on my last three papers. I wanted him again this semester but apparently, he’s all booked up.”

You groan as Winter gives you another look. You pull your cell phone out of your pocket and dial Jimin. “Hello?” You reply as he answers. “Hi, yeah, Jimin, it’s Y/N. I was wondering if we could set up a session …”

…

For his sake (and mostly yours) you schedule an afternoon session and this time, you show up prepared. When he arrives, he’s shocked to see you already in the study room.

“Good afternoon,” he says, rounding the table to sit across from you. You get a whiff of his cedarwood cologne. “I see you’re on time.”

“I’m early,” you correct him. “You’re on time.”

“That I am,” he says, taking a seat. You watch him closely as he carefully takes out various pens and pencils, notebooks, and flashcards. He really is handsome, you think, even if he is an ass. “I see we’re studying Oedipus Rex by Sophocles?”

You nod your head. “I read it. I don’t understand it.”

“What exactly don’t you understand?”

“Not a single word in that book. They might as well be speaking Greek.”

He sighs. “Well, it is a Greek book.”

“Clearly,” you reply. “So where do we start?”

“I guess at the beginning.”

. . . .

Things were going smoothly. You found yourself actually understanding the material and surprisingly, enjoying it. But you also found yourself getting lost in Jimin at times. The more time you spent with him, the more you developed a crush. Your mind would wander as your eyes looked over him. You wondered how soft his full lips were. You wondered what his eyes looked like in moments of passion. You wondered how good it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms.

Your eyes were on his arms when he called your name. “Huh?”

“I asked did you want to go over the scene between Antigone and Polynices again?”

You shake your head. “No, I think I understand. Antigone wants him to call off the war, but Polynices’ pride won’t let him.”

“Correct,” Jimin replies with a smile.

Fuck, you think. Jimin had a smile that would make anyone melt. “Jimin,” you begin and mentally kick yourself for what you’re about to ask but you’ve started so you might as well finish. You put on your best flirtatious smile. “What do I get if I ace my next paper?”

He seems to know what you’re hinting at. “You get an A and the satisfaction of knowing your hard work paid off.”

Well, if that wasn’t a blaring rejection, you don’t know what is. “Do you have a girlfriend?” You blurt it out before your brain can even process whether the question was appropriate or not.

He blinks, slightly taken aback. “Yes, yes, I do. Why?”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible even though you feel as if you’ve just gotten stung by a million honeybees. “No reason. You just seem so into your academics; I didn’t think you had time for that kind of stuff.”

“Well, a human being still needs a social life to thrive,” he replies coolly. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You nod. “Yes, and his name is Jose Cuervo.”

He laughs. “I’m sure you have a line of men knocking on your door.”

“Nobody I want though,” you say, mostly to yourself.

. . . .

If crushing on him wasn’t enough, now you were dreaming about him. A week of erotic dreams plagued you. They felt so real. You could smell his signature cologne as he pushed in and out of you, your legs on his shoulders and his arms wrapped around your thick thighs. Each dream ended the same though, just as he was about to finish, your alarm would wake you up and you would spend a good five minutes finishing yourself off before getting ready for the day.

Instead of a study room at the library, Jimin asked you to meet him at his apartment for the study session. He mentioned something about time constraints, appointments, and being unable to book a study room but your brain had been stuck on, “Wanna meet me at my apartment? We can have a quick recap sesh before I have to run out?” He could barely finish his question before you agreed to it.

So, sue you for being curious.

It’s not like anything will happen, you thought as you parked, he has a girlfriend.  You arrived twenty minutes early. Your excitement had gotten the best of you and you knew how much Jimin liked it when you were on time. When you knocked on the door, a man almost as handsome as Jimin answered.

“You must be Y/N?” he asked, sticking out his hand. “I’m Taehyung.”

You nodded, the thought of becoming a Wattpad heroine and having two incredibly attractive men fight over you danced around in your head. You shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung.”

As he let you in, he explained he had somewhere to be, but that Jimin was in his room and to head right in. You gave the door a light knock but didn’t receive an answer. The door was slightly ajar, giving you the smallest view of a very neat bedroom. You spotted Jimin at his desk, looking at something on his large computer monitor. It looked familiar. Your curiosity ate at you, forcing your hand to ever-so-gently open the door further. This time you could see what Jimin was looking at clearly.

It was you. It was your Instagram feed. He was scrolling through your pictures, pausing at every photo that was a bit risqué.

“Fuck, Y/N …”

That was your name. Leaving his lips. In a moan. Your heart fluttered with excitement. But wait, was he …

As you tilt your head to get a better view, you can see the tip of his elbow on the armrest, bobbing up and down. And up and down. And up and down.

Oh, he definitely was.

You slap a hand over your mouth and tiptoe back to the living room. A few minutes later, you hear a shower turn on and ten minutes after that, you see Jimin emerge in a navy blue V-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Hey,” Jimin looks at you with a face full of guilt. You can’t help but smile. “How long have you been waiting?”

“I just got here a few minutes ago,” you lie, looking up from your phone that you were pretending to be engrossed in. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

“Good, good,” he says. “Let’s go to the kitchen. The lighting is better in there.”

. . . .

After three weeks of hard work and several study sessions, you submit your paper with all the confidence of Scott Disick. Winter, the best friend that she is, decided that this was the best time to reward your good behavior with a couple of jello shots at your favorite bar. You gobble up the first two and then decide to sip on a blue Long Island iced tea. That’s when you spot him. Sitting in a corner, next to his roommate and another man with tattoos up and down his arms. Instead of his usual tweed blazer and grey slacks, his outfit looks more modern, more casual. A white graphic tee hugs his toned body, and you can’t help but eye his biceps. His cheeks are slightly red, his eyes are glossy and he’s laughing harder than you’ve ever seen him laugh. He looks delicious but you turn around and decide to order another shot from the bar.

You spot Winter getting her mack on with a fellow classmate, Karina, and it’s then you realize that you’re probably going to be alone for the rest of the night. Just as you begin to grab your wallet to pay your tab, a familiar figure approaches you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he’s wearing a smile you’ve never seen before, and it makes your insides flutter.

“I could say the same thing,” you reply. “I never thought I’d see Jimin Park in a bar.”

“I don’t spend all my time in the library,” Jimin says.

“Could have fooled me,” you tease, taking a sip of your drink. “What brings you out among people?”

He orders a whiskey sour before turning to you. “I, Y/N L/N, am finally a single man. My girlfriend of two years has decided that she no longer wants me.”

He’s smiling but you can see sadness behind his glossy eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. “Her loss.”

“Oh definitely,” he says with a slight slur. “You want to know the real reason she broke up with me?”

You shrug. “Lay it on me.”

He leans in close, so close his body is pressed up against yours. He angles his lips to your ear and whispers, “I was too much for her.”

“Oh …”

“Yeah,” his words spill out in a rush, his eyes darkening as they take you in. They pause at your mini-skirt before crawling up your body slowly. You suddenly feel exposed, as if he just completely undressed you, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t love it. His voice lowers to a sultry whisper, “You don’t seem like that though.”

“Seem like that?”

“Like I’d be too much for you.”

“In what way?” You ask, genuinely curious.

He leans toward you, his lips brushing past your ear, forcing every hair on the back of your neck to stand up. “Sexual. You look like a good girl who knows how to take a pounding.”

A million thoughts ran through your head as Jimin broke out into a sardonic laugh. You were called back to that time you caught him masturbating to your pictures. You began to wonder if the prim and proper Jimin was just a façade to hide the sexual deviant he really was. His eyes look over you in a way they never have, and you swore they were clouded with lust. He licks his full lips, and you want nothing more than to kiss them, but you don’t. Instead, you take a step back and laugh, motioning to his roommate. Jimin was drunk and even though it looked like he wanted to bend you over the bar and give it to you, you knew better than to take advantage of a drunk man.

….

A week later, when you enter the study room, the moment you and Jimin exchange glances, you feel awkward. He looks embarrassed as he gestures for you to sit down.

“We need to talk,” he says. “I want to apologize about the other night at the bar.”

“It’s okay, I barely even gave it a second thought,” you lie. You had thought about that moment ever since it happened.

“No, it was inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“Jimin, you were drunk, it’s fine. Besides, it was nice to see a different side to you,” you reassured him with a smile.

“That’s not a side that I would like to be representative of who I am,” Jimin admits. “I don’t want to be known as the guy who makes people uncomfortable.”

You laugh. “Believe me, I was the farthest thing from uncomfortable.”

He locks eyes with you for a moment before clearing his throat and motioning toward your phone. “Have you checked your grades yet?”

You gasp, suddenly remembering the paper you had submitted a week earlier. You quickly bring up your most recent webpage, searching for the most recent grade listing. As your eyes glance over your paper and the notes, you realize that Jimin lived up to his reputation. You get up, shoving the phone in his face, squealing.

His eyes brighten, and he gets up as well. “You got an A!”

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Jimin, to your surprise, doesn’t push away. Instead, he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. You take the moment to breathe in his intoxicating scent. The both of you remain intertwined far longer than you both know is appropriate but for some reason, neither one of you makes the move to let go.

Finally, Jimin relents first. He stares you in the face and says quietly, “I knew you could do it.”

You let out a small laugh. “I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you, Jimin”

“As a reward, we can end the session ten minutes early today,” Jimin replies and sits back down.

You find yourself shaking your head. “Can I request a different reward?”

Jimin looks up at you and nods. You look around the small study space. The room you chose was in the back, the library was relatively empty today and the small window the room provided was on the door and could easily be covered up the shade provided. You mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to say next. Things could go downhill, fast, depending on his reaction. Still, you steady yourself, look Jimin in the eyes and say, “I want a kiss.”

“What?”

“A kiss,” you repeat confidently. “I want you to kiss me as a reward.”

“I can’t kiss you,” he replies back, taking study materials out of his messenger bag. “That would be highly ina –”

“Jimin, if you don’t want to kiss me, just say so but don’t use the tutor-student relationship as a reason.”

He sighs. “I …” You watch as he struggles to find the right words.

“You were right about me,” you say, giving him a flirtatious smirk. “At the bar. I can take a good pounding.”

His face turns a beet-red, but he quickly recovers. He stands, walking to stand in front of you. “Just one kiss?”

“One kiss,” you repeat.

He leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips, lingering for only a few seconds before breaking the kiss. “That good?”

You shake your head. “I hardly think that’s worth all the work I put in.”

He smiles, genuinely amused, and says, “Really?”

You nod. “Maybe if it was longer …”

Jimin sighs. “Y/N, if it’s longer, you know what that will lead to …”

“Then let it lead to that,” you challenge, you push. “I don’t know why you have to act so anal-retentive all the time. Not everything has to be perfect. Just k—”

He cuts you off with a deeper kiss. It’s slow and sensual. His hands wrap around your waist, one of them running down the curve of your ass as he palms it slowly, indulging in the fleshy softness. You can feel his dick hardening on your thigh as he slips a tongue into your mouth.

Jimin is using both hands to palm your ass now, his dick grinding into you and a low, deep, moan leaves his mouth forcing an electric sensation to shoot down your spine and vibrate in your core.

“You sure you want this?” he asks through a searing kiss.

“Yes,” you think you say but you’re not sure. Your head is spinning that this is actually happening.

He responds by lifting your pleated skirt and smacking your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room. Fingertips dance between your ass crack, and he uses a knee to part your legs slightly further. You break the kiss, throwing your head back as you feel Jimin’s fingertips slowly rub your pussy from the back. He slips a finger into your underwear, running it up and down your slit.

“How long have you wanted this?” He asks, nipping at your neck. “You’re already so fucking wet.” You try to answer but all that comes out is a moan as he slips another finger inside. “Shh,” he tells you. “You want the whole library to hear you?”

He gives you a bit of a reprieve when his hands slip away. You watch as he pulls out one of the chairs and sits, beckoning for you to stand in front of him. Your skirt is still at your waist, so he pulls your underwear down before pulling you close. You feel his large hands grope your ass again, peppering kisses up and down your hips. Another smack echoes through the room before he uses a hand to caress clit. You move your hips in response, holding on to the table for balance.

He pauses. “Turn around and bend over.” He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You obey, and not a second later, you feel him placing one of your legs up on the study table. “Arch that back, baby.” Your ass juts out just a little more as you follow his directions. A moment later you feel a cool, wet, sensation going up and down the slit of your core. It’s slow at first, as if he’s taking the time to let the taste of you marinate on his tongue but he quickly picks up his pace. The tip of his tongue flickering over your clit. Meanwhile, you can feel his thumb, massaging your anus.

Jimin was an ass man, and he was making that very clear.

Both hands were gripping your ass now as he guided your pussy over his tongue. You work your hips in tandem, stifling a loud moan as your world begins to go white.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

He moves his tongue from your pussy up to your anus, and you jerk, having never quite felt something like this before. You can hear an amused laugh leave Jimin’s throat as he begins to massage your ass with his tongue. His fingers working your pussy, begging for another orgasm. You oblige, your wetness dripping all over his fingertips.

“Don’t move,” he demands. You can hear his belt unbuckling, followed by the tips of his dick moving up and down your incredibly wet slit. He slides it in with the patience of a saint, excruciatingly slow, forcing whimpers out of you, begging him to go faster. “You sure you want it faster?”

“Please,” you moan.

“Please, what?”

“Please, Jimin,” you manage to utter out.

He gives you your wish and begins to pound you like he said he would. His pace quickens and you can feel every inch of him inside of you. Your pussy wraps around him which causes him to smack your ass, and a deep moan leaves his lips.

You realize he can’t have all the fun though and you begin to throw it back on him, your ass bouncing against him, and he lets you. You can hear your wetness as you begin to drain his dick. You can hear his low grunts of satisfaction as you pick up your pace and when you look back, you can see his dark eyes looking at you in a way you never wanted to stop. “Good fucking girl,” he whispers in a low voice.

You make eye contact which forces him to grip your hips and pound into you harder, faster (stronger).  “One more time baby,” he says to you, maintaining eye contact. “Cum on this dick.” You had already been close, and his words only sent you over the edge further than you had ever gone. You close your eyes, your body shaking in pleasure as you have your third orgasm on his dick.

He follows suit, his cum shooting deep inside of you. You feel his body on top of yours as you both try to catch your breath.

“Was that worth all your hard work?’ He asks.

“I think I’ll have to get A’s for the rest of the year,” you reply.

“The rest of your life.”

[serafilms]

OH, WE MUST STOP MEETING LIKE THIS

patrick zweig x reader

summary: in which patrick zweig is the bolter (the bolter by taylor swift). wc: 3k

kind of an alternate timeline spinoff of the golden quartet

(rather than an au, it's more like an alternate patrick x reader centric timeline, and an exploration of their dynamic and how it intertwines with the bolter, because i listened to it again after watching challengers, and thought to myself, "wow, this song is so patrick coded.”)

You like Patrick Zweig because he makes you feel like he’s yours.

The sudden hand that claps onto your shoulder almost sends your soul into orbit as you jump in your seat, fork dropping to your tray. It is very soon forgotten.

“Patrick, oh my god!” Your arms are thrown around him, chair pushed to the side, and Patrick stumbles a little on the impact.

When you part, he’s grinning at you and you turn your head back to the table, where Art is munching on an apple with the corners of his mouth twitching up.

“Did you know he was here?” You ask him.

Art gives a shrug as he swallows. “He said he wanted to surprise you.”

You tug at Patrick’s arm to sit as you settle back into your chair.

He gives you an exaggeratedly sloppy kiss on your cheek and you cringe in disgust, butterflies in your stomach all the while. “Had to surprise my favourite girl.”

“Thought Art was your favourite girl,” you quip. The blond kicks your shoe in retaliation.

“You can both be,” Patrick announces as he grabs Art’s apple and takes a bite. “So,” he says through a mouthful, “It’s Friday. What are we doing tonight?”

“Well,” you say, “I have an essay due Sunday, so I’ll be doing that.”

Patrick gives you a look. “Boo, you whore.”

“Alright, pack it up, Regina George.” The words are accompanied by an affectionate roll of your eyes.

“A guy in my calculus class is throwing a party,” Art speaks up. He snatches his apple back out of Patrick’s hands.

You let out a humming noise. “You guys can come hang afterwards. I’ll probably still be awake by then.”

Patrick studies you for a moment, contemplatively, as if you are somehow a factor in making his decision. You wonder if perhaps he wanted you to ask him to stay with you instead. But he turns back to Art and nods his agreement as an easy smirk falls onto his face.

“Sounds like a plan.”

There’s a little more idle chitchat and three-way bickering while Patrick swipes half your meal from under your nose and indulges in it as though he was the one who paid for it. You let him, partially because you’re not hungry anymore and partially because you’re not sure what he’s been eating when he’s on tour, so any nutrients you can get inside his stomach is a win.

Art lists off some of the people going to the party, and you chime in with unsolicited opinions, pieces of gossip, etc., on each of them, until eventually, your tray is empty and it’s time for you to go to class.

“I’ll catch you guys later. Don’t get too shitfaced tonight.” You try to ignore the way Patrick grazes his hand on your hip as you stand.

“No promises,” he snickers. He and Art share a look over the table.

It’s three in the morning when Patrick knocks on your door. He is decidedly shitfaced, but still not as bashed up as you thought he’d be. His hair is only slightly tousled, he doesn’t look like he’s about to fall over, and his clothes don’t even look like they’ve been haphazardly taken off and thrown back on.

Still, you gently tug him inside, hands reaching up to brush down his curls neatly.

“Come here,” you murmur. You don’t question why he came to your room instead of going back to Art’s. Nor do you question why he seems to have gone mute.

You begin helping him take his jacket off, then as he sits on your bed, his shoes. Despite being fully capable of doing so himself, he lets you take care of him. He doesn’t even stop to smirk or make a comment about the compromising position of you kneeling in front of him. Instead, he stares. Or it looks like staring. In Patrick terms, you decide that the more accurate verb is ‘gazes.’

After you’ve forced a glass of water down his throat and put his things in a pile to the side, Patrick has half tucked himself under your covers and is gazing at you – expectant, pensive.

The bed dips as you lay beside him, turning onto your side to face him. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Patrick’s hand darts out to cup your face. His eyes are half lidded, looking straight into yours. It’s a serious expression, one you so rarely see on his features. He almost looks like a different person.

His fingertips brush the side of your neck making their way down to your shoulder, your bicep then your ribcage, right near the curve of your waist. You hear his breathing deepen as your own does the same.

“I really like you, you know.”

Your breath hitches. You feel as though your lungs, heart and diaphragm have all be frozen in time.

The words shouldn’t warrant such a reaction. They shouldn’t have such a palpable effect on you, but they do. You know Patrick likes you a lot. It’s a given with the way he acts around you, seeks you out and calls you so frequently. But it’s precisely because you know that and because you know him, that you know what he really means in this moment.

Your voice comes out in a hoarse kind of whisper. “I really like you too.”

A hint of his usual smirk crosses his face, and then the next thing you know, you’re thrown in a void, and the only things you’re aware of are the warmth of his hand on your side and the press of his lips on your own.

You love Patrick Zweig because he will always come back to you.

“Hey.” There’s a smirk on Patrick’s face as you step out of the bathroom. His eyes dart up and down your figure, from the shirt you clearly stole out of his bag while he was training with Art and Tashi to the exposed skin of your legs.

“Hey,” you reply, smiling as you move to situate yourself between his legs. His arms wrap around you as you settle into him. Chest to chest, heart to heart. You can feel the steady thump in his chest through your shirt. You take the time to drink in the sight of him. Every visit feels shorter than the last, and you sometimes worry his face will fade from your memory like a thawing lake in spring. “How was practice?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Tashi keeps riding my ass about my focus during matches.”

“Come on, she just wants to help you.”

Patrick’s eyebrows raise as he gives you a squeeze. “I didn’t come visit so I could be coached.”

You smile at that. “Oh yeah? What’d you come back for then?”

A grin stretches over his face as he flips you both over, and you squeak a little on impact. “Why don’t I show you?”

Warmth blossoms in your chest as he starts kissing up your neck. “We watch your matches sometimes, you know. When I miss you. Art always sighs when you do your weird little serve. Tashi commentates most of it, though.”

You feel the stretch of his lips as he smiles slightly into your collarbone.

“She has some good points,” you say, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he bites down on your skin. “Maybe you should listen to her.”

He sighs, mumbling, “I don’t want to talk about tennis right now.”

“I know. I’m just saying – raw talent won’t always be enough.”

“I’ll deal with that when I start actually losing,” he replies in between kisses. He’s at your jaw now, lips still pressed to your skin with every word.

You hum at the vibrations on your skin, but a frown pulls at your lips. You aren’t Tashi or Art. It isn’t like you care all that much about tennis anymore, but the fact that Patrick seems to care even less worries you. His future is hanging by a thread, and it worries you most of all because you’re not even really sure if you fit in his future. You’re not sure if you’ll be there to sew it back up or standing in the distance watching it fray.

“You always do that,” you blurt.

He pulls away, looking at your eyes with a brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“Run away from your problems.”

“I don’t run away from my problems,” he says, pulling back slightly. You both know he’s lying.

“I’m sorry, I’m just worried.” You bite your lip. “You haven’t had a decent conversation with your parents in two years, and I feel like you’re not thinking about your future.”

Patrick shifts away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you instead. His jaw has set as he looks at you. There’s a cold expression on his face and you want nothing more than to rewind the last 30 seconds and go back to how it was before. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek nervously.

“I don’t need you to worry about my future,” he says, voice low and steady.

Your own voice has a subtle shake in it, one that’s filled with regret. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Patrick looks at you for a moment longer, then swings his feet off the bed and heads straight for his things.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” he says quietly. He shoves his hoodie into the bag and zips it up.

Your heart clenches. “Wait, Patrick, please. I don’t want us to leave it like this.”

“I have to go. I’ll miss the last bus if I don’t.”

“You can catch it tomorrow! Your competition isn’t for another two days!” The desperation in your voice is audible. “Please. Please don’t leave.”

Patrick’s figure is still, like a photograph frozen in time. His bag rests on his shoulder. He’s two steps away from the door.

“Please stay.”

When he turns and looks at you, you can see the way his expression crumbles.

“Okay,” he mumbles.

You manage a few steps towards him, slow and hesitant. The bag slides off of his shoulder and he engulfs you into his arms. There’s a kiss pressed to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into him.

His hair brushes against your cheek as he shakes his head. “No. No, I’m sorry.”

He holds you tight in his arms as you fall asleep. The next morning, you awake to an empty bed, and a sticky note on your desk that you won’t notice for another few days.

I’m sorry.

You don’t like Patrick Zweig because he makes you cave every time.

A year fresh out of college, and your career as a journalist is flourishing. Your boss flounces up to you at your desk.

“You used to play a bit of tennis, right?”

You blink. “Uh, yeah.” You were ranked, like, 7th in the world for junior tennis before your injury, but sure, that about sums it up too.

“I need you to write a piece on the competition happening soon. It won’t be too spotlighted, since we’re not really known for our sports new, but you’ll have full control over it, since you’re the only one who knows anything about tennis.”

“Okay, no problem.”

“Great! Here’s a list of the players.”

Your eyes skim over the list half-heartedly. There were occasionally names you recognised, including – ah, there was Art. You flipped through until the end, and your gaze locked in on the last name on the page. Your heart crept into your throat.

Patrick Zweig.

“Did you know he was here too?” You struggle your way up your stairs to the apartment, grocery bags in each hand and your phone balanced between your ear and shoulder.

Art’s voice sounds muffled from the other line, probably because your ear is more on the screen than the speaker, but even so, the awkward lilt in his voice is clear as day. “Yeah, uh, he texted me.”

You sigh. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not still friends with him for my sake.”

He’s quiet for a moment. "I know. I just didn’t know how you’d feel about him being back in town."

“That’s what Tashi said too.”

“So how are you feeling about it?”

"Well," you huff as you reach near top of the stairs, "it’s not like I didn’t know he’d be at the tournament." Your eyes close for a moment, and the image of his name in font size 11 Arial appears in your mind’s eye. "I just didn’t want to think about it. I mean, it’s been ages since I’ve even spoken to him. It’s—"

"Complicated," Art finishes for you.

"Yeah." You fumble for your keys in your pocket, trying to manoeuvre the bags without dropping anything. "I’ll be fine, though. "

Art hums. You get the sense he’s thinking about something. Finally, he says, "For what it’s worth, he never wanted to hurt you, you know.”

You manage a small smile, even though he can’t see it. "I know. I’ll call you later, okay? I gotta put these groceries away."

"Sure. Take care, alright?"

"Yeah, you too." It’s a big struggle trying to get the keys out of your pocket. You barely manage to grab your phone in your other hand.

"Need some help with those?"

The sound of Patrick’s voice startles you, and you nearly drop the bags. He’s leaning against the wall next to your door with a smirk playing on his lips. Your first instinct is to hug him, then something switches and you want to punch him. With the bags in your hands, you can do neither, so you opt for staring at him as though you’ve just seen a ghost.

He still looks the same as you last saw him (not that you think about him often enough to picture that image, of course), except with an extra hint of adult despair. But still, the curls are the same, he’s still wearing shorts, he’s still clean-shaven, and his smirk is still stupid as ever. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was a figure of your imagination.

You gape at him for a moment before finding your voice. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He straightens up, taking a few steps toward you. "Thought I’d surprise you."

"Well, mission accomplished," you mutter, pushing your key in the door and twisting it. Patrick follows you in, reaching to grasp at the bags in your hands. You don’t say anything as he carries them over to your counter, his eyes darting around to take in the sight of your apartment.

“Nice place. I like what you’ve done with the bookshelf,” he muses as he lifts the groceries onto the tabletop, then leans against it.

The way he moves is so familiar that it sends a jolt of déjà-vu through your stomach. A battle rages on in your mind as you struggle to figure out how to feel. On paper, you’re not necessarily on bad terms. It isn’t like you could say you had a bad breakup, since you aren’t even really sure you were dating in the first place, so you never really had any nights of crying over him, eating ice cream, and asking your friends to stop you from texting him. The two of you just stopped talking.

“Patrick. Why are you here?” Your voice cuts like a knife through the air. This is starting to feel like some sick joke from the universe. You wonder if Art knew Patrick was going to ambush you. Maybe he gave him your address.

He looks at you, his easy smile dropping for a moment. “I wanted to see you.”

You stay quiet. His expression is uncomfortably serious, and you can see him waiting for a response. But the truth is you don’t know what to say. You opt instead for moving towards the groceries beside him and putting them away. Patrick just watches you.

"So," he says, breaking the silence, "how’ve you been?"

"Busy," you reply, picking up a carton of milk to put in the refrigerator. "Work’s been hectic."

You see him nod from the corner of your eye. "I’ve heard. Your articles are really good."

You glance at him, surprised. "You read them?"

"Of course." His expression softens. "I always keep up with what you’re doing."

A lump forms in your throat, and you focus on moving around the jars in your fridge door aimlessly to avoid looking at him. "Thanks."

It’s silent once more as you finish putting everything away, though you can feel Patrick’s eyes in the back of your head the whole time.

His eyes meet yours when you finally turn back to face him, and for a moment, he looks vulnerable. He steps closer, reaching out to take your hand. "I missed you."

Your heart clenches. It becomes easier to decide then. You don’t like Patrick Zweig. Can’t stand him, really. You hate him. You hate that just his hand in yours and three little words can make your resolve crumble like a statue smashed to rubble.

Against the better judgement of every cell in your brain, you say, “I missed you too.”

It’s nothing to do with you. You know that. As he kisses you, as he slips his hands under your shirt, as he lies in bed with you, traces patterns on your skin and clings to you like a lifeline, you know. Patrick is yours, and you are his. But he’s always making promises he can’t keep, starting things he cannot finish, running away from everything to no end.

Perhaps one day, things will be different. But for now, you stare at the empty space in your bed, the only trace of his presence being the lingering scent of his cologne. You sigh, draw open the curtains and allow the morning sun to seep into your room.

You hate Patrick Zweig because he will never stay.

[bucksangel]

milk and sugar

pairing: alpha!steve x alpha!bucky, alpha!steve x artist!omega!reader x alpha!bucky (poly) - omegaverse!au part two

word count: 5.1k

summary: “Are you nervous?” Steve asks, voice soft and caring. His hand settles on your arm, and Bucky appears beside you to place his hand on your back, as well as take one of your hands in his metal one. And despite your earlier anxiety, you mean it wholeheartedly when you say, “no.” or - it’s your first date with your alphas.

warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff, reader has insecurities, steve and bucky are adorable and caring, steve is very nervous bc he’s a romantic, like it’s almost unbearable how much of a pure puppy he is, bucky is extremely fond and a little teasing (bc of course he is), omegaverse, kissing, there are bits where it’s just steve and bucky

a/n: this fic doesn’t contain smut, however, due to the nature of my blog this is strictly 18+

milk and honey masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar

‘Good morning, darling.’

That’s the text you received from Bucky at nine that morning - in the group chat he’d made with Steve and you. And while you normally sleep in on Sundays since your studio is closed, you’d woken up early - seven to be exact -  due to the anxiety you’ve been feeling ever since your art class ended yesterday.

Truthfully, you didn’t really sleep well anyway. Going on a date with not just one, but two Alphas at the same time has you on edge - though, not in a bad way. No, not at all. These are the good kinds of nerves, the exciting kind.

Well, okay, not all of your nerves are positive. Being naturally shy and reserved has caused you to overthink every single interaction you’ve had with the Alphas, both together and separately. And now that you’re going on this date, you can’t help the way your insecurities come creeping in faster and faster as it gets closer.

Because what if they decide they don’t like you after they actually get the chance to know you? What if they don’t even pay much attention to you and treat this as a date with just them since that must be what they’re more used to? What if you say or do something wrong and they get scared away?

Now, logically, you know those first two outcomes are absurd. Over the past few weeks, they’ve each shown extreme interest in getting to know you, they show how much care they have for you, and oh boy does that knowledge make your heart flutter. It makes you feel good, really good about yourself.

But that last point? Well, that is a big insecurity of yours. As a child, you weren’t that open and didn’t have many friends. And it was hard to make new ones when you would always stutter and trip over yourself, causing many of the kids you’d gone to school with to laugh at you. You were so shy, always the shortest kid in your class which made you an easy target for bullying, especially since you couldn’t hold a conversation well and you’d constantly accidentally bump into someone. It’s honestly a surprise that Tori had stuck around this long.

And, to be completely honest, you think you could deal with them maybe not finding you as interesting as they probably thought, maybe even them telling you that it just wouldn’t work out. Yes, it would hurt for a while, but you would deal with it. However, you absolutely could not live with the Alphas finding you annoying. Because this whole thing already feels like a fever dream, and if you were to fuck it up by doing or saying something embarrassing it would only serve as proof that you aren’t fit for Alphas like them.

It’s nine-fifteen when you respond with ‘good morning :)’

And not even a minute later, Steve texts back. ‘how are you feeling about today?’

Well, isn’t that a good question? Because you want nothing more than to go on this date, you want this to work out so badly that you feel like your heart might burst out of your chest. But, again, those fucking insecurities are messing with your mind.

It’s maybe a few minutes later when you reply with ‘Feeling okay, you guys?’

A bubble pops up at the bottom of the text thread, Bucky typing for a good thirty seconds before it disappears. And it stays like that for another full minute, your heart hammering in your chest as your anxieties are jumping to the worst possible outcome. What if they cancel? What if they-

Your phone screen comes to life when Steve calls you. He’s calling you. And for a moment you want to let it go to voicemail, you don’t want them to hear how nervous you are. But you also don’t want them to think you’re ignoring them, so you answer with a timid, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” Steve says calmly, his smooth voice doing a good job of soothing some of your worries.

“Hi!” You hear Bucky yell in the background, causing you to giggle.

“Hi, guys.”

You hear a thud in the background before Bucky yells “Put her on speaker, punk!” And then you can hear both of them clearly, Steve laughing as Bucky huffs in what you assume is a fake annoyance.

“So, uh, I’m just wondering. Um, where are we going today?” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so awkward, for tripping over your words while talking to the two most handsome Alphas you’ve ever met.

“That’s a surprise, honey,” Steve says, the smile on his face is evident in his tone. “Just wear something comfortable.”

“And warm!” Bucky adds, coming closer to the phone. “We don’t need you getting cold, okay?”

The hint of authority in his voice makes your heartbeat pick up speed and the care that’s so evident in just the way he speaks kind of makes you want to cry a little. When was the last time any potential partner showed even these small acts of concern for your well-being? Too long.

“Yes, sir,” You joke, having to bite your lip to keep your smile from widening even further when both Alphas laugh. Butterflies are swirling in your stomach, forming a tornado of anticipation and nerves for the day’s festivities.

“Alright,” Steve says with a hint of laughter. “We’ll let you go get ready and we’ll pick you up in two hours, okay?”

Two hours? That seems like too long yet not long enough. You’ve already showered, all you really need to do is find something to wear and then fix your hair - maybe throw on some mascara. But, still. Two hours seems like the perfect amount of time to have a full-on breakdown over this date. But at least that should also give you some time to recover from said breakdown.

“Yeah, that works!” Internally, you cringe at how eager you sound. Because even though you’re nervous beyond belief, and a tiny part of you wants to cancel the date out of fear of anything embarrassing happening, you don’t think you’d be able to live with yourself if you let these two slip through your fingers without giving it a fighting chance. 

“Great,” Bucky says, clearly smiling. “Just send us your address and we’ll be there.”

Once you bid your goodbyes to each other you make sure to send them your address before deciding to freak out over what to wear. Luckily for you, and as though the universe knows you need the help, your doorbell rings soon after. Confused as to who would be at your door this early, you make your way to the door, and when you open it you see Tori standing on the other side with a wide smile.

“Alright, girl,” She says happily, ignoring the incredulous look on your face as she pushes past you to walk into your apartment. “We have to get you ready, where are they taking you?”

“Hello to you too, Tori,” you say with a slight roll of your eyes as you close the door.

“Hey, babe!” Tori grabs your wrist and all but yanks you towards your room, not really caring about the fact that you’re nearly tripping over yourself in an effort to keep up. When you both get to your room she lets go of your arm and heads for your closet.

“So, where are you guys going?”

“I don’t know, they just said to dress warm and comfortable.” Your shoulders shrug, fingers nervously fiddling with each other. You’re not too sure what exactly to wear based on those being the only two requests. Sure, you have plenty of sweaters and jackets and scarves - it’s New York after all - but you don’t know what will impress the Alphas.

You want to impress them so badly. You don’t want them to regret asking you out, and while clothing choices aren’t a ‘make or break’ type of thing it’s still important to you that you look the best you possibly can. After all, anyone who’s seen Steve and Bucky in person would agree that they’re most definitely the two most handsome men to ever exist.

Something soft hitting you in the face knocks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey!” You yelp, looking at the ground to see the thing that hit you - your light brown sweater with a cute graphic of a pumpkin patch on the front. Seconds later, a pair of leggings hit your chest. “Tori!”

Tori simply laughs, then heads to your shoe rack next to the closet door.

“How do you know this will be good for the date?” You ask as you pick up the sweater to inspect it as though you haven’t worn it hundreds of times. But, again, today needs to go perfectly so any stains you might’ve missed would not go down well with you.

“I don’t,” She admits with a shrug of her shoulders. “But that sweater accentuates your boobs and the leggings make your ass look great.”

Your whole body goes hot, the implication of them looking at those parts of your body doesn’t make you shrink away like it normally would, though you can barely stop your insecurities about your body from throwing the items to the side and picking something else to prevent that from happening.

“I-I don’t know, Tori…” You sigh, going over to your bed and sitting down on the edge. “What if they don’t like it? I mean, they’re-”

“Stop it,” Tori says forcefully, walking over to stand in front of you. “You’re beautiful and kind and wonderful and they’re going to love you. And if they don’t, then that’s not your fault. As long as you give it your all, everything will be fine.”

Coming closer, she places her hands on your shoulders so she can shake you a little bit. “I love you, girl. You’re my best friend and I want to see you happy. And it seems like they make you happy, but you make them happy too. I’ve seen it in the way they look at you, how they talk to you. It’s going to be fine, babe. I promise.”

After a long pause where you think over her words, you decide that she’s right - at least about your feelings. You like them so fucking much, so it wouldn’t be fair to them or yourself if you didn’t try your best.

“Okay… Okay, then. Let’s get me ready.”

And with that, Tori smiles brightly, leaning down to squeeze you in a tight hug before releasing you.

____________

It’s a few minutes before eleven when Bucky and Steve park out front of your apartment building. Steve is practically vibrating out of his skin, Bucky even had to convince his mate that he should drive to pick you up since Steve could barely keep his knees from bouncing.

“Baby,” Bucky says, shutting off the engine and twisting in his seat to face Steve. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to just be ourselves and treat her like she deserves, there’s no way she’s going to not like us.”

Steve nods, though he doesn’t look super convinced. It’s clear from how he spent fifteen minutes this morning in the flower shop picking out the perfect bouquet for you that he really, really wants this to work. And even though he doesn’t show it, Bucky knows Steve would be heartbroken if it didn’t. His mate’s always been a softie, and there’s something about you that makes him feel different - better than any other omega ever could.

Bucky knows exactly how he feels. Because, although he’s not as outwardly anxious, he just knows that you’re perfect for them, and he wants to do everything he can to make you see that they can take care of you, they can protect and love you. Your smile and sweet giggle haunt his dreams, his nightmares have long been replaced with his memories of him and Steve - and now you. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to wake up next to you and his Alpha, to cuddle with you two in your nest as you all trade kisses and talk about anything and everything.

“You’re sure?” Steve asks with a timid voice, fiddling with the flowers in his lap. “I - we really like her.”

Bucky sighs, then reaches over the console to place his hand on the back of his mate's neck in a comforting manner. And even though it’s uncomfortable, Bucky leans over and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I’m sure, Stevie.”

Steve sighs too, leaning forward to kiss Bucky again before pulling back.

“Okay, Buck.”

With that, they both share a small smile and then get out of the car. It’s about a minute-long elevator ride up to your floor, Bucky holding his mate’s free hand the entire way and sending him feelings of calmness through their bond. It works until they get to your front door because now Steve is practically fumbling with the flowers as he figures out the best way to hold them while Bucky knocks.

It’s about a minute later when the door swings open, but it’s not you. It’s Tori with a wide, knowing smirk on her face.

“Hello, boys,” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Those for her?” She nods towards the sunflowers and daisies Steve is holding.

“They are,” Bucky says with a smile of his own. Glancing at Steve to see him nod. “Is she ready?”

“Yes!” You say, quickly running up behind Tori to gently push her to the side and give her a side glare. You’re fiddling with your clothes, tugging at the bottom of the sweater in order to smooth out the fabric.

However, in the Alphas’ eyes, there’s no need for you to do so. Through their bond both of them feel the other go kind of dumb - you always look pretty but today’s outfit just hits them differently. Your eyeliner makes the color of your eyes pop, and the shiny lipgloss makes your lips nearly impossible to not kiss.

They don’t, though. Not yet. The last thing either of them wants to do is make you uncomfortable, especially with Tori standing behind you. So, instead, Bucky smiles and elbows Steve to get him out of his trance.

“Hello, honey,” Bucky says, his smile turning into a smirk when you fail to suppress a squeak.

“H-hi, guys,” You say nervously with a small smile. “Are those for me?” You ask when you notice the flowers in Steve’s hand.

“Oh, um, yes,” Steve stutters ever so slightly, reaching out to hand you the bouquet. “You once said you love Sunflowers.”

____________

“You once said you love Sunflowers.”

Something about this gesture makes you want to tear up. Flowers may not be a big deal to some people, but they mean everything to you. Receiving gifts from partners has been rare for you, so the beauty of the petals and knowing that they’re for you just makes you preen a little bit.

“I do,” You say softly, almost like you can’t believe he remembered. “They’re beautiful, thank you. Really.”

“Just like you,” Steve blurts out before a redness covers his cheeks.

And you absolutely cannot be blamed for the embarrassing squeak you let out. You try being called beautiful by Steve fucking Rogers and not want to bury your face in his neck to inhale his scent.

“Th-thank you,” You say with a giggle, handing the flowers to Tori and giving her a grateful smile as she gives you a quick kiss on your cheek.

“You guys have fun,” She teases, waving you off with a smile. “Treat her well or you’ll have hell to pay.”

“Of course,” Bucky says with an assuring nod. “Wouldn’t treat her with anything but care.” He says this while looking at you though, the twinkle in his eyes making you want to bare your neck to him.

When the door closes behind you, you step closer to the Alphas.

“Are you nervous?” Steve asks, voice soft and caring, though clearly a little anxious. His hand settles on your arm, and Bucky appears beside you to place his hand on your back, as well as take one of your hands in his metal one.

And despite your earlier anxiety, you mean it wholeheartedly when you say, “No.” How can you be nervous now when the feeling of the men’s warm hands on you and their clear concern for your wellbeing makes your heartbeat quicken in anticipation?

“Let’s go?” You ask, face growing warm in slight embarrassment for your enthusiasm.

“Let’s go,” Both Alphas say in unison. And then all of you are off to the truck - a very nicely kept, sleek black truck. Steve opens the back door for you before, to your surprise, sliding in next to you.

“We agreed he could sit in the back with you on the way there as long as I could sit next to you on our way back,” Bucky pipes up at your questioning glance.

Feelings of warmth fill your entire being, and you already know that today is going to be the most fun you’ve had in a while.

____________

It’s about a thirty-five-minute drive before you finally arrive at a park - a beautiful stretch of the greenest grass you’ve ever seen with orange and red-leafed trees surrounding two sides of it. It’s big, but if you look close enough you can make out a trail off to the left. That half hour was, surprisingly to you, filled with pleasant conversation. Now, your previous interactions with the men proved that they were wonderful company, but you’re surprised that you’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be. Everything was moving smoothly, there wasn’t even a single moment of awkward silence.

“We’re here,” Bucky says, pulling into a free parking spot closest to the entrance of the trail. Steve opens the door as Bucky gets out as well and goes around to the back of the truck. And Steve, ever the gentleman, holds your hand as he helps you climb out of the backseat, only letting go when you begin smoothing out your clothes.

“Are we ready?” Bucky appears next to you holding a large blanket and a stereotypical wicker basket.

A small smile forms on your face, and your heartbeat increases ever so slightly. How are they so fucking sweet?

“Yes!” Immediately, your face goes hot, self-conscious of your enthusiasm. But the Alphas don’t seem to mind, in fact, Steve takes the blanket from under Bucky’s arm and tucks it under his own, then grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers together.

“Let’s go then,” Steve says, smiling softly down at you.

With that, the three of you head off to the trail, walking under colorful oak trees that flank both sides of the dirt path. A comfortable silence falls over all of you, only the sounds of birds chirping filling the air. You walk for a few minutes, the leaves crunching under your feet as you take in the beauty surrounding you, your eyes wide with wonder.

The environment is comforting, calm, puts you at ease in a way you don’t normally experience. It’s freeing to feel so content - so happy. It takes about five minutes before you come upon a set of wooden stairs leading down to the most beautiful lake you’ve ever seen. The water is nearly clear, the colorful trees reflecting over the surface, and even though it’s a clear day out, you can’t help but notice the golden hue filling the air. You don’t even notice you’ve stopped walking until Steve tugs on your hand.

“Do you like it?” He asks, almost nervous as he waits for your reaction.

“I…” You trail off, tears filling your eyes. This whole thing is just - just perfect. “I love it,” you say as you look at Steve, a wide smile spreading across your face. And you look at Bucky when you say, “It’s perfect.”

____________

“It’s perfect.”

Bucky can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. They’d both wracked their brains trying to figure out where to take you, what to do. They want to wow you, to show you that they can - and hopefully will get the chance to provide for you, they can make you happy. You’ll never go without, if you want something, they will figure out a way to get it.

“Good,” Steve says softly, smiling down at you before looking up at Bucky and nodding his head.

With that, the three of you make your way down the stairs, Steve holding on to your hand tightly to make sure you don’t fall, and Bucky places his free hand on your back. He can hear how your heartbeat speeds up when he does so and tries so hard not to puff out his chest when you glance up at him through your eyelashes coyly.

Once you’re down by the lake, the men lead you to a large oak tree merely ten or so feet from the edge. Steve is quick to unfold the blanket and spread it out under the tree - large enough to probably cover an entire California King bed. Bucky then places the basket down as his mate takes your hand and helps you sit near the edge of the blanket leaving enough space for the men to sit on either side of you.

The Alphas quickly open the basket and pull out containers of food, opening the lids and placing them in front of you. When they finally sit down - obviously with you in the middle - Bucky notices how wide your eyes are, how you seem transfixed on the array of fruits and sandwiches and cake. It’s when Bucky pulls out the jug of homemade lemonade that you choke back a cry.

“Honey?” Steve asks, turning his body to face you with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Bucky places a hand on your back, sweeping it around to hold your waist. And can you really blame him if his whole body goes hot when you lean into his side and turn your face so it’s halfway buried in his neck?

It takes a few seconds but you’re finally able to gather yourself and pull away.

“You guys are just… I can’t believe it.”

“What can’t you believe, sweetheart?” Steve scoots closer to you, placing his hand on your head to smooth out your hair, and unconsciously turns your head so he can look directly at you. “Tell us what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

____________

You want to scream. You want to yell until your voice gives out. It’s nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Them preparing food - by hand - and bringing you to this beautiful spot might just be a normal thing for most people, but considering you’ve hardly ever been shown this much affection and thoughtfulness. Shaking your head, you look away, unable to withstand the Alpha's intense gaze.

“It’s nothing,” You mumble, fiddling with your fingers. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not, honey,” Bucky says, giving your waist an affectionate squeeze. “If you’re upset, we want you to tell us.”

“I’m not! I promise!” You assure them, hesitantly reaching both of your hands out to place them on the Alpha’s legs. “I guess I just… I’ve just never been shown this much… care?” It’s phrased as a question, because you’re unsure if that was the right word to use, but it’s all you can think of at the moment.

“I know it may not seem like a lot,” You continue, taking a deep breath before looking up at Steve, and then Bucky. “But this means the world to me. You guys are just so sweet and thoughtful and I’m not really sure what to do, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, let alone two people.”

Both of the men sigh, and you can almost taste the scent of disappointment wafting off of them. Suddenly your nerves spike, did you say something wrong?

You must have said that out loud because Bucky starts shaking his head. “No, no darling. You didn’t say anything wrong, I promise.”

“We’re just… I guess we’re disappointed that you consider this the height of romance because this is the bare minimum. You should be used to this, you should be loved and worshipped because that’s what you deserve, nothing less. And it’s not your fault, it’s every other person’s fault for not treating you like the perfect Omega you are.” Steve sounds upset, and your heartbeat increases to a degree that you’d think you were having a panic attack if it weren’t for how damn happy you are.

For a moment, you’re unsure as to what to say, it’s just baffling to you that one person, let alone two, can make you feel this way, this joyous and carefree. But luckily Bucky speaks up so you don’t have to.

“And we’d love to have the chance to do that for you,” He says softly, picking up your hand to cradle it in his own so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. And when you stare up into his eyes, you can’t help but gasp at how loving his gaze is. “Will you give us that chance?”

“Yes.” And this time, you’re not embarrassed by how quickly your answer was to come. How can you be when both men sigh in relief and lean into your body so they can wrap you in their arms? It’s warm and comforting, filling you with happiness and care for these men.

When they lean back you really can’t be blamed for the way your gaze finds Steve’s, then drops down to his lips momentarily. At this, you’re a little flustered, suddenly overcome with the want to feel how soft they are.

Steve seems to read your mind because he places his hand on the back of your neck and forces you to hold his gaze.

“Can I kiss you, honey?”

“Please,” You whine, staying in place as the Alpha leans down slowly. Your eyes close when he gets close enough that you can feel his breaths against your mouth. And for a moment, neither of you moves, and your nerves climb higher and higher as the seconds tick by.

You’re about to speak when he finally, finally kisses you. At first, it’s just a simple peck, a chaste kiss on your lips, and then he pulls back by merely a millimeter. It’s you who leans forward to press your lips together again, and you let him lead as you lose yourself in the kiss. Though, it’s over far too soon for your liking by a soft groan.

Pulling away, both you and Steve turn to look at Bucky, who is now sporting a sheepish grin.

“Sorry,” He mumbles with a flushed face. “I just… I love seeing you two together. I love us all being together and having the two people I care about more than anything sharing your feelings. I know it’s-”

“Sweet,” You interrupt him, turning your body so you can face him better and slip your hand out of his. Placing it on his cheek, you smile when he nuzzles into your palm and gives it a little kiss. “I think it’s sweet, Bucky.”

“Can I kiss you too?” He whispers hopefully, smiling when you nod. Unlike his mate, Bucky doesn’t waste any time capturing your lips in a soft but passionate kiss. It’s clear he’s trying to hold back, and something in you just can’t help but feel wanted, desired. This kiss lasts a little longer, and although you can feel Steve’s gaze on you, you’re not in the least bit self-conscious. You know they wouldn’t lie to you, so you find comfort in knowing that you can show affection to both men without either getting upset or jealous.

When you do finally pull away, you can’t help but lean into Bucky’s chest, reaching behind you to grab Steve’s hand.

“I really like you guys,” You mumble into the Alpha’s chest.

“We really like you too,” They say in unison, causing you to smile.

With that, everything seems to fall into place, the men divvy up the food - giving you most of it - and you all eat in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at each other. Once the food is eaten, Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, causing you to look up at him.

“Come here,” He says with a smile, guiding you to sit sideways on his lap, facing Steve. And there is absolutely no way in hell you could contain the squeak forcing its way out of your mouth. “Is this okay?” He asks as Steve scoots closer to sit right next to Bucky, picking up your legs and resing them in his lap.

You’ve never nodded faster in your life. You’re nervous, sure, but the utter happiness you’re feeling far outweighs it. That happiness only grows when Bucky nods to his mate, and you watch as the other man picks up the container with the cake. Your eyes widen when Steve picks up a fork and takes a small bit out of one of the slices, carefully leading it up to your mouth where you automatically open it.

Slowly, he slides the fork out, allowing you to chew the cake with a pleased smile on his face. It goes on like this until the slice is completely gone, with Bucky pressing kisses to your temple occasionally and bathing you in his warmth. It makes you preen having these Alphas take care of you like this, providing for you.

You’re content to stay here forever, wrapped up in their light, and by the time you’re done eating completely, you feel your eyelids grow heavy, a yawn forcing your mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry,” You say remorsefully, a little embarrassed by how tired you’ve become now that your stomach is full and you’re comfortably resting against Bucky’s chest.

“Don’t be, honey,” Steve says, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “You can nap if you want, we’ll be right here when you wake up.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you instinctively bury your head into Bucky’s chest and reach out so you can hold onto Steve’s hands. “Are you sure?” You ask, peeking an eye open so you can look up at the blonde Alpha.

He smiles as he nods, pressing another kiss on the top of your head. “Go to sleep, pretty girl.”

It doesn’t take long for you to float off into dreamland, and the last thing you hear is, “I told you she’s perfect for us.”

tagging: @the-ginger-fairy-artist / @supernovatardis / @perdidosbucky-yyo / @wckedheart / @kandis-mom / @meteorshowercoffee / @wandaneedstherapy / @buckysbarne / @bigcreatorwombatdreamer / @p1ut0smoon / @venusfly11 / @buckybarnesmetalarmswife775 / @the-photo-hoe / @clownsbf / @matsumama / @fandoms-writings / @thornsnvultures / @sadboiabby / @lily-excal / @alright-i-guesss / @blondie-bluue / @loveforreading / @marvel-wifey-86 / @wheezy-stucky / @exposition-belongs-somewhere / @sweater-bee / @stuckysbike / @lovelylittleleigh / @buckyshbic / @starkblackwolf / @caitlink26 / @dreaming-potato / @emeraldfairy23 / @lethargicluv / @kinsssss / @perfectlyboring / @glistenuplove / @monicachic13 / @bbellen1411 / @akmenia / @shawnftjacob / @ladyravenclaw / @sadsadbabygirlrob / @hc-kerr / @iamfandomwasted / @sweetmoonlove0214 / @yesprettypleasesir / @duckies16 / @wizardofstories / @emerald-writes / @xonickibaby / @matchat3a / @hereticdance / @animegirlgeeky / @rippedpiece

[padfootagain]

Only An Almost (VI)

Chapter 6: Hiding

Hello!! Here is a new chapter!

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

*************************************

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 2387

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Andrew needed to talk to you.

After his conversation with Sam, there was no doubt left in his mind that he needed to tell you how he truly felt. This… situation, this… arrangement… it couldn’t go on. It was hurting him too much. Having you for a moment, and then being back to square one, holding himself back all the time, and this fool’s hope that you could feel the same if he waited…

He couldn’t keep on doing this. Another week and two nights with you had passed, and Andrew was now resolute. As he was knocking on your front door and then digging his hands in his pockets, he kept on repeating the words he had prepared beforehand. It was so much easier to write things down, he had sketched his speech this morning.

I know you don’t want a relationship at the moment, I understand that.

He knocked a second time as you weren’t opening the door.

But I’m not sure this… arrangement of ours is a good idea. I see you as more than just a friend. Way more than that. And I don’t think that I can keep on being casual with you.

At long last, the keys turned in the lock, and he stood a little straighter, taking a deep breath.

I get it that this is not the right time for you, and that’s alright. I’ll wait. I’ll wait all the time you need to have a proper date and a proper relationship with you. I’ll wait for you.

You opened the door.

I’ll wait for you, Y/N, if you want to give me a chance…

“Andy? Were we… had we something planned for today?”

“Hi! Erm… not exactly, but like… I haven’t seen you in a few days, I was getting worried you might have been eaten by some roaming spirit or the monster under your bed or something…”

He mentally slapped himself for such a weird and stupid joke.

You granted him an amused smile nonetheless, he was even ready to believe that you were struggling not to laugh.

“I’m alright, I’m just super busy with work.”

“You look tired.”

You looked exhausted, actually, with bags under your eyes, dishevelled hair…

“Thanks, I guess…”

He rolled his eyes.

“It’s not what I meant. You are always stunning. But you do look like you haven’t had a proper rest in a few days.”

“I have so many things to do…”

You heaved a sigh, and it was easy to see that you were buzzing with anxiety.

“Can I come in?” Andrew finally asked, but he was surprised when you hesitated.

“I have some work to do…”

“It’s Sunday afternoon, you’re not supposed to be working on Sunday.”

“Andy…”

“Do I really need to beg?”

He gave you a crooked smile, the ones he thought were almost cocky but behind which he badly hid that he was worried. You heaved a sigh and let him in.

“Tea?” you asked, although you were already grabbing the kettle by the time Andrew had rid himself of his coat.

“Thanks,” he smiled as he sat down by your table.

He waited until you were sitting with him before speaking again. He reckoned that you needed to be eased into the conversation he was aiming for, so he started with niceties.

“What has you so busy then?”

“Work. Important projects.”

“What kind?”

“Look, Andy… I appreciate the thought, but I don’t have time for this…”

“You can’t keep on working without taking a break… it’s Sunday.”

“Like you’re never working on Sundays.”

“I’m a musician, not an office employee. If I want to, I can decide not to work for an entire month, and no one is going to say a thing about it.”

“Touché…”

“Seriously, though… I’m just worried. Why don’t you take a small break with me, huh?”

“Andy, if you came to get laid, I’m not in the mood…”

“I didn’t…”

He frowned as he stared at you, offended by the thought. Your expression softened.

“Sorry. I’m a little on edge.”

“I haven’t heard from you in several days, I was just stopping by to check up on you.”

“I know… I’m sorry, that’s very nice of you, actually. I’m just so…”

“Stressed? Tired? On the verge of a nervous breakdown?”

“All of the above…”

Andrew drank a gulp of tea or two, before standing up in a jolt.

“Come on, go get changed.”

“What?”

“You need some fresh air. Some fresh air, and a nice walk. Come on. Get properly dressed, we’re leaving.”

“Andy…”

“You look like a zombie, you need a break.”

“I thought I was still stunning.”

“You are. Don’t ask me how you do it. Come on!”

You smiled, and seemed to hesitate one last time before getting up as well. You went to your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and he bent to meet you halfway.

“Thank you, Andy. Where are we going?”

“I’ll find a nice spot, I promise.”

How could Andrew bring up this conversation?

He kept his words light and playful during the short drive to the spot he knew you would like. Some quiet path winding through the Wicklow hills, one that you knew already, but didn’t go there often. It was an easy, peaceful walk. Perfect to focus on nature, and get out of your head. It would do you good.

You were finally starting to relax, and Andrew didn’t dare to bring up the subject he so desperately needed to discuss. Partly because he didn’t want to stress you out again, partly because he was too afraid.

You joked around and spoke of unimportant but lovely things while you walked, his fingers brushing yours every once in a while, blaming the uneven terrain for the ghostly touch. But he didn’t reach out, didn’t hold onto you. He didn’t dare to.

You had brought some snacks with you, prepared while Andrew was pestering you to hurry. He decided that he would talk to you while you took a break to eat them. Yes, that sounded good…

“How often do you come here?” you asked him after a short silence.

“To this spot you mean? I don’t know… Haven’t come in a few weeks, that’s for sure.”

You giggled, and he slowed down to walk next to you again.

“You and your long legs. Wait for us mortals, would you?”

“Only if you’re nice to me.”

“I’ll give you a snack.”

“Hmm… that could work.”

“Or actually, never mind that. Go ahead and play the lure. So the beasts will attack you and spare me.”

“The beasts? What beasts? The squirrels? A bird?”

“There are badgers everywhere around here.”

“True, but I’m too skinny for their taste, I’m sure.”

“A bite-size ankle.”

“Nothing but bone, I’m afraid. Not enough sustenance. They’ll have to get to you, eventually.”

“Naughty.”

You walked further along the quiet path, laughing and joking and talking nonsense. And this was nice, unbelievably nice. There was just something about you that made Andrew’s shoulders lighter, his world brighter.

Love. It’s love.

You took a turn, came to particularly nice spot, breaking free from the trees of the forest trail. There was a clear view of the hills from there, and the valleys below.

“This is so nice. You were right, I was cooked up at home, and then at the office… I needed this. I needed some time outside, to clear my head.”

The Wicklow hills rolled before you, in various shades of green, the bluish grey of a stream running between them. You sat down together on an old stone wall, and you shared your snack with him: some slices of apple and a few biscuits.

“It’s so nice out here. We had not done that in a while, had we?” you went on, before taking a bite at the piece of apple in your hand.

The fruits were sweet and sticky with juice and sugar. The flesh had turned a little brown, oxidized by the air. Andrew hummed in agreement as he took another piece.

“Yeah, a few months, I’d say.”

“Longer than that. I don’t think we’ve done this since you’ve been back.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

He saw your gaze softening with sadness, something close to melancholy.

“How do you do it?”

Andrew frowned in response, silently asking what you meant. You looked at the landscape again as you answered.

“The touring. The constant travelling. Always being away from home. How do you do it?”

Andrew shrugged.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I get to do what I love, I can’t complain about it, I reckon. I’m so lucky people across the world love my music, that… total strangers on another continent can find something to relate to in my songs… It’s more than I’ve ever hoped for concerning my career. I’m very grateful for that.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He couldn’t refrain a small smile at that. You were always so stubborn, never letting him get away with things. He loved that about you, it was endearing.

He set his gaze on the landscape too, tracked some clouds drifting in the blue sky. The weather was so lovely this afternoon… he wondered when it would turn to rain.

“It’s tough,” he admitted. “On one hand I’m unbearably lucky. I love travelling, I’m going to places I would never have dreamt of visiting. I meet amazing people. I get to perform my songs, and people come to see me. And I would lie if I pretended that I don’t love touring. But it’s… it’s hard to be away for so long. You live out of a suitcase. You don’t have a proper bed, not to mention your own. You never sleep twice in the same place, you’re always busy, always torn in a thousand directions at once… you’re never on your own, there are constantly at least five people in the same room as you. Sleeping in a bus is hell. You’re… exhausted, all the time. Stressed because of all the things to do, stressed about the schedule, the interviews, the nerves before a show… And I miss home. I miss my parents, and my brother. I miss my friends. I miss my house, and my dog, and my bees, and just… this. I miss this place. And I miss you…”

He heaved a sigh, forcing himself to look at you again, feeling your stare upon him.

“But in the end, I love it. There’s nothing as rewarding as hearing someone else singing something I have written. There’s nothing as exhilarating as being on stage, and performing and… It feels like I was born to do that. It just feels so right. It’s the same when I write music. It just feels right.”

Slowly, you nodded, a gentle smile on your lips.

“I understand. But it sounds lonely.”

“I’m literally never on my own, that’s an issue, actually… to me it is, at least.”

“But you’re not with your family. Can you say that you’re with the people who matter most to you?”

“Some of them are.”

“What about most of us?”

He granted you a sad smile.

“Yeah… yeah, I miss all of you.”

You looked away again, and he was surprised to catch a glimpse at tears in your eyes.

“I don’t think I could do it. Not just travelling but… just… how can you be with someone if you’re never here?”

It was his turn to look away to hide rising tears. His throat tightened, his heart dropped, his chest was collapsing…

Was that why you didn’t want to be with him? Why you kept him at arm’s length?

“It can be difficult,” he nodded.

“Is that why you broke up with your ex?”

“There were a bunch of reasons. But it was one of them, yeah.”

“I… I don’t think I could handle it. Waiting for you to come back…”

“I understand.”

“Don’t get me wrong, when I proposed our… arrangement… it wasn’t because it was you. I… I genuinely don’t want to date anyone at the moment. My job is a lot. And I… I’m a little lost these days. What I’m trying to say is that… I feel lonely, sometimes. But I can’t be in a relationship right now. But if I proposed for us to remain friends, it wasn’t because I was rejecting you specifically. Do you see what I mean?”

“I think so… but I… I mean like… my career means that… if you were in a position that allowed you time and space for a relationship, you would still not choose me, right? That’s what it means.”

“I…”

But you grew quiet, and he wasn’t stupid. His vision was blurred with tears: a mix of several shades of green, a splash of blue and some grey and white. A cloud was passing.

He had come all the way here with you to talk, and he had his answer.

“You’re… you’re still okay with what we agreed on, right?”

What could he answer?

No… no, it hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced. But I can’t lose you for good. I’m not strong enough to survive it…

“Had I been anything else but a touring musician… would you have wanted to date me?” he asked, voice deeper than usual, unbearably fragile.

You didn’t say anything; he took your answer for a no.

He was being a fool…

“I can’t think like that, Andy.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason you can’t stay for the entire night. That we can’t have pet names. That you can’t kiss me now.”

He blinked his tears away to look at you, frowning, silently encouraging you to keep going.

“I can’t let you break my heart, Andrew.”

His lips parted at your words, he tried to wrap his mind around their meaning, blinked a few times.

It was… It was him. He was the problem. Him, and his job. The same pattern it had always been, all over again, but with you this time around.

You cleared your throat, stood up in a hurry.

“Come on, let’s finish this hike!”

He looked at you as you started to walk away, but didn’t move a muscle.

You could have loved him, and he would still stand no chance at all…

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me(part 5) matt sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he wakes up and finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), dark themes, death, smut (not in this part)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

matts pov.

"okay, you guys should feel different any minute now" Madi says before giving me a look. a look that says what I am doing is stupid. judging by the sadness that's roaming in my chest, I'm guessing y/n thinks its stupid too. why does she care, its not like she likes me, I think to myself. but even as I think it, I can't help but cringe at the loss of emotions I would have from getting rid of the bond. sure, it was annoying sometimes, but hell, Iife gets a little boring when you've been living for so long. its easy to go numb and become desensitized, and that's what made y/n an anomaly. even before the mating bond, she made me feel things. even things I didn't want to feel like annoyance and anger.

I look over at her and I can't help but stare. she's so pretty, I think even as the bond fades into a dull nothing.

"quite staring, your freaking me out" she says looking at me. I can see the tears in her eyes, and ,even though the bonds gone, I know she wishes there weren't any. I knew her and I knew that she didn't like to feel like others had power to make her sad or upset. she never wanted to lose control. I can't help but note how much I know about her. more than I thought I knew.

I look away and grab her arm and sigh at the fact that there are no tingles or heat that flash through me this time. "I'll take you home, it's been a long night." and so from there we head back to the car. shit, I almost forgot about chris. I open my phone to call him, but I see a text notification from him instead. "I'm going to stay, the spell could take all night for me" it says. I can't help but wonder how someone can take away the pain of losing a mate, but shrug it off. if I knew I'd be a magic user, not a vampire. and I wouldn't be standing here awkwardly with a girl I hated two days ago. a girl I wish I could comfort, but don't know how too. we climb in the van and I turn on the car. the hiss of the ac and the quiet hum of the radio are the only sounds in the car. she opens her mouth and closes it again. "what? what is it?" i sigh because the tension is killing me.

"if the bond is gone then why am I still sad?" she says quietly. I note the fact that this is the most vulnerable I've ever seen her. she's always had a strong front, and always had something smart to say. but now in the quiet that is my van, I feel like I see her, the real her.

"I don't know why." I say honestly, but cringe at the monotone way I say it. like I didn't care to know why she was upset, and right then I knew her walls were going to come back up before they even do. she shrugs and wipes her face once. "can I play music then, I don't like moping around." she sighs, grounding herself again. "I know you don't" I say softly "and yes you can, as long as you don't have shit music taste" I smirk at the end. teasing her is so much easier and more natural then whatever we've been doing the past 15 minutes. "Oh it's amazing, you're gonna wanna add my songs to your playlist when I'm done. " she takes the mood change and runs with it. she even laughs and I don't even try to stop myself from admiring her smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I pull into her house and all the lights are on and there are clanging noises coming from the inside of her home. its damn near 5 am and no one should be up that early on a Sunday morning. we were just having a good time, surprisingly, listening to music with each other. we both like the same kind of music and even though I acted like I hated her singing I didn't mind. but she wasn't singing now, she actually looked really scared.

"my dads home" she whispers and looks at me with wide glossy eyes. worry flutters in my chest at the sight of her being afraid. this guy must be bad news. "he rarely ever comes home" she says in the same quiet tone her eyes widening even further before she turns to me. "I thought Madi said she put a protection spell on me." she runs her hands through her hair and her breathing is picking up. if she keeps this up, she's going to have a panic attack.

" she did, okay, so you have nothing to worry about!" the words sound all wrong coming out of my mouth. I meant for them to come out comforting but instead they sound a bit like I just want her to shut up and get out of my car. why do I always have to sound so mean.

her breathing picks up more and she's crying now. "you don't know what he's like, matt! you've never met the guy. he doesn't want anything to do with me! and when he comes home, he's always drunk" she pauses and closes her eyes gasping for breath. "and he's mean!" she sobs. before I can stop myself I grab her face and guide her gaze away from the house to me. if she hadn't told me this, I would have never known she'd been hurt this way. I couldn't help but wonder how many times she came home to find a nightmare in her house.

"you don't have to be with that guy" I say slowly and nod my head before continuing

"just stay with me" I whisper.

@bbernard-03

@sturnthepot

@hoeformatt

@sturtriple16

@faygo-frog

@sturniol0s

@katie-tibo

@cindylcuwho

[skbeaumont]

Texas Heat | Joel x Reader

Chapter 2: Same time next week?

Series masterlist Chapter 1 here

Chp. 2 summary: Your first tutoring session with Sarah goes as expected, until Joel gets home and sends your head spinning. Rating: Teen (for now) Tags/Warnings: flirting, sexual tension, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU no outbreak Word Count: 2.4k A/N: Blown away by the response to my posts so far, thank you all so much! This story will be updated every Friday unless otherwise specified. Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for this and others.

Taglist: @mysterialee

The next couple of days pass by in a flurry of jetlag. The Adlers are nice: Easy to get on with, friendly but not in a way that makes you feel like you’re living on top of them. Connie’s cooking is good, if a little repetitive, and Danny is sweet and makes you laugh, telling you stories about his youth living in Austin. Nana doesn’t speak, but she has your mum’s eyes, and you spend the evenings sitting by her in the living room, reading the stack of novels you brought with you, enjoying the easy company and warm sunlight.

You see Joel outside through the window one early morning, casually ask Connie about him as you watch him load toolboxes and ladders into the bed of his truck. One kid, Sarah, a brother who lives with him, most of the time, no wife. This last shouldn’t send a spike of something like excitement down the back of your spine, but it does. You’d just assumed he was married when he’d told you about Sarah – no wedding ring, but working in construction, that made sense.

The knowledge that there isn’t a Mrs Miller makes you re-evaluate the car journey back from the airport, the way he’d let his arm rest along the back of your seat, that teasing, mischievous glint in his eye as he’d said goodbye, promising to take you up on your offer of maths lessons for Sarah. Those thoughts keep you up late that night, pressing your thighs together beneath the thin cotton top sheet in the Adler’s guest room.

Early Sunday evening you bump into Sarah in the driveway when you get back from Walmart, equipped with a new US sim card for your mobile. She’s sweet, even prettier in real life than in the photo you saw, not at all shy like you were when you were her age.

“Dad said you’re good at math,” she says without preamble, appearing from the side of Joel’s truck, looking at you with a sideways expression that’s a mix of consideration and incredulity.

“Pretty good, yeah.” You reply, stomach jolting at the thought of Joel talking about you, even if it’s to say something as benign as how talented you are at maths. “I’d be happy to help you out with homework, or whatever, if you want. I promise I’ll try not to make it too boring.”

Sarah smiles at this, the incredulity in her face morphing into approval, or as close to approval a thirteen year old can manage.

“You coming, Sarah?” Joel says, stepping out of the front door, head down as he examines something on the phone he’s holding. “Oh,” he says, looking up and seeing you, “hey.”

“Hi.”

He’s dressed the same as he was when he picked you up from the airport; dark t-shirt over faded jeans, the knees a little worn, but he’s wearing a baseball cap today, pulling his messy curls back from his forehead. You feel a blush inching up your neck as he so obviously tries to avoid checking you out in the tiny shorts you pulled on that morning.

“How are you settling in?” He asks, moving to stand next to Sarah by the truck.

He crosses his arms against his chest and the movement draws your eyes to his biceps, struggling against the tight sleeves of his tee. There’s a thin slither of a tan line just above where his shirt naturally falls, paler skin peeking out. It makes your head swim.

You clear you throat, refocus your eyes on his face.

“Good, I think. It’s a big change, but it’s nice. Hot, though.”

“Texan summers.” He replies, “Take a bit of getting used to if you ain’t suffered through one before.”

“I’ll say.”

“Sarah’s keen on those lessons, by the way.” He puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder, shakes her about so that she giggles. “Here,” He pulls out his mobile. “You got a US number yet?”

“Just picked up a new sim, actually” You pull your own mobile out, read off your number to him so that he can put it into his phone.

“I’ll text you later on,” He says, “we’re just heading out now.”

You say your goodbyes and leave the sweltering heat of the driveway, listening to Joel’s truck start up and pull off. Inside, Mercy greets you, rests her head on your knee as you collapse onto the sofa, clutching your mobile to your chest.

True to his word, Joel texts later that evening as you’re getting ready for bed.

Glad ur settling in ok. Would Tuesday work for math with Sarah? She gets back from school around 4. Joel.

You type out several draft replies before finally sending one that matches his straight-to-the-point tone.

Thanks. Tuesday works for me. See you then.

His response doesn’t arrive until the next morning, and when it does, your stomach sinks.

Sounds great. Will just be Sarah though, I’m working late Tuesday.

It’s almost embarrassing how disappointed you are by those last four words. In your head, it had been you, Sarah and Joel around their kitchen table, Joel’s toned forearms resting on warped wood, his deep chuckle in your ear as you worked through maths problems with Sarah. This makes you feel guilty, of course, because the whole point of this exercise is helping Sarah with her maths homework, not flirting with her father.

You fall back against the pillows of your bed. Around you, the room is already starting to feel a little like home. All of your toiletries are stacked up on the dressing table, and you’ve put your clothes away into the generous walk-in closet. Your books are scattered about the room, a few on the bedside table, another pile of them next to the full length mirror. The bed sheets are cool when you slip beneath them, bare legs sliding against soft cotton.

You stare at the green-grey light of your Nokia, looking at the last text from Joel, wondering if you should reply or just leave it. Best to play it cool, you decide, but restraint’s never been your strong suit and before you can stop yourself you’re typing out a reply, hitting the send button and grinning into the pillowcase.

That’s a shame. I was looking forward to testing your addition skills.

He doesn’t reply.

*****

Tuesday rolls around, bringing unrelenting sun and a dry heat that keeps you indoors most of the day. You help Connie rearrange her DVDs – an impressive collection – and take Nana out onto the porch in the early afternoon, waiting for Sarah to get home from school.

It’s just before four when she appears at the end of the cul-de-sac, hair bouncing around her shoulders as she makes her way towards you. She’s got her school bag slung over one shoulder, jeans rolled up at the ankles, a pair of scruffy Nikes on her feet. 

“Hi, Nana, Connie,” she calls as she approaches the porch, gaze turning to you, “math whizz,” she finishes, grinning.

“Hi yourself,” you return, pushing yourself out of the deckchair, brushing crumbs off of your bare legs. You say a quick bye to the Adlers and follow Sarah up her own driveway and into the cool, still air of the Miller’s kitchen.

It’s a little disorderly: there are pots scattered on the kitchen sides, and a menagerie of clutter on the table which sits under a window, bright afternoon sunlight streaming in. Sarah dumps her school bag on this, pushes a notepad, two tape measures and a pair of mugs out of the way so that you can sit beside her.

“Okay,” she says, drawing out an exercise book and placing it in front of her, “before we get into this I need you to understand that math is my weakest subject.”

“Right,” You say, watching her serious expression as she pushes the book across the table towards you, “understood.”

“And you need to promise me you won’t judge me based solely on my algebra skills, or lack of them.”

This makes you laugh, a chuckle bubbling up out of your throat. Sarah holds your gaze, her face still serious.

“Sorry,” you say, “I mean to say, I would never judge anyone based on their maths skills.”

Sarah’s face breaks into a grin. “I’m just messing with you.” She says, laughing at the look on your face. “I am pretty bad at algebra, though.”

She’s not. You work through a dozen or so exercises, helping her when she gets stuck, showing her where she’s going wrong, but she’s actually fairly good at the calculations once you’ve explained it to her a couple of times. The afternoon goes by quickly. After two hours or so Sarah stretches in her chair, yawning.  

“You wanna stay for dinner?” She asks, pushing the exercise book away from her. “It’s just leftover chicken casserole, but there’s enough if you want some.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

You sit by as she reheats the casserole, refusing your offers of help. Instead, you look around the rest of the room, searching out little hints of Joel that are tucked about: A pair of worn leather sandals by the back door, two plaid shirts hanging on the back of the door to the living room, a battered, dog-eared copy of a drill instruction manual, well-read and ringed with coffee stains.

It’s comfortingly domestic, and it makes your chest ache a little, thinking of your mum back home in London, all the friends and familiarity you left behind. Then Sarah’s placing a hot plate of casserole in front of you, joking about the fact that you don’t look very much like a mathematician, by which she means you don’t resemble Albert Einstein.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You tell her, and she smiles.

“You should. You’re much prettier than he was.”

You help Sarah do the dishes, stacking them neatly on the side to be put away later. After, Sarah asks if you want to stay and watch a movie, and you both spread yourselves out on the sofa in the Miller’s living room, flick on the television and watch Tim Allen and Sigourney Weaver mess about in outer space.

Sarah falls asleep before the film ends, even though the sun hasn’t fully set and its barely ten. You’re debating waking her when there’s a rattling from the kitchen and the sound of the front door creaking open. Joel.

You hear him clear his throat, scrape his boots on the door mat and then his deep voice is cutting through the silence of the house. “Sarah? You still up, baby?”

Sarah shifts where she’s asleep next to you but doesn’t stir. You push yourself off the sofa, step into the kitchen. Joel’s pulling off a toolbelt from around his waist, thick fingers unbuckling the clasp in a way that makes your heart rate jump up.

“Hey,” You say, leaning against the doorframe.

He jumps, his eyes shooting up to you before recognition softens his gaze.

“Hi,” He replies, finally working the toolbelt off and letting it drop onto the worktop beside him, “I didn’t expect you to still be here. Everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, fine. Sarah made me dinner and we watched a movie. Well, she fell asleep.”

Joel chuckles at this, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, she has a habit of doin’ that.”

“Work okay?” You ask, thinking you should probably leave him to a restful evening, not wanting to at all.

“Long,” He says, rubbing at the coarse stubble on the side of his jaw. “How did math go?”

“Good. She’s bright, just needed a little bit of guidance with it.”

“Always been switched on. Dunno where she gets it from.” He steps around the kitchen island, rolling his jacket down off of his shoulders as he goes, narrow hips winding around the island and the fridge toward you.

He pulls a ten dollar note out of his back pocket, hands it to you between two thick, calloused fingers. “For the lesson,” He says.

“You don’t have to, Joel, honestly.”

“S’only fair, darlin’” He proffers the note again and you take it, trying not to think about the way that casual darlin’ has gone straight to your head, blood rushing to your cheeks so that they feel like they’re on fire.

“She in there?” Joel asks then, nodding behind you to the lounge. “Oh, yeah,” You turn, let Joel look past you into the darkness of the living room, where Sarah is spread out on the sofa, breathing deeply, eyes flickering in the dull light from the paused DVD. 

As he leans into the room he steps toward you, the movement bringing him distractingly close, making you notice how much taller he is than you, how much broader. The t-shirt he’s wearing is stretched almost painfully across his shoulders, wear showing in the stressed seams. The patchy stubble at his jaw is longer than it was a few days ago, covering the sharpness of his jaw, the strong lines of his throat.

He looks away from Sarah’s form on the sofa then, his dark eyes flicking over your face, catching you watching him. You feel a blush creeping along your neck and up to your cheeks, and try to look away, but he’s holding your gaze, pupils wide in the dim light. Then his eyes dip down to your lips, follow the slight movement of your tongue as it worries at the edge of your mouth.

You can feel heat rolling off of him in waves and you wonder how it would be to push yourself up onto tip-toes and kiss the corner of his plush lower lip. This close, you can see the thin creases that line his eyes, the beginnings of grey in his dark eyebrows, raised slightly and pinching in the middle as he looks at you.

Your head is tilted up, your breath mingling in the dizzyingly narrow space between you. He clears his throat. You both realise, quite suddenly, how close you’re standing. Before you can say anything he’s moving back, tension breaking as he takes the white-hot heat of his body with him, leaving you flushed and dizzy.

“I should get Sarah to bed.” He says into the silence.

There’s a flush in his tanned face, painting his cheeks a deep red-brown, evidence that you aren’t alone in your distraction, in the surge of arousal that seems to be lighting you up from the inside. He runs a hand through already dishevelled hair.

“Right,” you reply, hoping he can’t hear the quaver in your throat, “I should head home.”

Outside, you rest for a moment against the wall next to the Adler’s front door.

Your heart is still thumping in your chest, each beat a reminder of the look in Joel’s eyes as he towered over you, his breath hot on your face, pupils blown wide because of the darkness, or maybe something else.

Before you get inside, your phone buzzes. The text is from Joel.

Same time next week?

You grin at the screen.

[alwaysmicado]

Sunshine

6.7k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 7

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, alcohol & painkillers, a little kiss, lots of sarcasm, angst, jealousy (reader would never!) Summary: A spontaneous meeting in a bar lays bare some uncomfortable truths. A/N: Why be sad when you can just turn off your feelings and not be sad anymore? It’s so easy. /s I can't tell you how much your messages about this series mean to me!! I love talking to you about it and I appreciate your enthusiasm and support soooo much!! Enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts! 🤍

→ previous part || series masterlist || main masterlist

The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain

– Werner Herzog

– – –

You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart. The world is a joke and nothing you do matters.

And you got a great ass. 

So fuck it.

You close the mirror cabinet and look at your reflection. The steam from your recent shower lingers in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere around you. With a determined gaze, you meet your own eyes, trying to convince yourself of what you so desperately want to believe. 

You. Don’t. Have. Feelings. 

Sighing exasperatedly, you leave the bathroom to go get dressed. You eye the empty space on the wall where the mirror used to hang in passing and can’t help but smile sardonically at the clean floor below. Who knew you had such a talent for cleaning blood? 

If your current job doesn’t work out in the long run, crime scene cleaner could be a viable alternative.

You rummage through your drawer for a fresh pair of panties, a soft bralette without any bothersome hooks, and a flowy dress you can easily pull over your head. Comfort is key today. Your morning shower proved tricky enough, but you managed somehow, maneuvering very ungracefully to keep your injured hand dry. 

Thankfully, you were smart enough to go to bed early last night and get up in time this morning, allowing you ample time to change the bandages and dress yourself with just one functional hand.

Exhaustion still lingers in every single one of your bones, but you’re determined to not let it get you down. Not again. So, you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee, sit outside on your balcony, pop the painkillers you got at the emergency clinic on Sunday, and browse the internet for a new mirror.

The sun kissing your skin feels nice, and the fresh air invigorates your senses. There’s even a flock of birds doing their choreographed dance in the sky. Just for you. You’re living in a goddamn dream, aren’t you? 

You scoff, down the rest of your coffee, cough when it goes down the wrong pipe, and go back inside once you don’t feel like you’re choking to death anymore. It’s time for work.

Your boss graciously let you work from home on Monday and Tuesday, but since there’s an important meeting scheduled this morning, she’s asked you to come to the office today. The meds should get you through the day, you’ll just have to figure out how to do your job effectively without the ability to type with your right hand.

You could try to push some of your workload onto the new intern who’s been unsuccessfully trying to flirt with you for the past month, but he strikes you as the type to show up with flowers and a teddy bear after you compliment his sneakers once — it’s probably not the best idea to entertain him.

An office romance sounds hot on paper, but your job is the only halfway stable thing in your life, so you don’t want to mess it up for some guy. Especially if said guy looks young enough to get carded in bars.

Why can’t you just not need money and not have to go to work at all? Is that really too much to ask? 

“Get your shit together,” you murmur to yourself as you grab your bag, your keys, and quickly check your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Eh, you look fine considering the messed-up past few days you had. The black wrist brace is kind of derpy—you can already see Kristen giggling at it and very much not believing any excuse you invent for it—but the smile you force onto your face looks virtually natural. 

What a little sunshine you are. 

Sandals on your feet, sunglasses sitting on your nose, wireless earbuds in your ears, your top three songs of the week on a blissful loop, you start your walk to the office. Nothing bad can touch you when the rhythm of your favorite beats courses through your veins, encapsulating you in an invincible cocoon.

For the first few minutes at least.

Your pulse quickens and your chest tightens as the gas station, where Joel could barely wait to pull out of you before gushing about his date, comes into view. And of course, Chris, the clerk, steps outside right as you pass it to inexplicably water the two withered plants next to the entrance.

You attempt to speed walk, hoping to avoid an embarrassing encounter, but where’s the fun in that, right? Sure enough, you hear him calling after you.

You roll your eyes behind your glasses and reluctantly stop, pulling out one of your earbuds as you turn to face him. His eyes fixate on the black brace around your wrist.

“What happened to your hand? Too much fun on the weekend?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

You sigh, not in the mood for a detailed conversation, and also very much aware of what he’s probably insinuating. “Just a little accident at home,” you reply, keeping it vague. “Don’t do yoga if you’re drunk.”

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, he’s nice enough to not keep you any longer. “Well, I hope it heals soon. And let me know if you, uh, need anything. You know where to find me.”

You nod, offering a polite smile, and continue on your way, reinserting the earbud to drown out the world. You turn up the volume, lip-sync, and ignore Joel’s call without missing a beat.

– – –

“Please, tell me. Please, please, please. Come on…you know you’re gonna tell me eventually, so let’s just save us some time and get it over with. You know I can keep a secret.”

As expected, Kristen is very intrigued by your wrist brace. In fact, she has been switching between begging for you to tell her what happened and coming up with some outlandish theories since you sat down at your desk four hours ago. To nobody’s surprise, they all involve some sort of sex accident. 

It’s kind of funny, though, that none of the elaborate stories she imagines come close to capturing the absurdity of your reality. Oh well, you’re used to it by now. And yet, there’s no way in hell you’re going to divulge one of your most vulnerable and embarrassing moments to her. Not a chance. 

“I already told you,” you say without stopping your one-handed typing. “I got drunk watching The Bachelor and then my genius brain decided that was the perfect moment to try out some new yoga positions. It’s a miracle I only sprained my wrist and didn’t break my neck.” You put on your most convincing smile and look at her. “It’s embarrassing as shit, okay? I mean, look at this thing,” you point at your injured hand. “I look like a kid who fell off a swing on the playground.”

Kristen giggles and is about to say something, but right at that moment, she receives a phone call from a client. She sighs, narrows her eyes, and mouths, “This is not over.” You wink at her and go back to typing with your left hand, occasionally swearing under your breath when you hit the wrong keys. This is all so much fun. 

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of emails, phone calls, bad coffee, painkillers, Kristen putting a heart sticker on your wrist brace, another meeting, and your phone lighting up with new messages from Joel. 

By 5:30 p.m. your brain is about to explode, so you decide to call it a day and leave. There’s a frozen pizza waiting for you at home and you can hear your pajamas and sofa calling your name. Sweet, sweet solitude; it’s so close you can feel it. You just have to walk out fast eno–

“Drinks.”

“Did you seriously just hide behind that plant and jump out?” you chuckle, and Kristen’s grin tells you that is absolutely, one hundred percent what just happened. 

“Drinks,” she repeats. And when you open your mouth, she says it again, but this time she gives you her most adorable pout.

“Okay, okay,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “You can stop the puppy routine.”

“I love how easy you are,” she beams at you and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Let’s go!”

The warmth of the summer evening envelops you both as you step outside. The sun, still casting its golden hues across the city, paints the urban landscape with a vibrant palette. Kristen, with a fancy sun hat perched on her head that perfectly complements her black hair, looks for bars near you on her phone.

As you try to decide on a bar, the balmy air carries the distant sounds of the city’s summer symphony. The occasional laughter from a nearby cafe mingles with the hum of traffic, creating a lively backdrop to your anticipation.

Amidst the ambient noise, your phone buzzes with Tommy’s name flashing on the screen. You answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hi Tommy.”

“Hi honey,” Tommy’s voice comes through, the background noise indicating he’s at a lively place. “Just calling to ask how you’re doing today.”

“You know you don’t need to call me every day to ask me that, right?” you chuckle, still unable to understand why he even cares. You don’t deserve him.

“Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” he says in mock offense, and you can perfectly picture the grin on his face. 

“Well, if it’s that important to you…” you say, a smile on your lips. “I’m good. My friend and I are going for drinks. Just need to decide on a bar first.”

“What a perfect coincidence! I’m at this new place right now. They got great burgers and drinks, even non-alcoholic stuff,” he tells you excitedly. “Oh and Joel’s here, too.”

Your heart skips a beat at Tommy’s words. Joel is there, at the same place. The thought of seeing him again stirs a concoction of emotions within you — longing, uncertainty, and a subtle yearning for things to be okay. There’s an undeniable pull. You miss him.

As you take a moment to think of your answer, Kristen mouths, “Who’s that?”

“It’s my friend, and he’s inviting us to join him at a bar,” you explain to her.

Tommy’s voice perks up on the phone, “Come on, it’ll be a blast. The more, the merrier!”

You look at Kristen questioningly, and she gives you two thumbs up and a big smile. 

You sigh and look up at the sky. There’s a big bird chasing a smaller one. “Okay, we’re in,” you say to Tommy, and his excited shouts in your ear make you giggle. He sends you the location and you immediately order an Uber for you and Kristen. You don’t have to wait for long.

Sitting in the car, your initial, albeit reluctant, excitement has turned into annoyance as the hands of the clock seem to move at an agonizingly slow pace. What was supposed to be a ten-minute journey has stretched into an interminable thirty minutes, courtesy of the unrelenting rush hour traffic. 

The air inside the car feels stifling, even with the AC humming, and the incessant chatter about football between the driver and Kristen becomes an indistinct drone. Your lack of interest in the sport combines with the whirlwind in your head, making their conversation an incomprehensible blur.

As your stomach churns, a sense of queasiness settles over you, intensifying the already uncomfortable ride.

By the time you make it to the bar, you’re tired, cranky, and wish you had just gone home after work. You could be lying on your sofa right now, stuffing your face with pizza, watching Netflix, and testing your new vibrator before falling asleep in your soft bed. But no, you just had to be social, hm?

As you enter the crowded and lively bar, the buzz of upbeat chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic thump of music surrounds you. Everyone’s loud and happy, and you’re just not in the right mood for it. Slowly making your way through the sea of faces with Kristen trailing behind, you spot Tommy seated in a cozy booth.

The mere sight of him puts you at ease — for about a second, that is.

Your eyes fall onto Joel and the woman who’s casually touching his shoulder, comfortably nestled against the plush cushioned seats. You’ve never seen her before, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or even a sober brain to figure out who she is. What is she whispering into his ear now? He’s laughing. You can see his eye crinkles from where you’re standing.

The sight is like a punch to your gut.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, and the urge to turn around and run away grips you. Unwelcome emotions and memories surge back, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Just as you contemplate an escape route, Tommy spots you from across the room, his face lighting up. 

“Sweetheart,” he shouts, rising from his seat and waving enthusiastically. His excited shout draws the attention of everyone around him, including Joel. Your eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades. The corners of his lips instinctively turn upwards as he looks at you, but after spotting your wrist brace and the pained look on your face, he furrows his brow.

What the hell happened to you?

In the blink of an eye, you flip a switch in your brain, put on the most radiant smile you can muster, straighten your shoulders and cross the room. Joel’s concerned eyes don’t leave you for a second.

“There she is,” Tommy says, genuine warmth in his voice as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek, followed by a tight, comforting hug. “It’s so good to see you.” 

“You too, Tommy,” you murmur, a sense of momentary relief washing over you in the wake of his presence.

He pulls away from the hug, extending his greeting to Kristen, before introducing you both to the beautiful brunette sitting next to his brother. Draping his arm around your shoulders, he tells you with a smile that, “This is Jan, an old school friend of mine. We actually didn’t plan this whole meeting with everyone, somehow we just all ended up here. Funny coincidence,” he chuckles and you strain the muscles around your mouth so hard it hurts.  

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. She reciprocates your greeting and gives you a charming smile. 

“And I don’t need to introduce you to this guy, huh?” Tommy grins, squeezing your shoulder.

Your gaze shifts to Joel, who’s caught in the limbo of whether to remain seated or stand up, so he ends up awkwardly half-standing, caged in the narrow space between the bench and table.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your eyes lacking their usual vivacity—a detail not lost on him.

He settles back into his seat, audibly clearing his throat. “Hi, darlin’.”

He studies your face as you settle down beside Tommy. You look as beautiful and glowing as always, but the longer he looks, the more cracks in the carefully put up facade he can see. Your smile isn’t genuine, your eyes look a bit swollen—like you’ve been crying or not sleeping well—and your body language screams unease.

The others may not notice, but he does. Because he knows you.

Kristen takes a seat beside Jan, seamlessly weaving herself into the ongoing conversation with Joel. Her ability to navigate social dynamics with such ease leaves you marveling – how is she so good at this? Her charm extends, connecting the trio in animated small talk.

Your body eases into a semblance of relaxation as Tommy pulls you closer and presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, a tender reassurance that brings a sense of solace.

Sitting up straight, you return his smile, gratitude evident in your eyes. “Thanks to you.”

Tommy beams at you, momentarily lost in the exchange, before redirecting his attention to the group. “Are you guys ready for a first round of drinks?” he asks, the unison response from everyone echoing with enthusiasm, a collective “yes” that adds a burst of energy to the already vibrant atmosphere. 

– – –

After three rounds of drinks (you very responsibly decided to change to coke after one mojito), burgers, nachos, sharing the epic tale of how you managed to hurt your hand doing yoga, Jan gossiping about the guy her adult daughter brought home last week, Tommy sharing hilarious stories from his and Joel’s workplace, and everyone seemingly having loads of fun, you let yourself relax a bit.

It’s nice witnessing Joel’s laughter and enjoyment. A warmth spreads through your heart at the sight, a flicker of happiness for him. Yet, the subtle discomfort lingers as Jan’s touch becomes a constant presence on his arm. Rationalizing it as a casual gesture during conversation and under the influence of drinks doesn’t fully erase the twinge of unease settling within you.

But you can handle it, you convince yourself.

Until you can’t. 

You can’t handle it when Jan’s hand finds its way to Joel’s thigh and her lips brush the shell of his ear.

You glance at Joel, searching for a reaction, a flicker of discomfort perhaps, but his response is subtle. A shift in his seat, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for a casual adjustment, yet there’s a discernible change in his demeanor. It’s a momentary pause, a beat in the rhythm of the evening.

The weight of the scene bears down on you, and you feel a pang of vulnerability, a subtle ache in your chest. In that split second, a mix of emotions surges within you – a tinge of hurt, a brush of jealousy, and a sting of betrayal.

Emotions you haven’t felt in years. Emotions you have sworn to yourself you’d never feel again.

Why does it bother you so much? Is it because it reminds you of how you touched him, how you ran your hand further and further up his thigh when he was taking you home for the first time, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his car over and fucked you in the driver’s seat? Has she done that with him? Is she as addictive as you are?

This close to a full-blown panic attack, you jump up from your seat to the surprise of everyone at your table. You make brief eye contact with Kristen, who shoots you a sympathetic look. 

Excusing yourself, you navigate through the bustling crowd towards the restrooms, located downstairs and accessible via a staircase. There are three separate spacious restrooms, and you choose the first one. Inside, you immediately head to the sink, running your left hand under cold water. The sensation helps to calm you down.

Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, reassuring yourself that it’s not a big deal, and that it’s exactly what it was always meant to be—probably even for the best.

Then, as you try to find composure, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Occupied!” you yell in response to the knock, and then you hear Joel’s deep voice saying, “It’s me.” 

Of course it is.

You sigh exasperatedly and shuffle to the door to let him in. Joel enters, swiftly locking the door behind him.

“There’s two other restrooms, you know,” you murmur as you walk back to the sink and divert your attention to your reflection in the mirror, concentrating on fixing your hair. 

“Yeah, well, I specifically want the one with you in it,” he says with a little smirk, his eyes searching for yours in the mirror. As your gaze meets his, he’s taken aback by the lack of the usual sparkle that used to light up your eyes at the sight of him. The absence of that adoration he’s grown accustomed to leaves a void, and a tinge of concern creeps into his expression.

“Hey,” he says tentatively, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay, darlin’?”

You look at him, and the weariness in your eyes doesn’t escape his attention. There’s a distant quality to your gaze, and it sends a pang of worry through him. The connection he once felt in your eyes seems to have dimmed, and he can’t help but feel a sense of loss.

It’s the same expression you had when he last saw you. He hates it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond, putting on your fake smile again, but the lack of conviction in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel’s concern deepens as he steps closer, the teasing smirk replaced by genuine worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his brow furrowed. “I was worried something happened, and—he points at your injured hand—my feeling was right.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “What happened?”

You turn around and lean against the sink, holding your right arm with your left hand, your eyes revealing a complex mixture of emotions. “I told you already,” you say nonchalantly. “Getting drunk and trying to do elaborate yoga poses is a dumb idea if you’re as clumsy as me.”

Joel raises his eyebrows, not believing a word you’re saying. “That’s not all, is it?”

“What do you mean?” you say, feigning ignorance.

“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m…worried about you.” Joel’s concern etches lines on his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, narrow slightly as he studies your seemingly cheerful facade.

“But this is myself.” You point at your smiley face with your left hand and tilt your head. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head, a subtle sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said. I just feel like something’s off.”

“Is it because I’m happy?”

“It’s because I don’t believe you’re happy. I know you too well, baby.”

You scoff, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy? Do you want me to be miserable?”

“No, sweetheart. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy. But you’re lying to my face right now and I don’t appreciate that.”

You turn your head to avoid his gaze, your silence speaking volumes, your hand tightly gripping the flesh of your arm as if to contain the emotional turmoil threatening to spill over.

Stop it.

“Darlin’,” Joel says gently, closing the physical gap between you two, and reaching out to place his warm palms on your shoulders. “Look at me.”

A shiver runs down your spine and tiny goosebumps instantly form on your skin. You’ve missed his touch more than you care to admit — to yourself or to him. His touch is tender, a plea for connection, but you hesitate. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, revealing the deep sadness you tried to conceal.

What happened to you? Whatever it was, it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there to protect you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

“Not everything’s about you, Joel.”

“I know that. I just…wish you would let me know what’s going on.” His touch becomes a subconscious reassurance as he absentmindedly rubs your arms, as if trying to make sure you’re really there in front of him.

“Why do I owe you that? Why do I owe you every shitty detail of my life while I know virtually nothing about you?” you say a little sharper than intended. 

Joel takes a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought–” he pauses, searching your eyes. “I miss seeing that spark in your eyes when you look at me,” he admits, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I never fully realized how much it meant to me until now.”

You take a moment to process his words and his touch as frustration bubbles up inside you. Your heart aches.

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Doing what? Caring about you?”

“Ruining the mood.” You shake your head, swallowing what you actually want to say, any traces of happiness erased from your face. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s starting to work.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to understand what’s happened since the last time I saw you.” He tilts his head and studies your face, genuine concern in his eyes. 

All you can see, though, is disappointment. He’s disappointed in you, you can sense it. And how could he not be? You’re a liability, a mess. Looks like he’s finally seeing you for who you are, and that’s why he replaced you.

“And now’s the best time to do that?” you scoff, averting your gaze and looking around. 

“What am I supposed to do when you don’t respond to me for days on end and this is my only chance of talking to you?”

You look back into his eyes. “How about leaving it alone?”

“I can’t do that. Not when it comes to you,” he says, shaking his head and moving closer, his cologne filling your senses like a familiar embrace. His hands trace the contours of your neck, a gentle and deliberate touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. His thumbs brush your cheekbones with a tenderness that speaks of longing, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.

In that charged moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken desires before you both succumb to the magnetic pull drawing you together. Your heartbeat quickens, matching the rhythm of anticipation. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. The familiar sensation of his lips on yours is both electric and comforting, and you allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit.

As he eases away, his fingers trail lightly down your neck and arms, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. There’s a soft smile on his lips as he breaks the silence. 

“I mean it when I say I care about you and want the best for you, darlin’,” he murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me any details about what happened if you’re not ready yet, but I need to know what made you not want to call me. We’ve been there for each other in difficult situations before, so I just really don’t get it.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, frustration and anger intertwining with the lingering memory of his lips on yours.

“Why in the world would I ever call you while you’re on a date?” you say quietly, a steely edge in your voice, no trace of a smile to be found on your lips.

Oh. So it did bother you. 

Joel’s expression shifts from concern to a momentary realization, the lines on his forehead deepening. “I would always drop everything to be there for you. No matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

You laugh wryly. “Joel. Seriously. Are you really trying to tell me you were oh so worried about me while you were fucking someone else? And that you’re worried now even though she’s currently upstairs, desperately waiting for you to take her home? Come on, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He stares at you in utter disbelief and takes a step back, as if physically recoiling from the weight of your words. “That’s not what–”

“Look, Joel,” you push yourself off the sink, straighten up, and walk past him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. You can fuck or date whoever you like. Jan seems nice and like a good match, so I’m very happy for you.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not doing any of that. You misunders–”

You turn around sharply to look at him. “I misunderstood the woman who’s had her hands all over you the whole evening?” 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, trying to get through to you. “She’s drunk as hell and probably doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. And I’m not interested anyway.”

“Sure. That’s why she’s here right now.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Tommy invited her without telling me,” he says, running his fingers through his hair as his stress is mounting. “Darlin’, please. This isn’t even about her; it’s about you and me. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

You turn your head, deliberately avoiding the intensity of his gaze as the weight of his words settles in. His plea sends palpable waves of discomfort through your already wounded emotions, causing your chest to tighten further. Why is he doing this? Is this fun for him? 

“So you’d rather keep pretending everything’s fine?” he presses, his tone a mix of concern and urgency, the edges of his patience beginning to fray. 

Okay, now you’ve had it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joel. What do you want from me?” you hiss at him, frustration dripping from your words.

Joel is momentarily taken aback, but his own agitation prevents him from fully grasping your distress. A deep sigh escapes him as he props one hand on his hip, rubbing his eyes wearily with the other.

“Since when does it matter what I want?” he murmurs.

Ouch.

That hurt.

Your face falls, and you feel like he just slapped you across the face. The sting of his words cuts deep, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, realizing the impact of his words a moment too late. “I’m sorry, baby, I–” his voice trembles with regret, desperate to undo the damage he’s done.

“Is that how you really feel? That I don’t care about what you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“No, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so–”

“But that’s how you feel? Deep down?”

Why are you acting so surprised? Were you really naive enough to believe him when he said he was happy with you? God, you’re dumb.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he reaches out to wipe away the tears that are making their way down your cheeks, but you push his hand away.

“I came here for you, Joel,” you blurt out, your raised voice startling him. “And I–I spent the last three hours making conversation with everyone, including the woman you’re fucking, because I care about you and want you to be happy, even though my hand is killing me and I’m so drained I have to force my eyes to stay open.”

You express yourself with animated hand gestures as you talk through your tears, your voice breaking. 

“I had a horrible weekend and needed some time to recover, but I was so fucking happy to see you tonight because I’ve missed you and I’ve–I’ve never hidden how much I like spending time with you. Why is that not enough? What more do you want from me?”

Your big, watery eyes pierce Joel’s, and the fact that he’s the reason for your tears pierces his heart.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right what I said.”

He takes a step closer to you, the desperation in his eyes matching the pain in yours, intending to pull you into a comforting hug to calm you—and himself—down. However, you immediately take a step back, creating a physical distance between you two.

“Do you want me to cry ‘cause seeing you with another woman breaks my heart? Is that it?” 

Joel stares at you incredulously, your accusing tone making him wince. “No, of course no–”

Your heart is racing, and you can feel the tightness in your chest growing with every second you’re looking into Joel’s eyes. Eyes that—until now—have always made you feel so calm, so safe, so…loved. Your hands tremble slightly, and a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Do you want me to make a scene in front of everyone ‘cause it physically pains me to think you’re touching her the same way you touch me?”

Joel opens his mouth to say something, a fleeting impulse to express himself and try to console you, but he catches himself, realizing that uttering those words might inflict more damage than repair right now. 

“Do you want me to beg you not to leave me ‘cause I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore? Is that what you want?”

“Sweetheart...” He takes a step towards you, his eyes pleading, but you cut him off.

“No, I’m fucking sick of this,” your words spill out between sobs as tears stream down your face. “It’s always the same. I’m good enough only as long as I act the way you want it, and the minute you get bored or realize I’m not as perfect as you imagined, you replace me with someone better. Everyone always fucking leaves and I’m so sick of it.”

“Darlin’, I swear that’s not what’s happening,” Joel implores, his whole body so tense and hot he’s sweating through his shirt. “I’m not leaving and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You sigh deeply, grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, blow your nose, and dry your tears.

“I knew this was gonna happen and I still let myself believe I could be enough for once,” you murmur more to yourself than him, your head pounding painfully.

Serves you right for having feelings.

Joel says your name gently, trying his best not to spook you. His words hang in the air like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to mend what is broken.

“You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”

Your head is spinning, emotions tumultuous and unyielding. In dire need of fresh air and distance from Joel, you stagger towards the door. His voice follows you, pleading.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to leave you. And I’m so incredibly sorry for upsetting you, I just–” he exhales deeply and clears his throat. “I wanted you to be honest with me about your feelings, but this wasn’t the way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The door swings open, and you turn around, the forced smile from before back on your lips. 

“Well, congratulations, Joel,” you say, your tone laced with a mix of bitterness and anguish. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

The door slams shut behind you, leaving Joel stunned, alone with the haunting echoes of shattered trust and unspoken pain, the distant thump of music mirroring the beating of his remorseful heart.

As you make your way back upstairs, the residual heat of the argument lingers on your skin. Taking a deep breath, you enter the lively space once more. Tommy, who’s standing at the bar, notices you, concern etched across his face.

“Hey, is everything okay, honey?” he asks, his voice soft with genuine worry.

You manage a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My hand’s just hurting really bad now and the meds make me dizzy, so I’ll head home.”

He furrows his brow. “Joel’s my designated driver, but I can take a cab, so he can drive you home.” He looks around, searching the bar for his brother. “Where is he anyway?”

“There’s a huge line in front of the restrooms, he’s probably still waiting. And it’s okay, Tommy, really.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, seeking solace, and bury your face in the crook of his neck. He responds by pulling you into a warm and reassuring embrace, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words. Luckily, he’s drunk enough not to smell his brother on you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your eyes closed. 

Tommy strokes the back of your head and chuckles. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

He pulls away far enough to look into your eyes, giving you the brightest smile. “Tell you what. You come over for dinner on Friday — no ifs, ands, or buts. Maria’s been wanting to see you, and we just finished our patio, so it’s perfect.”

You pinch his cheek and shake your head at him. “It’s not fair that you’re this charming, you know? How could I ever say no?”

“Don’t say no, then,” he says playfully,  a hint of worry still in his eyes.

You sigh exaggeratedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

“Attagirl. And you’re sure you don’t want Joel to drive you?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I always find my way home somehow.” You plant a kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and he finally agrees to release you from his embrace after securing a pinky promise that you ‘a hundred percent won’t flake out’.

You walk over to Kristen and Jan, who are still sitting at your table, engrossed in an animated conversation. Observing them for a moment, you find yourself captivated by Jan’s effortless charisma. She’s a real sunshine — and unlike you, she doesn’t have to fake it. Had you met her under different circumstances, you might have liked her. 

Kristen’s eyes meet yours, and her brow furrows slightly, registering the expression on your face for a fleeting moment. Swiftly, you put on a polite smile and step closer, masking the momentary vulnerability with practiced ease.

“Ladies,” you say, a touch of self-deprecating humor in your tone, “I know I’m lame, but I’m actually going home already. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

Jan answers first, surprising you with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s not lame at all! You’re just smarter than us.”

You hold up your injured hand and deadpan, “Yeah, I’m a real genius, aren’t I?”

Jan and Kristen giggle, and you join in, sharing a brief moment of camaraderie. You’re so good at this. Almost believable. 

As you look for your bag on the bench, contemplating the logistics of your departure, Kristen catches your eye and winks at you.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, giving you a reassuring look. “Our boss is gonna have a fit if I fall asleep at my desk again, so…I guess this is what being a responsible adult is,” she sighs. She hands you your bag, downs the rest of her drink, and the two of you say goodbye to Jan, who’s now getting up to search for the Miller brothers.

Kristen takes you by the hand, gently leading you outside. The cool breeze brushes against your face as the sun starts its descent, offering a much-needed breath of fresh air. Settling down down on the curb together, you find a comfortable spot, trying your best not to inadvertently flash someone as you adjust your dress. 

“I’ll call us an Uber,” Kristen says, her tone comforting. You appreciate the warmth of her presence as you wait for the ride, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow on both of you.

“Done.” She wraps her arm around you, providing a supportive shoulder for you to lean on. The two of you sit in silence, the ambient noise of traffic and distant chatter from the bar filling the air, serving as a backdrop to the racing thoughts in your mind. Eventually, Kristen succumbs to her curiosity. 

“So…” she starts, her voice carefully navigating the sensitive terrain. “That’s him?”

You chuckle faintly. “Yup. That’s him.”

“Hmm, I get it now. He’s hot as fuck,” she says, happy that she can make you laugh. “Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d be up for it. I’m just not so sure about his heart being able to take it. Or his back. Or his knees.”

Kristen giggles and then looks at you for a moment, fascinated by this evening’s revelations. “It’s so interesting, I had no idea you were into older guys.”

“I, uh, didn’t know either before I met him.”

“I see,” she nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. Another minute of shared silence passes before she decides to just come out and ask you the one burning question on her mind.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need a second to think about your answer.

– – –

Thank you for reading!! 🤍

→ part 6 || part 8 || series masterlist

tagging: @koshkaj-blog @paleidiot @pattwtf @tuquoquebrute @witchofthedeepwoods let me know if you want to be added!