#i’ve been thinking about this for a bit

[sparrowwithaquill]

Pls do Saja Boys x Popstar!Reader. The popstar could be a Sabrina Carpenter type! Thank you!

You got it my friend 😘 I’ve been simping HARD for the Saja boys ever since the trailers and movie came out.

Saja Boys x F!Reader; otherwise called reader is nervous at all the attention from a group of hot guys.

I tried to make it as ambiguous as possible as to what the reader looks like, the only thing that’s set is that the reader has at least hair on their head 😅

Summary: Coming back from your world tour, you expect to rest for a bit before going back to performing. What you didn't expect was gaining the attention of five super attractive men that just can't seem to leave you alone.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I might make a continuation of this with some nsfw bits for each member, let me know if that’s something y’all would be interested in

Tags: @floredaqueen

Getting back to your home from your tours has always been a highlight that you treasure, especially from how exhausting performing is. Still, there is nothing that you would change about your life. Currently, you just got home and cleaned yourself up and decided that going for a walk would be nice. The city is beautiful and getting some fresh air would do you some good.

That's how you now find yourself roaming the street in the market section of the city as you people watch. Occasionally, watching some of the birds as they're flying. One bird grabs your attention from the others though in the way it seems to be watching with... purpose, eventually landing on a sign that is nearby where you were standing.

Normally it wouldn't really be something that you pay attention to, despite you liking birds, but something about this particular bird just gets your attention.

The bird must have thought the same as it stays on the sign despite you getting closer.

"Well, you have some interesting patterns, don't you little guy?" You say to yourself as the bird just watched you, something flickers in your peripheral, but before you can turn to see it, the bird lets out a chirp bringing your attention back to it.

“Hm? Guess you don’t like being ignored, understandable, you’re a very handsome bird,” you smile at the bird before turning to leave, slightly waving to it as you continue to walk around, oblivious to the eyes that follow your form as you leave.

Some time passes before you decide to go back to your home, using the time to listen to some of the songs on your next album to feel out if they're up to your standards.

Days pass with you enjoying your short break and taking the time to slowly get back into your routine of dancing and singing practice. You had just finished your latest practice session when you decide to go back to town to get some groceries, maybe try out that new recipe you've been meaning to indulge in. You’re walking in the direction of the store you most frequent when you see the same bird, a smile coming across your face as you slightly wave to it again.

“Hello my little friend! Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you smile until a cough sounds from behind you.

You quickly turn face going red at being caught talking to a bird of all things, before it lands on an incredibly handsome stranger who has a small smile on his face. One that also shows he definitely saw you talking to a bird.

“You always talk to birds, or did I just get lucky to see it?�� He says with a small smirk on his face.

“I- uh, no not,” you clear your throat trying to will the heat from your face to die down, “I try not to make it a habit,” you stammer out eventually calming down enough to meet his gaze.

His very handsome gaze that is, the heat slowly returns to your face while your eyes dart around.

You eventually get your bearings, clearing out your throat as you look at him eyes quickly flicking across him, really getting a look at him before finally retorting.

“Do you always watch girls when you’re out or did I just get lucky?” A small smile unintentionally making its way to your face before you quickly choke it down with an eyebrow raise, seeing a near drop dead gorgeous man definitely isn’t something you’ll complain about, but still a man is a man no matter how hot.

The stranger just lets out a low chuckle before stepping a little closer to you, eyeing the bird before it flies off to seemingly nowhere.

“Not really, only the pretty ones,” he says, hands in his pockets of his jeans while he looks you up and down. Before you get the chance to stammer out a reply, four other equally just as gorgeous men come around to him before one of them, the one with a shirt that is clearly hanging on for dear life, claps him on the shoulder.

“Yo, Jinu, we’re waiting for you man- woah,” the man who you would definitely say could call you any time looks at you with a look of recognition, one that you try to shake your head as fast as you can without looking insane.

“So you have a name! Love that for you, sorry for being weird- you guys have fun with whatever you were doing!” You quickly make your way out of there with a hand covering your face to shield it from their eyes as you could practically feel steam coming off it.

The one who recognized you still has wide eyes as he realizes that yeah you are that one definitely famous singer and oh my gosh he can't believe that you ran into them. He quickly clues in the other men who are just confused at both of your reactions, the news making Jinu smile as he starts to think maybe he was right to send his little bird to watch you.

“Oh my gosh I looked like an idiot, a complete moron in front of five hot guys. Ugh girl you need to get your shit together,” you mutter to yourself as you continue walking towards a clearing where some people are talking about a boy group performing there.

You pull your sunglasses on and pull up your jacket a bit to avoid being recognized as you stand in front of a gathering crowd as some music starts. To your shock and horror, the same men that you’d bumped into are performing and singing.

“Oh my gosh I’m so dead, I have to die of embarrassment now, no I need to leave the country,” your muttering is interrupted as you make eye contact with who you now know as Jinu as he winks at you, your face erupting into heat as you pull the strings of your jacket to cover your face. Meanwhile the women and men behind you scream as they think it’s for them.

The action causes the Saja Boys to smile wider as they notice you hiding your face. They continue with their song, you still listening and your shoulders unintentionally bouncing up and down to the music. They notice with glee, their song ending as they send out finger hearts to the crowd watching your reaction as you try to look anywhere but their faces.

They finish their song, officially making their debut as they seemingly disappear into thin air. This gives you the chance to finally go to the store and get all the things you need for your dinner. You're heading back to your home when you hear someone call out to you, you are turning with fear that it's a crazy fan. Instead, you hesitantly turn around to see that it is instead the five hot guys with handsome smiles on their faces. Maybe the fan would have been better, you think as your grip tightens on the groceries in your hands.

The one with long pink hair in the shape of a heart is the first one to greet you as he waves with a large grin on his face.

"You saw our show, right? Did you enjoy it? My name is Romance,” He smiles at you, the action has you lowering your shoulders a bit at his smile. He's pretty friendly, still devastatingly attractive though.

"Uh, yeah I did! It was really good, you were really good!"

You smile back a bit shy, eyes darting between the five men as their eyes zero in on you. The action causing you to get a bit bashful at the cropped shirt that leaves your stomach and cleavage slightly exposed. The men barely try their best to avoid being obvious at their shameless staring, but let their eyes wander a bit.

Jinu is the next one to speak, offering a hand as he speaks.

"Did you now? You need any help with those groceries; we'd be more than happy to help you~" He purrs out, a wolfish grin taking over his face as your face heats up at the look he gives you. Curse you for your dry spell, just looking at these guys is enough to bring some heat to you.

"No! No I'm- I'm fine really and I don't want to stop you guys from whatever you're up to," you let out as the one with mint hair has no shame in smirking at your bashfulness as you make eye contact with him. Who you later learn is Mystery, silently makes his way around you as you slightly back away from the hungry looks they give you. Your back hits his chest as you look up, you making a surprised sound to see him. He has a slight smile on his face at the look of shock on your own.

"We're not too busy, especially not when we could help a gorgeous woman out~" The one with the ill-fitting shirt says tilting himself down a bit to stare directly into your eyes, as he smirks at your nervous expression.

"No really! I wouldn't want to impose," you let out with a small laugh making your way into the direction of your house. They let you back away looking at you with a gaze that screams they would eat you up if given the chance.

A week passes by from the interaction you had, the memory playing in your head like a broken record. The memory is still playing during your practice in your dance studio as you hear voices passing by. You're in the middle of a break as your backup dancers are casually speaking to each other while you leave the room to grab more water and a sports drink. You're at the vending machine when you can physically feel eyes on you, you turn your head a bit to see the most muscular member of their group behind you.

He looks you up and down before letting a coy smile make its way to his face as he leans against the wall across the vending machine. You whip your head around, face getting heated up as you can feel it creeping to your ears.

"So, how's practice going for you?" You hear his deep voice close to you as you turn around a bit and see him now down to your ear, you let out a sound that could be comparable to unholy as you realize just how close he was. Immediately, you start stammering as you try to put some distance between you.

"It's- um, you're so close, it's going," you clear your throat as he just smirks at you, "It's um good; it's going good we were just going on our break for the next hour, rest a bit y'know? Hehe how's uh how's your practice going? What's your name by the way, never uh never got it..."

God, you have been out of the game for so long, can you speak to even one person normally?

He raises his eyebrows, not really expecting you to give a response, but gives a small smile, "names Abby, guess we never really introduced ourselves, huh?"

Your shoulders lower themselves at his response, a small smile gracing your features as you finally make eye contact.

"No, you really didn't, so new group, right? Your performance was really good, really catchy too!"

You smile at him before reaching to grab your drink from the machine, having forgotten about it, but Abby beats you to it, reaching down and grabbing the drink before holding it out to you. You grab it, but he holds it a bit tighter before letting go, his hand brushing yours.

"Well, if you get bored during your break feel free to come watch us practice in room four, I'm sure the guys would love to see you," Abby waves at you as he leaves.

You're left at the vending machine, heart thundering at the brief contact as you watch his back leave before he turns the corner to go back to their dance studio. You are so about to make a mistake going to see them, is all that you think as you're returning to your own room.

After getting back to your room, your dancers and you disperse to do your own thing for the next hour. With some thinking, you decide fuck it and head down to where Abby said they were practicing. You can hear music playing as you look through the door and see them taking a break and make eye contact with Abby who smiles before going to the door to let you in.

"So, you decided to join us?” Abby leans on the door covering your body form view as the other guys in the room wonder who he’s talking to.

“Yeah, figured why not not everyday you can watch a hot new group in their element,” you chirp out before realizing what you said.

“Sorry not hot! I mean you are hot, but I didn’t mean that hot I meant hot as in really popular!” You wince at Abby holding in his laugh as he leads you into the room.

As you enter the room, all their eyes fall on you and your hit with the feeling that you’ve walked into the lions den.

“Welcome princess, didn’t realize we’d have a guest or else I’d have cleaned up,” Jinu says as he looks your form up and down. He’s wearing a loose shirt and grey sweatpants that does nothing to hide his physique.

The other guys in the room all have looks of hunger at your outfit, still breathing heavily from their practice. The one with lilac hair covering his eyes is the second to approach you as he offers you some water.

“Figure you’d want water, I’m Mystery,” he quietly says before going to sit on the floor one leg propped out as he continues to catch his breath.

You’re holding the water to your chest when Abby leads you to where the speaker is, now turned off since they’re taking a momentary break. They sneak glances at you while you sit a little awkwardly just listening to them chat.

Eventually, Jinu calls them back to practice. They start with Soda Pop, as they dance your shoulders bop along to the music while they pour their attention to you making your face flush from the looks they give you.

"Cause I need you to need me," Jinu points at you and smirks, you look away before turning your attention back.

"I'm empty, you feed me," Romance licks him lips while looking you up and down.

"So refreshing," Abby winks at you while pulling his shirt a bit to expose his chest.

"My little Soda Pop," Baby turns towards you and gives you a sultry look before continuing with the dance.

They dance through the chorus while their attention remains on your form, you feel slightly exposed and flush a bit at all their gazes. They finish their dance, and you clap for them, "nice! You guys are good!"

Abby is the first one to approach you, leaning down breathing heavily as he cages you between his arms.

"Any notes you could give us, any suggestions," He asks lowly, voice slightly raspy. You swallow the spit in your mouth as you hold eye contact with him, stammering a bit.

Romance is the next to approach you going to your right side and leaning down a bit to your ear.

"Any pointers you could give us? Any moves you could show us?" He breathes in your ear, his hair tickling the side of your face. You start to breathe a bit heavier at the attention they give you, you lick your lips as they feel impossibly dry.

The action only grabs Abby's attention. He leans in closer so close he was only a hair away from your mouth and lets out a breath as he smirks.

"You nervous?"

You silently nod, leaning back the slightest bit as your back hits the mirrored wall of the studio leaving you trapped between the two men.

"Use your words, princess," Romance chides you from your right as your eyes dart to him. Breath leaving you at his words and your face heats before you stutter out a yes.

Abby takes some mercy on you and eases up on the barely there space and backs away leaving you to Romance as he gets a drink.

These boys are going to kill you.

Romance soon leaves the teasing as he goes off to get his own drink and talk with the other guys, you finally are able to grab a full breath, and your face finally calms down.

You bid goodbye to the boys as you go back to your own studio, mind reeling at the attention and proximity of the boys. These men are much too attractive to be doing this to you.

God help you, your heart can hardly take this.

[okaylikeschaewon]

Undeserved

~6k words, Dating Seraphs Part 11

“How much longer do you plan on waiting?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“How about, I don’t know, talk to her?” Sakura snaps back sarcastically, mouth agape and eyes wide, feigning shock with that tiny head shake she does. “Crazy idea, I know.”

You let a heavy breath escape your lips – you know she’s right. It still leaves you feeling dejected, but it’s hard to complain when you’re the one who asked her to join you for dinner.

“It’s not that simple,” you mutter, squishing a fry between your fingers, squeezing it until the potato mush spills out. “Thanks for coming by the way, I know you’re busy this week.”

“I’m just here for the free meal,” Sakura replies with her cheeks full. “We had most of the day off anyway.”

“You know, I never really understood that,” you lean back and drop the fry. “Even back in the day, buying you food was always the answer to everything. Angry? Food. Happy? Food. Tired? Food.”

Sakura brings a hand up to cover her mouth before she speaks. “What? A girl can’t like food? Is that really such a foreign concept to you?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t get why an idol would go crazy over food as if they can’t afford any meal they want.”

“It’s more about the concept of free food,” Sakura pauses to take a sip. “Like, a free sandwich beats one I buy for myself. See this?” she holds it up. “This is amazing.”

“How? If it’s the same sandwich–”

“You just won’t get it,” Sakura shakes her head with a sigh, already fed up with you. “There’s also the freedom to get whatever we want when someone is treating us. Although, now that I think about it, the company doesn’t really track me anymore. I guess I’ve been around long enough for them to stop worrying so much.”

“Ah right, strict diets,” you sit back up. “Well, you make sure to take care of your body, that’s probably why they don’t press you as much anymore.”

“Implying they had to before? I guess I didn’t take care of my body,” Sakura casually picks up her sandwich and admires it, calculating her next bite. “That’s sweet of you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Right,” Sakura replies curtly. “I eat too much and don’t take care of my body, I hear you.”

“I meant they trust you now,” you roll your eyes. “And for good reason, you look great lately.”

“Lately?”

“Sakura…”

She chuckles quietly. “I’m just giving you shit, I know what you're trying to say. I appreciate it.”

“You really haven’t changed at all.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” she smirks before taking the last bite of her sandwich.

“Bit of both, I guess,” you answer quietly, pushing your tray forward.

Sakura frowns and her eyes soften with empathy. “You barely touched your food,” she notes gently after swallowing her bite.

“I didn’t have much of an appetite to begin with honestly.”

“The fuck?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sakura demands. “We didn’t have to go out, we could have just chilled somewhere quiet. Why would you offer to take me out to dinner if you weren’t hungry? You know how much I hate when you do this.”

“Didn’t you just say your sandwich is amazing?” you laugh.

“Well, yeah–”

“And that’s why I didn’t say anything,” you flash her a small smile. “Like I said, you really haven’t changed at all.”

Sakura’s shoulders slump and she gives you that ‘really?’ look. “That’s not fair,” she whines.

“It’s not like I’m throwing it out,” you chuckle. “I’ll pack it to go. Maybe I’ll leave it in your fridge for you to have tomorrow.”

“You’re annoying,” Sakura pouts as you flag down your waitress. “I never would have agreed to this if I knew you weren’t eating.”

“I know,” you respond, barely paying attention to her as the waitress walks over. “Kinda reinforcing my point Kkura.”

There’s a bit of a pause while you start packing your leftovers into the box. Sakura’s glaring at you, and you’re waiting for her to say what you know she wants to say.

“You can keep pouting or you can spit it out.”

“At least let me pay,” she pleads.

“We both know I don’t need that,” you chuckle. “I invited you for your company, the food was secondary.”

She frowns, but this time it’s not with anger, it’s more supportive and empathetic.

“Look, it’s just like we talked about this morning in the car,” she starts. “Just go, be honest with everything, and then whatever happens next isn’t in your control.”

You look up to face her again. “I get that, but that’s also exactly what’s making it so tough,” you reply. “Maybe I moved too fast, maybe I fucked up.”

“Oh my God, shut up with that,” Sakura rolls her eyes. “Maybe you did fuck up, maybe you’ll regret it one day, but I saw that glow you had this morning when you walked out of our room. That smile? I didn’t need details, I could see it, your dumbass was not regretting the decision this morning.”

“W-We just talked–”

“I said I don’t need details,” Sakura repeats firmly while crossing her arms.

“Sorry,” you notice the subtle blush of her cheeks – Kazuha probably told her anyway. You hesitate for a moment.

“I’m not judging you for it,” Sakura reads your mind. “Especially not after seeing Kazuha also with that same glow. She really likes you, don’t fuck this up.”

“Thanks,” you mumble quietly, a bit embarrassed.

“But promise me one thing,” Sakura uncrosses her arms and leans forward. “Please talk to Chaewon before you and Kazuha…” her voice trails off. “She doesn’t need to know about this morning, but please do right by Chaewon and talk to her soon, she deserves at least that much.”

“I know,” you sigh, standing up in your chair. “I’ll talk to her tonight. I promise.”

—

“Do you think I could talk to Zuha, for just a minute?”

Sakura makes a face, eyes squinted and full of judgement. “You get a minute before I’m walking in, and I better not see something that I don’t want to see,” she crosses her arms and steps aside.

“Thanks,” you give her a quick side-hug before entering their room.

Inside, Kazuha is sitting on the floor stretching with her phone propped up in front of her. Once she notices you, she immediately takes out her earbuds and hops to her feet.

“Hey,” she smiles warmly.

“Hey,” you walk up to her and place your hands on her hips. “I’m sorry for ignoring your message, I was caught up with dinner and then driving.”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t worried,” she places her arms around your shoulders.

“Zuha,” you move a little bit closer. “Be honest with me. Do you think we’re moving a bit too fast?”

“Yeah,” she answers without missing a beat, catching you a bit off guard. “This might be my first attempt at some sort of relationship, but even I know how much of a risk we’re taking.”

“A risk…” you whisper under your breath. You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Are you?” she asks quietly.

You hesitate for a moment to think before answering.

“Well…”

“It’s Chaewon,” Kazuha interrupts. “Isn’t it?”

“I guess that wasn’t very hard to deduce,” you sigh. “Yeah, I have no idea how she’s going to react.”

Kazuha drops her hands off your shoulders and flashes you a pursed-lip smile while taking a step back.

“It’s not too late to just forget about this,” Kazuha says softly.

“No,” you squeeze your hold on her hips and pull her back.

“I’m not changing my mind or anything,” Kazuha clarifies quickly. “I’m just being realistic.”

“Realistic?”

“This morning, you came to me and asked me to be your girlfriend,” Kazuha explains slowly. “I guess, in the moment, I answered with my feelings before really thinking about how this would even work.”

“I probably jumped the gun,” you admit softly. “I was also acting on feelings, without really thinking.”

“Right, and that’s not something I’m blaming you for,” Kazuha continues. “But are you… are you going to break up with Chaewon? How does this even work?”

“If we’re going to be together, properly,” you start slowly. “I think I’ll have to, yeah.”

“What if I said you don’t?” Kazuha whispers, avoiding your gaze.

A rush of warmth quickly shoots through your body. “What?” you stammer.

“I just mean, you should talk to her about it first before we decide anything,” Kazuha explains with a meek smile. “She’s one of my best friends, and I know you still love her, so I don’t want you to break up with her for nothing. This won’t work without her… permission? I don’t know if that’s the right word.”

“But Zuha…”

“There’s really nothing you can say to convince me,” Kazuha interrupts. “I really like you, and I want this. Really want this. But it all depends on what Chaewon says, if she’s… I’m sorry but… I won’t be able to…”

“Alright,” you agree, but deep down you know there’s no chance Chaewon doesn’t get hurt by all of this. You don’t know what to do anymore, and the feelings of losing both of them start to settle in. How can you even consider what Kazuha is suggesting? It doesn’t feel fair to either girl.

“If it’s any consolation,” Kazuha says softly. “Reality is, we can’t undo what we did.”

“And I wouldn’t even if we could.”

“Me neither,” she smiles and steps a little bit closer and stares right into your eyes. “I meant what I said about you, and if you meant what you said about me…”

You lean in and close your eyes, moving forward slowly until you feel the softness of Kazuha’s lips against yours. That sweet, delicate emotion that you yearned for, it simply washed away your worries in the most cliché way possible. As your tongue slowly eases into Kazuha’s mouth, you forget about the messiness, you forget about any conflictions.

At some point without realizing it, you’ve started moving forward, slowly edging Kazuha backwards until her body presses against the wall. You let go of her hips and caress her face with your palms as your lips part just slightly, only to immediately press back together. Her hands end up on your back.

She’s more comforting than you could have imagined, and you can almost feel literal heat emanating from her body right into yours. The kiss burns with this intense passion, intoxicating and obsessive, you feel Kazuha’s nails clawing at your skin, digging absentmindedly into your body. You hardly remember to breathe.

Then, as you’re leaning into the kiss, you feel her entire body jolt.

“Ah!” she lets out a small squeal.

“What happened?” you quickly pull back.

She scrunches up her face in frustration – it’s beyond adorable – as she reaches up behind her and takes a clip out of her hair. “It got caught,” she giggles, holding the clip up in front of you.

“Stupid clip,” you take it from her hands and toss it out the open window before leaning in for another kiss.

Kazuha lets out another quick giggle before she returns the kiss. She pushes her tongue against yours, intertwining and twisting playfully. She even eases a hand up the back of your shirt, sliding her fingers against your skin.

She gives you the courage to slide your hands down her body. You get to appreciate the curves, that impossibly toned core of hers, each muscular little ridge of her skin against your fingers. You squeeze your hands around her hips until they’re planted against her lower back.

Carefully, you move a tiny bit lower. You’re hesitant, but that doesn’t last long as Kazuha starts leaning deeper into the kiss. You start sliding your hands lower until they’re resting against her ass, and she doesn’t hesitate for even a moment. Not when you give her a little pat, and not when you grab her ass hard with your entire palm.

Her body is unreal, you can’t even believe how good she feels – so soft, yet toned. You give her ass another slap and her body jerks before she pulls you closer and pushes her tongue deeper into your mouth. She gives you a light, playful bite on the lips before finally moving back.

Your lips slowly part and you’re left smiling at each other for a moment, just taking it all in. You can’t believe how beautiful she looks right now, so soft and delicate, so pure.

“I’m gonna need that clip back at some point,” she giggles in a hushed tone.

“Spur of the moment,” you laugh softly. “I’ll go find it later.”

She giggles one last time before pushing you away. As she walks past you, the door clicks and Sakura enters the room, glaring at you.

“One minute?”

—

Chaewon’s door is staring you in the face. She’s inside. Waiting. Still, you’re standing in front of it, trying to think of any excuse – but there is none. You have to get this over with, whatever happens, you need to tell Chaewon. It was time.

“Are you lost?”

“Hmm?” you look back over your shoulder to see Yunjin staring at you, confused.

“I’ve been watching you for like three minutes now,” Yunjin chuckles. “You didn’t even hear me come up the stairs.”

“Sorry, I’ve just been… I don’t actually know what I’m doing…”

“It’s a funny coincidence,” Yunjin walks up next to you. “But I ran into Sakura doing the same thing this morning outside of her room.”

“Oh?”

Yunjin leans a bit closer and speaks quietly. “She gave me a bit of a rundown of the situation.”

“So you know why I’m standing here?” you let out a feeble chuckle. “And you probably hate me now.”

“I don’t hate you, don’t be an idiot,” Yunjin hits your arm. “I understand what you’re going through, and I also understand it’s not easy, even if I don’t know all the details.”

You sigh deeply. “Well, Yunjin, my advice to you, one girl at a time.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life,” Yunjin chuckles as she walks over to her room. “Good luck with everything, rooting for you!”

The sound of Yunjin’s door closing echoes through your ears as you muster up the courage to rap your knuckles against the wooden door twice before turning the handle.

“Chae?” you announce through the crack. “You there?”

“Yeah, come in,” she calls back.

You open the door wider and enter, taking a moment to close it behind you before walking over to Chaewon’s bed. She’s sitting with her knees up and her phone in hand, watching you with a tiny smile on her face, one that screams ‘happy to see you, but exhausted’.

“Hey,” she sighs softly.

“Long day?” you take a seat on the bed next to her legs. She straightens them out and you open your body up to her while placing a hand on her thigh, massaging it delicately.

“Long week,” she smiles meekly, tossing her phone to the side. “I basically slept all day, my body just wasn’t having it.”

“I’m glad you finally got some rest,” you reply softly as your gaze fixes itself onto the hand you were lightly pressing into her thigh.

Chaewon reaches forward and lays her hand on top of yours. “What’d you get up to all day? You eat dinner yet?”

“Yeah, right before coming here,” you answer quietly.

“Good, good,” Chaewon continues gently. “So,” she draws out the word extra long. “Your text said you needed to talk about something?”

“Right,” you stare down at your lap for a moment before taking in a deep breath and looking up at her. “I’m just going to get straight to the point. Do you remember when you told me that if I ever was to develop some sort of feelings for Zuha, that I needed to tell you?”

“Ah…” Chaewon pulls her hand back. “That’s right, I did say that.”

“Well, I spent some time with her this morning…” you pause and watch as Chaewon leans over to grab a couple of tissues.

She places them on her lap and looks up at you again. “What? Keep going, these are just in case I need them after what you’re about to tell me.”

“Chae,” you whisper as you scoot closer to her. “I need to tell you the truth.”

She tries to smile through it, clearly incapable of forming words, settling for a small nod as her eyes already start to shine.

“I’ve been think–”

“Did you have sex again?” Chaewon blurts out.

It catches you off guard and you freeze.

“This morning,” Chaewon continues as her cheeks burn red and her eyes glow. “You said you spent some time with her this morning… I was just curious.”

“We–”

“It’s fine if you did. I told you it’s okay,” she adds. “I’m not upset.”

“Chae…” the word hardly has time to escape your lips before tears begin streaming down Chaewon’s face. You lean forward and wrap your arms around her.

She squeezes back and you tighten your grip, holding her body against yours. You rub her back gently with one hand while the other caresses the back of her head.

“So it is true,” Chaewon sniffles into your shoulder. “I’m not enough.”

“Don’t–,” you choke up, voice cracking. “It’s not like that.”

The two of you hold each other in silence for a moment, steadying the other, trying to stop the other from trembling. She takes in a deep breath and leans away from you, eyes bloodshot.

“Knew I’d need these,” she lets out a small, pained laugh as she takes a tissue and dabs at her eye before holding one up for you to take.

“I wish it wasn’t like this, but it’s not about you being enough or not,” you say, rejecting the tissue and letting your tears flow freely down your face. “I just think I might have feelings for her, and that has nothing to do with you not being good enough.”

Chaewon lets her hands drop into her lap. “If I was a better girlfriend–”

“Don’t,” you intervene firmly. “You’ve been nothing short of perfect.”

“But–”

“That’s the only reason I’m even coming to you and being honest about everything,” you continue. “Because I trust you. And love you.”

Chaewon’s lower lip trembles as she fights back a fresh wave of tears. “I love you too.”

You give her a moment to compose herself before you continue.

“But I need to know what we’re going to do about this,” you add softly. “I… I do want to see things out with her.”

A single tear slides down her face, unwiped.

“I am so sorry,” you rub your eyes with the back of your hand as the sight of her launches you over an emotional cliff. “So, so, so fucking sorry for being an asshole. You deserve so much better.”

“You’re not an asshole,” Chaewon mutters, her voice cracking under her feelings. She stares at you with dewy eyes, beautiful as ever, and then she hesitates for a moment before sniffling and speaking up again. “Do… are you… what do you want to do exactly?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Chaewon chuckles as she wipes her eyes again. “I think you should see it through with Zuha.”

It feels as if the world around you stops. A wave of heat courses through your body as you question whether or not you heard her correctly. It almost hurts, even though this is your decision, it almost feels like Chaewon is breaking up with you.

“I think that’s the most fair, for everyone,” Chaewon continues softly. “You see it through with Zuha. Properly. And then we have this talk after.”

“But what about you? How is that at all fair to you?”

“I also played a role in this whole situation, it’s messy I know,” she replies. “You’re not allowed to blame yourself for anything, it was my idea, you were against it from the start. And if you have feelings for Zuha, it’s not fair for me to take that away from you.”

“So are we–”

“No,” she cuts you off with fresh tears suddenly streaming down her face. “Please don’t say what you’re about to say. Not yet.”

“Then what exactly–”

“I don’t know,” her words quiver. “Wherever we end up, we figure it out together, eventually. Just not now.”

“But… Chae–”

“No matter what happens,” she continues firmly. “We stay on good terms. No matter what.”

“I…”

“Promise me,” her lip quivers again. “I love you, and I love Zuha, that will never change.”

You hesitate again. You want to believe her, you really do, but you’re scared.

“Promise me,” she repeats, with less conviction than before, the syllables faltering.

Each second feels like a lifetime. Her words weigh heavy, and you want to reassure her, you want to tell those beautiful, vulnerable eyes that everything will work out – but you don’t know. You’re just as scared as she is, looking through the wall of emotions built by all the memories you two share. Your head is spinning, and every moment that passes instills more doubt into Chaewon. You hate yourself for it; You feel stuck. The worst of it all is how undeserved it feels.

Kazuha flashes into your mind. This feels wrong, for her sake too. The feeling is suddenly replaced by Chaewon. The girl sitting right in front of you, your girlfriend, refusing to let things end while still reassuring you that it’ll work out. Nothing makes sense. You’re bouncing between the girls, trying to figure out what the fuck you are supposed to do.

It’s impossible to believe her, despite how hard you try. You’re not convinced, but there’s no other option. You don’t know how to stop yourself from doubting your choice, and seeing Chaewon like this reminds you, clear as day – you’re definitely still in love with her.

“I promise,” you reassure her against your better judgement.

“Good,” she whispers before leaning closer to you.

“Babe…” your heart starts pumping as Chaewon moves closer.

“I love you,” she whispers right in front of your face before she leans in and kisses you.

It’s so sudden, you don’t even have a chance to think. A rush of emotion shoots up your spine. You shut your eyes against a wave of sudden tears and you wrap your arms around her. Your hands pull her close, pressing into her body as you kiss her, tenderly and slowly.

With mouths still glued together gently, you end up on top of her. She’s on her back, taking short breaths whenever your lips part, just for you to press your mouth forward again and again. You can feel her hands, one on your back and the other on your nape. Your hands slide down to her hips before easing around her body, resting against her lower back.

Her warmth is like a blanket, engulfing you, filling you with feelings that you didn’t know could exist. Your love for this girl comes flooding back in, overwhelming you. It makes your body scream. You’re pressing into her, and her legs wrap around your hips, locking you in place.

She wants you just as much as you want her, mutual addiction, and it’s making your heart ache. All the tears and choked-up words suddenly didn’t matter as you’re both fumbling with each other’s clothes. It takes forever, and a lot of effort – mostly because neither of you would let the kiss stop – but eventually you find yourself lined up between Chaewon’s legs.

Finally, the kiss ends, and you’re staring down at Chaewon. She’s there beneath you, flat on her back, eyes more tender than ever, face still stained with tears. Time freezes. Not for a second or a minute, but for what seems like hours or days. You stare into each other’s eyes, reliving all the memories you share.

And then you ease into her.

A sharp gasp escapes her lips and she tilts her head back, shutting her eyes tight as you push yourself all the way into her before opening them back up slowly.

This time feels different. Not a good nor a bad different. Just, different. You can’t really make sense of it as you hold steady inside her tight warmth for a moment before falling forward and pressing your lips to hers. You start moving your hips slowly, inundated by her love, fumbling around the bed with your hands until you find hers.

She interlocks her fingers with yours and squeezes hard, and at the same time Chaewon wraps her legs around you once more. She won’t let go of you, not with any part of her, it’s not an option.

And you won’t let go of her.

You start pumping your hips faster, the intensity building between your legs. Your mouth slips off hers and starts digging into the crevice of her neck. You’re kissing and sucking on her skin, desperate. Consumed. The more you get, the more you want. You’re greedy for Chaewon.

It feels better than a dream, a lucid trip, and Chaewon’s the drug. Your body enters a state of higher existence and you start to lose track of yourself. It feels divine, like if ecstasy was being pumped straight into your brain – but there’s no drug – only Chaewon.

Suddenly, she’s on top. You have your back against the headrest, and Chaewon’s straddling your lap. She lowers her body onto you while you wrap your arms around her tiny frame and pull her close. You kiss her clavicle as she tightens around your body.

“I love you,” she whispers into your ear.

Her arms are wrapped around your head, and she’s holding onto you for dear life. Her body moves with yours – flowing gently like a river. She falls forward a touch as you bring your knees up and ends up kissing you on the mouth.

You’re kissing her too, no hesitation, no second thoughts, and your hips are jamming up into her body with an intensity that matches hers, while still maintaining a degree of affection that you don’t think anyone in this world deserves more than the girl sitting on your lap.

Your hands slide down her body and dig into her soft bottom, opening her wider, getting you deeper. There’s this connection, one that words cannot explain. For a moment, you forget the world, and you let yourself drown in Chaewon’s passion.

She feels perfect. You want nothing more than to live in this moment forever – as if that was an option. She’s breathing softly, each bounce and each thrust sending her to another universe. She’s just as obsessed as you, she wants this and her body is screaming to you in ways that don’t need words.

Right when you think you’re starting to understand reality, the sound of Chaewon’s moans hit you like a truck. Right up against your ear, not loud, not fabricated, just pure intimacy. They’re so soft and elegant, accompanied by her body flexing against you. Each and every fibre inside her starts to squeeze, and with one last moan, it all becomes too much for you.

Your warmth shoots out of you while Chaewon’s still shaking. A beautiful tandem of emotion and intensity connects you together as you squeeze each other’s bodies as hard as your physical limitations allow. While it feels like an eternity to you, it ends just as quickly as it comes, and you feel all the strength dissipate from your body.

The grip you have on her falters, and her body collapses against yours. You’re breathing heavily, and so is Chaewon, while she strokes your chest softly. You place her on the bed and ease out of her, warmth still connecting your bodies in the most intimate of ways.

Then, suddenly, reality rushes back in and kicks you right in the gut. Your bodies separate as the realization of what you just did sets in. As if anything made sense in the first place, it definitely made less now. You get up to leave, incapable of formulating a coherent thought.

—

From Chaewon’s room to the front door, everything is a blur. You don’t remember anything, but you have a pain in your chest that refuses to leave. It’s as if you were stabbed, and all you can hear is Chaewon’s parting ‘I love you’ echoing through your ears – you can’t even remember if you said it back.

You’re walking around the outside of their house, using your phone’s flashlight to help you search until you see the little sparkle from Kazuha’s hair clip. You walk over to pick it up, and right when you place it into your pocket, you hear voices coming through Kazuha’s window.

“...there’s one thing,” Kazuha’s voice pierces the night with a little laugh.

“Oh?” you can almost hear Sakura sit up by the inflection of her voice.

There’s more shuffling inside the room before you hear Sakura’s voice again.

“Zuha!” Sakura squeals with excitement. “Oh my God!”

Kazuha’s laugh rings through the air. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“I remember on our first anniversary,” Sakura begins with a giggle. “He…”

Her voice softens to the point where you can’t hear the conversation anymore. You take a couple of steps closer, trying to listen in. Then, as you take one last step, you hear the two of them start laughing.

“Kkura!” Kazuha shrieks with a laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Did you not hear yourself literally five seconds ago?!”

“I know! But… wow…” Kazuha chuckles.

The two of them laugh some more before calming down and letting silence fill the air again. Someone, you think it’s Kazuha, says something inside, but it’s too quiet for you to hear.

“...why do you say that?” Sakura’s voice flows through the window, gentle and empathetic.

Zuha exhales deeply. “It was so much easier to tease him before,” she answers, her tone far more serious than before, “now I just feel… something… every time I even think about him.”

“That something is called feelings,” Sakura chuckles softly. “Don’t overthink it, just do what feels right. He’ll know if you’re trying to force anything, and I promise you he likes the real you more than a persona.”

“That’s the thing, I’m like, too nervous to be natural around him anymore,” Kazuha laughs, the discomfort evident in the tone. “I used to tease him all the time, I loved the way he would squirm, it brought me so much joy. I’ve never felt this way around him before.”

Sakura ponders for a moment before speaking up. “I think that’s natural. For context, during our first date, I probably said a total of five words the entire time, and this was after spending a week texting him every day.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, even if you know someone already, this can be a pretty big change in the dynamic,” Sakura explains gently. “Especially given the circumstances, it’s totally reasonable to feel a bit awkward. I’d even go as far as saying I’d be surprised if it wasn’t a bit awkward at first.”

“Oh well, it probably won’t even matter.”

“What? Why? What happened?” Sakura asks. “You two were obviously doing more than admire the view when I walked in earlier.”

“I can tell the Chaewon thing is bothering him,” Kazuha admits quietly, “even though I know he’s trying to hide it from me. I saw it in his eyes earlier, he was hurt, and I don’t know if he’s ready to move on from her yet.”

There’s a long pause in the conversation. You freeze in place, scared to make noise, holding your breath until Kazuha’s voice comes through the window again.

“Sorry–”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sakura interjects softly. “I get it.”

Kazuha sniffles just loud enough for you to hear over your thumping heart. Her next words are so quiet that you question whether you even hear them.

“Am I a bad person?”

“Of course not, Zuha,” Sakura snaps, and there’s a degree of anger behind it. Her next words are muffled as if she’s speaking through Kazuha’s body. “No one will ever blame you for your feelings.”

There’s another break in the conversation. This one is significantly longer than the last. Just as you begin leaning in toward the window again, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Holy sh–” you gasp before a hand quickly covers your mouth.

The voices inside disappear for a moment, but all you can think about is how your heart feels like it’s about to explode through your chest as you turn to see Yunjin standing right next to you. She drags you away from the window until you’re both out of earshot before letting go of your mouth. “What are you doing?” she whispers as she pulls her hand away and laughs quietly.

“I d-dropped something…” you stammer, as the blood rushes to your face.

“Right,” Yunjin giggles. “I guess you were struggling to find it, whatever it was.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mumble as you crouch down and take a few deep breaths, relaxing your body.

“Get up,” Yunjin reaches down for your hand and pulls. “I’m not trying to explain this to anyone who might peek through the front door.”

“Where are we going?” you take her lead down the path.

“For a walk.”

---

A/N:

This chapter was tough. I lost count of how many different drafts I ended up writing, but ultimately this is the one I chose. Some were a LOT sadder. It honestly got a bit frustrating at times, I could have easily spent another few weeks dissecting some of these scenes.

Anyway, I gotta know what you guys think about the ~6k word length for updates to the story. I already wrote the next scene which is the talk with Yunjin but decided to cut the chapter here for ease of reading. You guys prefer that or would you rather have chapters be a bit longer? It would have been close to ~9k words had I kept the next scene in, but that feels a touch too long?

Speaking of Yunjin, she's getting some more scenes coming up. God damn she is stunning lately. I know I had someone ask if she was getting any smutty scenes and I said pretty firmly that she wasn't, but now I don't know... (potential spoiler I guess, also still no plans for Eunchae, sorry!). For now though, Kazuha fans rejoice maybe? Sakura fans stay patient, she's not out of the picture just yet. I'm gonna stop typing now before I accidentally spoil too much.

[dontrllycaretbh]

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Title: Dripping offense

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: explicit sapphic content (18+), spit kink, first-time touch, mutual masturbation, dom!Azzi / sub!Paige dynamics, fingering, soft praise, erotic vulnerability, flushed confessions, breathy tension, years of longing, slow unraveling of innocence, first orgasm, squirt mention, unspoken love, emotional safety in a physical moment

Word count: 4,111 words

Summary:

In a quiet hotel room after the game, Paige admits she’s never kissed anyone—never even touched herself. Azzi doesn’t laugh. She listens. She guides. And in the soft hush between them, curiosity turns into trust, and trust into something wetter, deeper, harder to name.

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The hotel room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The muffled sounds of teammates down the hall—laughing, arguing over snacks, bumping music—were just white noise now. Paige was sitting cross-legged on the bed, still in her Uconn warm-ups, her hair tied up in a messy bun. Azzi was lying on her side across the other bed, propped up on one elbow, scrolling half-heartedly through her phone.

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The game had ended hours ago, but their adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet.

“You ever think about… like, what your life would be like if you weren’t an athlete?” Paige asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Azzi looked up from her phone. “Yeah. All the time actually.”

Paige laughed. “You’d be like a really intense librarian or something.”

Azzi raised a brow. “You think I give off librarian vibes?”

“You give off…organized chaos. Like you’d run a super strict library but still sneak your friends in after hours.”

“That’s fair.”

The conversation drifted for a bit. They talked about music, what classes they hated the most, and how the hotel had the weirdest vending machine options. Then it got quiet again. A different kind of quiet.

Paige sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. She looked hesitant, like she was weighing something in her mind.

Azzi noticed. “What?”

Paige bit her lip. “…Can I tell you something? Kinda personal?”

Azzi rolled over to face her completely. “Of course.”

Paige looked visibly embarrassed, and was blushing a little bit. Her face turned red, and she looked like she really didn’t want to admit what was coming next. “…Um…n-neither…neither a girl nor a boy…I’ve never kissed anyone.”

Azzi blinked, then smiled gently. “Oh.”

“I mean—not like I didn’t want to. I just…never really found the right time. Or the right person,” Paige said quickly, her words rushing. “And I guess I’ve always been kinda awkward and shy. It’s not like I

“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,” Paige continued, her voice quiet, eyes darting down to her hands. “I’ve just… I don’t know. I’ve always felt like I had to focus on basketball, or school, or whatever else was right in front of me. And whenever it came to, like… relationships, or stuff like that—I just froze.”

Azzi nodded, sitting up slightly on her bed, giving Paige her full attention. There was no teasing in her expression, just quiet understanding.

Paige exhaled shakily, clearly relieved to have finally said it aloud. “And yeah, if I’ve never kissed anyone… I guess that means I haven’t… you know.”

Azzi tilted her head, just watching Paige softly.

“…Had sex,” Paige clarified, flustered. Her face turned even redder. “Not with a guy. Not with a girl. Not with anyone.”

There was a long pause before Azzi finally broke it with a warm, careful voice. “Paige, that’s not weird.”

“It feels weird,” Paige said quickly. “I mean, who goes to college, commits to Uconn, and still hasn’t even had their first kiss? Everyone always talks like they’ve done everything already and I’m just sitting here pretending to know what they’re talking about.”

“You’re not behind. You’re just… on your own timeline.” Azzi smiled softly, leaning forward. “There’s no checklist. No deadline.”

Paige looked at her, visibly trying not to tear up—not from sadness, but from the safety she felt in Azzi’s calm, grounding voice. “It’s just lately… I’ve been feeling kind of lonely. Like, not just physically—emotionally too. I’ve started noticing things. Thinking about things more. Like… wondering what it’d be like.”

Azzi stayed silent, letting her speak.

“I’ve seen stuff on TV or in movies—people kissing, being close, touching each other—and I never used to care. But now, I don’t know… I’ll see something and think, ‘That looks nice. I wonder what that feels like.’” She swallowed. “I’ve just never wanted to try it. Not with anyone. Until now.”

There was a beat.

Azzi’s eyes met hers. “Until now?”

Paige’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yeah…with you.”

The silence hung heavy now, not uncomfortable—but charged with something delicate. Paige looked like she wanted to crawl under a pillow and disappear, but also like she’d just jumped off a cliff and was waiting to land.

Azzi didn’t look away. Her voice was gentle, but direct. “You excite me in ways I didn’t expect, too,” she admitted. “And I don’t want you to feel ashamed about anything you haven’t done. You’re not missing anything. You’re just starting to explore what you want.”

Paige gave a nervous smile, eyes still a little glassy. “There’s…one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never even…” Paige trailed off, her face going scarlet now. “I’ve never touched myself.”

Azzi blinked, surprised—not in judgment, but in the raw honesty of the moment. “Like, ever?”

Paige shook her head, quickly. “Nope. I don’t know. It just never felt like something I needed to do. Or maybe I was scared I wouldn’t know how. Or feel weird afterward. I don’t know.”

Azzi hesitated, then sat up straighter, choosing her words carefully. “Can I…maybe guide you? Not touch you—just talk you through it. If you want. Only if you want.”

Paige looked stunned by the offer, but also like a weight had been lifted from her chest. She nodded shyly, holding her breath. “I think I do. I trust you.”

Azzi smiled softly, her voice steady but warm. “Okay. First thing… lie back. Just breathe for a second. This isn’t about performing. It’s just you getting to know your body. Don’t rush anything.”

Paige followed her voice, nervously lying back against the pillows. Her breathing was a little shaky, but she was listening.

“You don’t even have to go anywhere near…there, right now. Just start by touching your stomach. Let your hands explore. Think of it like learning how to be comfortable in your own skin.”

Azzi kept her voice low and soothing, making sure Paige was calm, checking in with her eyes, her body language. There was no pressure. Just guidance. Comfort. Trust.

“You move at your own pace. You stop whenever you want. There’s no right way to do this.”

Paige exhaled slowly, closing her eyes, one hand resting lightly on her own stomach now. Her face still burned red, but there was something new there too—peace. Curiosity. Safety.

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Just breathe, Paige," Azzi said, her voice a smooth melody in the quiet. "Let your hand wander a little further down."

Paige's hand shakily traced the path from her navel to the waistband of her shorts, her skin tingling with anticipation. Her eyes remained shut, her mind racing with thoughts of the unknown. This was the closest she'd ever come to this kind of intimacy, and it was with someone she never thought would be the one to guide her through it.

"Take your time," Azzi coaxed, her voice a warm embrace. "There's no rush."

Her hand slipped beneath the fabric, and Paige's breath hitched. The soft hairs of her core met her fingertips, and she paused for a moment, unsure. The sensation was weird but somehow familiar.

"It's okay," Azzi whispered. "You can go slower."

Encouraged, Paige's hand slid further down, her fingertips grazing the slick folds of her core. She gasped, the sensation electric. It was as if she'd just found the key to unlocking a secret garden.

"Now, I want you to be really honest with me," Azzi instructed. "Does it feel good?"

"yeah…fuck" Paige murmured, the word slipping out before she could think to hold it back. "It feels... really good."

"Good," Azzi said with a smile in her voice. "Now, I want you to get a little wetter."

"How?"

"Use your saliva," Azzi suggested. "Spit into your palm and rub it over your hand."

The idea of it was strange, but Paige was eager to please. She opened her eyes to see Azzi watching her with a gentle curiosity, and the sight of her friend's encouragement bolstered her courage. She did as she was told, the wet sound of her spit hitting her palm echoing in the stillness.

"Now," Azzi continued, "Spread it over your fingers. It'll make it easier."

With trembling hands, Paige did as she was instructed, her eyes never leaving Azzi's. The wetness was a new sensation, and she felt a thrill run through her as she touched herself more intimately.

"That's it," Azzi praised, her voice a purr of approval. "Now, let's see how it feels."

The tension grew with every second, every breath. Paige's body was a canvas of sensations, and she was painting a picture she'd never seen before. She was about to explore the deepest part of herself, and she had no idea wh

Her hand hovered over her core, the wetness of her saliva making her skin slick and slippery. With a deep breath, she touched herself for the first time.

"How does that feel?" Azzi asked, her voice low and soothing.

"Wet," Paige murmured, her eyes still closed. "Sensitive."

"Good," Azzi said, a smile in her voice. "Keep breathing. Keep going."

And so, Paige did, her fingertips exploring her folds, finding the spot that made her gasp and bite her lip. The room spun around her as she grew bolder, her movements becoming more deliberate, more sure.

"Your breathing is changing," Azzi noted. "That's good. It means you're getting closer."

The air grew thick with anticipation as Paige's breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Her hand grew more insistent, her thumb circling that magical spot that sent jolts of pleasure through her body.

"Do you want to go further?" Azzi asked, her voice a gentle whisper. "Or would you like me to show you?"

The question hung in the air, a silent invitation to see azzi in a way she’s never seen her before. But she knew she was ready. With a nod, she whispered, "I want you to show me."

Without breaking eye contact, Azzi stood up, the graceful movement of her body leaving Paige captivated. She reached down and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her own shorts, slowly sliding them down her toned legs. The fabric whispered against her skin as it fell to the floor, leaving her in nothing.

"Look at me," Azzi said, her voice a gentle command. "This is how it's done."

The sounds of wetness filled the room, a rhythmic symphony that grew more intense with every second. Azzi's legs were spread wide, giving Paige a clear view of the slickness that coated her folds, the way her fingers slid in and out with ease. It was mesmerizing, like watching a dance she'd never seen before.

"It's okay to be wet," Azzi said, her voice a little louder now, a little more urgent. "It's natural."

With that, Paige felt a strange thrill as she leaned over and spit into her palm again, the sound of it wetting her hand echoing in the quiet. She mirrored Azzi's actions, sliding her own hand into her shorts, feeling the heat and the wetness of her own desire.

They stayed like that, a silent tableau of exploration and curiosity, their eyes locked as they touched themselves in unison. The sound of their breathing grew louder, a symphony of want and need that filled the space between them.

"Look closer," Azzi whispered, her breathing ragged. "See how wet I am for you."

Paige leaned in, her heart racing. She could see the swollen flesh of Azzi's clit

"Does it feel good when I do this?" Azzi asked, her thumb brushing over her clit in a way that made her gasp.

"It does," Paige said, her voice a little shaky. "It feels... amazing."

"Then do it," Azzi told her. "Do it to yourself."

Their eyes never left each other's as Paige followed suit, her thumb finding that magical spot that seemed to hold all the answers she'd ever been looking for. The feeling was indescribable, and she couldn't help but let out a soft moan.

"Look how beautiful you are," Azzi said, her voice thick with arousal. "You're doing so well."

Encouraged by Azzi's words, Paige's eyes fluttered open, meeting her friend's gaze. The air was thick with a tension that was both uncomfortable and exhilarating. She could see the desire in Azzi's eyes, the way they searched hers for permission to take this further. And in that moment, she realized she didn't just want this to be about her anymore.

"Can I...can I do that for you?" she asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded, a slow smile spreading across her face. She leaned in, and Paige felt the warmth of her breath on her cheek. But instead of closing the distance, Azzi held back. "You can spit in my mouth," she suggested. "It's something I like."

Surprise flickered in Paige's eyes, but she felt a strange excitement at the idea. It was so intimate, so raw, and yet it didn't feel wrong. She leaned in, her own breath shallow and rapid. The first spurt of saliva was awkward, the sensation of her spit landing in Azzi's open mouth foreign and thrilling.

Their eyes remained locked as they shared this silent, erotic moment. It was a dance of trust and desire, a bond forming between them that went beyond friendship. The saliva mingled between their lips, but they didn't kiss—not yet.

"Now, I want you to do it to yourself," Azzi said, her voice a low purr.

Paige nodded, the act of spitting in Azzi's mouth somehow empowering. She leaned back against the pillows, her hand still buried in her shorts. She watched as Azzi mirrored her actions, her thumb moving in slow circles around her own clit, the wet sounds of their shared pleasure filling the room.

With a deep breath, Paige spit into her own palm, feeling a rush of heat to her cheeks at the sheer intimacy of it all. The saliva was a bridge between them, a shared experience that was both erotic and innocent. She brought her hand back to her core, the wetness making her movements smoother, more deliberate.

As they touched themselves in sync, the air grew thick with the scent of arousal. The sound of their breathing grew louder, their bodies moving in a silent rhythm.

The moment was a crescendo of sensation, each stroke of Paige's thumb against her clit a note in a symphony of pleasure. The wetness grew, their shared breaths turning ragged as they both approached the edge of something new.

"Keep going, Paige," Azzi urged, her voice tight with restraint. "You're almost there."

The encouragement spurred Paige on, her eyes still on Azzi's as she felt the tension coil within her. Her hand was a blur of motion now, her thumb pressing harder, faster. And then it hit—a wave so powerful, so unexpected, that she couldn't hold back a cry.

Her body convulsed, muscles tightening as she squirted, the wetness soaking her hand, the sheets beneath her. She'd heard about it, read about it, but to actually experience it was like nothing she could have ever imagined.

"Oh my God," she breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. "I just... I just did it fuck.”

The sight of Paige's pleasure was intoxicating, and Azzi could feel her own climax building. The sound of the wetness was like a siren's call, urging her own hand to move faster, more urgently.

"Keep watching me, Paige," she whispered, her voice strained with desire. "I want you to see how good it feels."

Her eyes remained locked on Paige's face as she leaned over, her fingers sliding out of her core. She reached for the wet spot on the bed where Paige's juices had soaked through, and without breaking eye contact, she brought the fabric to her lips.

The salty taste of the water mingled with the faint sweetness of the sheets, and she sucked the liquid into her mouth, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Paige's eyes widened, and Azzi knew she had her full attention.

"holy fuck azzi, that was the hottest thing ever” Paige murmured, her voice thick with awe.

The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, the act of sharing their pleasure in such a raw, primal way bridging the gap between them. Azzi felt a sense of belonging she hadn't known was missing.

"Do you like that?" Azzi asked, her eyes dark with lust.

"I do," Paige said, her voice shaky. "It's... it's really hot."

with Paige's response, Azzi leaned in closer, her tongue snaking out to lick at the damp fabric. The taste was faint, but it was enough to send another jolt through her.

"Keep watching," she whispered, her hand moving back to her own core, the need to want to put her own fingers there. "Keep watching”

Their eyes remained locked as they pleasured themselves, the room filled with the sounds of their shared passion. Paige watched as Azzi's fingers moved in and out of her core , her own hand mimicking the motion.

As the tension grew, so did the wetness, and Azzi felt the need to be closer—to share in this moment fully. She slid onto the bed, her own legs spreading to give Paige a better view. “you ready?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

Something constant. | joel miller x f!reader, 9.1k

Summary: You are Tommy’s best friend, Joel’s constant complication- the one woman he can’t touch without breaking. But when years of tension finally snap, Joel has no choice but to face what he’s been running from: the fact that you’ve always been his, whether he deserves you or not.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST (like- I'm putting them through it like my life depends on it)(it does.), SMUT, reader is 5 yrs younger than Tommy, so that leaves a 10 yrs age gap with our man, emotional and physical abuse, toxic dynamics: mentions of abusive family but nothing descriptive or graphic, mentions of abusive boyfriends and unhealthy relationships in general but nothing descriptive or graphic, substance use: mentions of gambling and intense sexual content: grinding, nipple play, fingering, cum eating, unprotected PIV, dom!Joel. Please be aware and read responsibly.

A/N: Well, well, well- what do we have here? It’s been almost a year since I last posted anything of mine. This is not some breakthrough, or something you haven’t read before. For some reason, I decided to forgo dividers and use titles instead. Where did that come from? Lord knows. The writing and rhythm feel a bit different, especially in the beginning- don’t ask me to explain, I’m not a trained professional. I also think I used dashes more than I ever have before, maybe I'm addicted, who knows. (They made sense, ok?) Anyway, I don’t know why I’m rambling; I don’t even know if you still remember me, but hey-(oh look, another dash!) I'm still here and I’ve missed you guys!

P.S.: Oh- oh and please don’t forget, as always, I hate summaries!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

They say you only get what you think you deserve in this life.

They must be gravely wrong then, because you don’t think you deserve Joel Miller. Not for one second. And yet, somehow.. here you are.

But let’s take things from the beginning.

The past.

You and Tommy met when you were young. Well, he was young. You were young..er. Which, by default, made Joel the old..er brother.

You and Tommy became fast, inseparable friends. You were both drawn to mischief and that made you almost instantly thick as thieves. He’s always been like a brother to you. You spent summers at the Millers’, crashed there during rough times.

You didn’t have a stable home life. You learned from a young age to adapt.

Actually, you learned a handful of helpful things: how to read faces, microexpressions, words unsaid and gestures unmade. When to activate your sympathetic or parasympathetic systems. When to freeze. When to hide. When to run. Especially where to run.

The destination was always the same, the Millers’ house. Tommy and by extension Joel, became your lifeline.

The one person you could never read to save your life though, was Joel Miller.

Joel, always wiser, quieter, intense. You called him “sir” jokingly. He called you “kid.” Typical.

He wasn’t warm, but he was reliable. Always picking Tommy up from trouble. Always fixing things. Always there.

You admired him before you even understood why. He never faltered. Never drifted.

As you grew up, that admiration turned into something deeper. But beyond that, all you could ever figure out was that he didn’t like you all that much. You guessed you were used to that. You’d had your whole life training for it.

The hidden love.

You never said anything. Joel treated you like a kid.

Even as you matured, he stayed distant, protective, but formal.

You kept it to yourself, how you felt about him and tried to date others. No one ever measured up. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t even give you the bare minimum.

But even when they did -rarely- your heart was singing only for Joel.

What a stupid fixation, you thought.

To crave the safe. To long for the normal. To love the constant.

But he provided. So you did.

Truth be told, you’ve never shared much with Joel. He was always orbiting your friendship with Tommy, anyway. He was the big brother. He was always around, mostly to keep an eye on Tommy, if you had to guess. So, inevitably, he ended up getting to know parts of your life, of you.

Like right now, when you wish more than anything that he never knew you at all.

You see, you’re in a bad relationship. You don’t tell Joel as much. You never would.

But Tommy knows.

And if Tommy knows, Joel does too.

Because Joel is observant. He always watches. He always has.

Like you said, to keep Tommy straight. Wasn’t his fault if you were always around. So it wasn’t that hard to figure you out. To notice things.

Like you, clinging to people who give crumbs of affection, because you grew up without real support.

Like you, staying with your boyfriend after he apologizes, crying, believing it meant change.

The sleepover.

Tommy lets you crash at Joel’s place. You don't even need to ask; it’s practically a given. He thinks it’s casual, just like always.

You feel safe there, even with Joel being standoffish. He never kicked you out, though. His door was always open when you needed it and that meant something. It had to, right?

But when you settle into the familiar room and mattress, you have a confession to make. You admit to Tommy that you forgave your boyfriend because “he cried and I thought maybe he deserved another chance.”

“Jesus..” Tommy sighs, his brows pinched in frustration. Not at you but at the lucky bastard who’s havin’ it easy.

He doesn’t know what else to say to make you see; you are enough. Enough to stand on your own. You don’t need anyone else to feel whole. Complete. Relevant. Seen.

But who is he to talk? He’s always carryin’ his own demons, makin’ his own same mistakes; always havin’ Joel anchor him to reality, like you’re havin’ him.

Tommy sits on the bed next to you, searching your eyes. “What are you not tellin’ me?”, his voice soft and caring like a knuckle brushing against a cheek.

Goddamn Miller brothers and their ability to read you like an open book.

You avoid his gaze, looking anywhere but him.

He calls your name now, sternly. Serious. Patience was never really his strong suit, but then again, you already knew that. “Done playin’ games, darlin’.”

Tommy pinches your chin, forces your eyes on his. “Spit it out.” He speaks like he’s scolding you, but his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles.

You start stammering, the words to admit your level of failure elude you, like smoke curling in the air. You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. Your knee bounces once, then twice. You suck in a breath like it’ll help you speak. It doesn’t.

“I- I-” you exhale loudly. You rehearse the sentence in your head but it comes out wrong every time. Too much. Too small. Too pathetic. You hate that it’s even real. “I think he spent all of my savings on gambling.”

Silence.

It hangs there, thick and heavy, filling the room like smoke. You don’t dare look at him. You regret saying it already. It feels too real now, like speaking it out loud makes it official.

Tommy doesn’t respond right away.

You half-expect him to curse, maybe yell. You’ve seen that version of him. Loud, angry, Miller.

But when he finally moves, it’s quiet. Gentle.

He rubs a hand down his face, exhales slowly, the kind of breath that says I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Then, softer than you were ready for- “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Your eyes stay glued to the worn edge of the blanket you’re gripping. “I dunno.” Your voice is small. Pathetic. “Guess I didn’t wanna see it.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor for a moment before glancing your way. “You gonna tell Joel?”

That makes your head snap up. “What? No- no. I don’t want him to know. He’ll just-”

You stop. You don’t even know what exactly you’re afraid of. Joel being disappointed? Joel being right? Joel looking at you like you’re one of those strays he has to keep out of the yard?

Tommy narrows his eyes just a bit. “He ain’t like that, you know.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know how he looks at me.”

Tommy gives a little snort. Amused. Tired. “Pretty sure you don’t know how he looks at you.”

Your breath catches. And now you have to look away.

He sees it. Of course he does. Goddamn Miller brothers.

Tommy doesn’t press. He just shifts closer on the mattress, hand resting lightly on your shoulder. No pressure. Just there.

“You’re not stayin’ with him anymore,” he says. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

That “we” shouldn’t hit you in the chest the way it does.

But it does.

You nod once, quietly. You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re not grateful, but because you’ve learned that some kindnesses are too big for words.

Joel’s Judgment.

Sunlight’s starting to crawl into the kitchen. Joel’s already up, nursing his coffee, sleeves pushed up, working a stubborn hinge loose on the cabinet door.

Always fixing what breaks, never what’s breaking him.

He’s got that tired, focused look, the one he wears when there’s too much on his mind and nowhere to put it.

Tommy walks in after a while, hair still a mess, rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re not around, maybe still in the spare room, maybe hiding from the weight of everything.

Joel doesn’t ask, not directly. He never does. But he eyes the hallway, then glances at Tommy.

“Everything alright with her?”, he asks almost indifferent while still working on the cabinet door.

Tommy runs a hand over his face. Hesitates. Then shrugs.

“She always ends up with assholes, doesn’t she?” Joel mutters under his breath.

Not angry. Not cold. Just.. detached. Like he’s trying to put you in a box he can label and keep at a safe distance.

Tommy’s halfway to the coffee pot when he freezes.

His voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Jesus, Joel.”

Joel looks up, brows raised. “What?”

Tommy slams the pot down harder than necessary. “She thought she could trust him. He cried, said he’d change, you know how that goes.”

Joel watches him now, more alert. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Tommy exhales through his nose, pacing once. Shit. Then- too late to take it back- “..The bastard drained her savings. All of it. Gambling.”

Silence.

Joel blinks once. Sets the screwdriver down slow, deliberate. Like he actively accepts he’s capable of murder right at this moment.

“You serious?”

Tommy just nods, jaw tight.

Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His face hardens, not with judgment, but with something else. Something Tommy has seen too many times before. That cold, calculating kind of quiet. Like when a storm’s just out of sight but already coming.

He glances back toward the hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, Joel Miller looks like he might actually break something.

The confrontation.

“Is she really that stupid?”

Joel’s voice cuts through the air, low, gritted, sharp like broken glass.

You weren’t even trying to eavesdrop. Just happened to walk toward the kitchen, bare feet soft on old floorboards, the kind that creak at the worst moments.

But now you’re at the doorframe.

And you’ve heard it.

They both freeze when they see you.

Tommy’s mouth parts like he might say something -anything- but Joel gets there first. He takes a step forward, guilt blooming all over his face.

"Wait-", time fractures; each fraction of a second splitting into aching pieces, stretching into eternity, as he struggles to find the right words. "That’s not-"

You flinch back. Not from fear, from instinct. Like touching him would burn.

Your eyes are glassy, breath stuck somewhere between your chest and throat.

You tried so fucking hard. For years.

To believe he didn’t despise you. That it was just the way he was, guarded, quiet, rough around the edges. Maybe, just maybe, under all that brooding, he gave a damn. Not enough to love you, but enough to keep you torturing yourself. Hoping.

You clung to scraps. Glances. The open door. The silence that wasn’t quite rejection.

But now- now you have your answer.

He reaches out and you step further back, hand half-raised like a warning.

“Don’t.”

Your voice cracks.

“You’re cruel, Joel.” His name tastes foreign, like something you were never meant to say out loud. Not in this kind of sentence. Not aimed at you.

He flinches.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be alone and still try to believe people can be good. That they’ll change. That you matter enough for someone to try.”

You laugh bitterly. Short, sharp.

“I used to think that was my strength, it gave me hope, nurtured my heart.”

You shrug, mouth twisting.

“Now I just feel stupid.”

Joel opens his mouth and this time his voice is soft. A crack in the armor.

“Sweetheart-”

It halts you.

Like something forgotten and fragile just cracked open in your chest.

He’s never called you that. Never reached for softness when it came to you. You were always kid, background noise, someone tolerated.

But this- this name, heavy with something almost gentle- it lingers.

Uninvited warmth in the middle of a wound. A wrong word at the worst possible moment.

And just like that, you falter.

Your footing slips, like the floor forgot how to hold you. You hate that it gets to you. You hate that part of you still wants it to mean something.

You snap.

“No.”

You shake your head, fast, like you're trying to physically push the word away.

“No, Joel. You made what you think of me very clear.”

You take another step back, voice trembling but strong.

“You sorry you said it or just sorry I was there to hear it?”

He looks like he’s on the verge of breaking. But you don’t let him. A quiet kind of peace settles over you- cold, final. It’s all done now. Sealed. Clear. Maybe hope was never meant for you. Maybe it ruined more than it ever gave.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for having a heart. For seeing the good in people. For thinking maybe, just maybe, I could believe in something better.”

A beat. “For thinking you’d ever see me as something more than a burden.”

Then the final twist- “But hey- I guess if anyone knows what it’s like to be an asshole, it’s you.”

Silence.

You turn around.

And this time, when you walk away, you don’t look back.

The void.

The door doesn’t slam. He almost wishes it did, something loud, something final, something that could match the sting in his chest.

But no.

It’s the quiet that kills him.

He stays there, frozen. One foot half-forward like he still thinks maybe he can catch you.

Maybe call you back.

Maybe undo it.

Too late.

Tommy doesn’t speak. He’s seen this side of Joel before, the kind that hits hard and then stands in the wreckage, not knowing how to fix what’s left.

Joel drags a hand down his face, slow. Tired.

He feels like he just handed a loaded gun to someone he swore he’d protect and it went off in his own damn hands.

He sinks down onto the edge of the kitchen chair, his elbows digging his knees. Staring at nothing. Staring at the space you occupied moments ago.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters defeated. “Not like that.”

But there’s no one there to hear it.

The room stays still.

Tommy leans against the doorframe. Crosses his arms. Watches his brother fall apart without making a sound about it.

He wants to say I warned you.

Wants to say You crossed a line you can’t uncross.

But what good would it do now?

Joel doesn’t need a lecture.

He needs a time machine.

Tommy sighs, low, deep; rubs the back of his neck.

“You love her,” he says simply. Not a question. “You just don’t think you deserve her.”

Joel doesn’t look up. Doesn’t argue.

Tommy nods to himself, jaw tight.

“Then I hope to God you figure out what you do deserve, before she’s too far gone to look back.”

He pushes off the frame and walks out, boots heavy on the floorboards, leaving Joel alone with the quiet and what he’s done.

The conversation.

Tommy stepped out onto the back porch with two beers. Joel was already out there, sitting in silence, the lamp behind him casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He didn’t say anything when Tommy handed him one.

They sat for a while.

“She didn’t mean to hear it, y’know,” Tommy said eventually. “Was just.. bad timing.”

Joel didn’t react. Took a sip. His expression remained flat.

“Maybe it’s better she did,” he muttered, eyes fixed on his thumb as it peeled the label off the bottle- then drifting back up again, straight into nothingness.

Tommy bent forward slightly, fingers laced together. “Jesus, Joel. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

Joel’s eyes stayed lost in the dark. “She’s the kind of woman who believes in second chances. Believes people can be better. Damn, she forgives the unforgivable like it’s just another Tuesday.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said softly, almost in awe. “I know.”

“But me?” Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle. “I’ve run out of people to prove wrong. And if she ever looked at me the way I look at her.. God help me, I’d take it. I’d take it and I’d never let go. Which is exactly why I can’t.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment.

“You really think you’re that far gone?”

Joel gave a hard smile. “You see the man I am now. But she didn’t see who I had to be. Who I chose to be. I’ve done things, Tommy. Not the kind that sends you to jail- the kind you do when you look out for your own. I walked away from people who needed me. I picked you over them. And I’d do it again, but that don’t mean it didn’t mark me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy said sharply. “For me. For us.”

“That don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong either.”

Joel’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “She thinks people can change. I know they don’t, not really. And I ain’t gonna be the one to prove her wrong.”

Tommy studied his brother for a long beat. “You ever think maybe she sees who you are now ‘cause that’s who you are?”

“She’s not like us, Tommy,” Joel said flatly. “She’s strong, but not cold. Got this light to her that-”, he stopped, sighed. “I ain’t got no business even standin’ near.”

“Bullshit.” Tommy said. “You love her.”

“And that’s the goddamn problem,” Joel snapped. “I need her. And if I let myself need somethin’ that good and I lose it..”, his face shifted, darkening into something grim and unyielding, “-Lord have mercy on anyone standin’ in my way.. I don’t think I’d come back from that.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, head tilted up toward the sky.

“She’s not gonna break you, Joel. She’s already holdin’ your pieces together. You just too scared to admit it.”

Joel took another sip as silence settled over them once again. There was something fragile in his voice now.

“I have a brother, you know,” he said with a dry quip. “He trusts me with everythin’. Even her. I can’t give him a reason not to.”

Tommy laughed bitterly. “I think he’d be more pissed if you kept hurtin’ her just to protect him.”

Joel stared off into the night, beer forgotten in his hand. Another beat of quiet. His resolve was cracking slightly. Not entirely. Not enough. Not yet.

Then, barely above a whisper-

“A man like me don’t get to want things like her.”

The explotion.

It’s been weeks.

No word from Joel.

Tommy checks in from time to time, but he doesn’t say his brother’s name. Not once.

And you don’t ask.

You tell yourself you don’t care. That the silence doesn’t ache.

Then one afternoon, Tommy texts you:

"Swing by Joel’s place. Left some stuff for you in the garage. I’ll be back in 10."

You don’t think twice. You go. You assume Joel’s at work. He always is.

But when you step inside, the air is too quiet. Tommy’s truck is gone. And then you hear a key turning in the front door.

Joel walks in.

You both stop in your tracks. He blinks, like he’s not sure if you’re real. Your heartbeat drums in your ears. You mumble something about Tommy. He nods; says nothing at first. Just sets his keys down on the table.

He glances at you. There’s a hesitation, like something’s been living in his throat for too long and he’s finally decided to let it out.

"Tommy said you.. broke things off."

You nod stiffly, eyes dropping to your feet, like they could carry you away from him. Like they ever would.

He shifts his weight, almost uncomfortable. His voice is low, a little rough, when he dares-

"That guy ever lay a hand on you?"

Your jaw tightens.

Not this again. Not from him. Not when he’s the one who shattered you last.

"Not everyone’s lucky enough to have Joel Miller in their corner." you bite out before you can stop yourself.

His brows twitch and you don’t wait for him to respond. The words keep spilling now, bitter, broken, sharp.

"I don’t let people touch me or talk to me like that. Not anymore."

Your eyes flash, not with anger, with hurt.

"But you? I made an exception for you. God knows why."

He flinches. Not dramatically. Just a subtle shift in his jaw, his breath caught wrong.

Like it’s only now hitting him that being let in -truly in- came with weight. That he held something fragile in his hands and dropped it anyway.

And you?

You hate that your voice breaks on the next part.

"You were the only one I thought I didn’t have to protect myself from."

He takes a step forward. Slow. Careful. Like he’s approaching something wounded and wild.

You don’t move- not back, not forward. Just watching him, tight-lipped and trembling like you’re holding yourself together with spit and thread.

"Don’t," you say, low and hollow.

He stops. Hands hovering like he might reach for you and thinks better of it. Again.

"Kid-"

You flinch at the nickname. Just slightly, but enough. He notices. Of course he does.

That damn observant look of his. It used to make you feel seen. Now it just makes you feel exposed. Like he sees the ache he put there and doesn’t know how to address it.

He doesn’t know what to fix first.

The way he spoke to you?

The way he looked at you after?

The way he didn’t come after you when you left?

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again.

"That day, I didn’t mean-"

You cut him off, voice like stone, "You never mean to. That’s the whole problem."

The silence after is raw.

He doesn’t step closer. He doesn’t step back. He just stays there, suspended in regret.

Like, he finally understands the difference between being in someone’s corner and being someone they can truly rely on.

The tension is suffocating. It coils in your lungs like smoke, thick and hot and inescapable.

Joel says nothing. Quiet again. Resigned. His eyes fix somewhere over your shoulder, or maybe nowhere at all. You can’t tell.

He won’t even look at you. You were always a ghost to him, weightless. Unseen.

A haunting he never asked for.

A slight inconvenience, someone he tolerated for Tommy's sake. Never close enough to matter. Never far enough to ignore.

And that tells you everything.

You’re not getting an explanation. Not now. Not ever.

Whatever that moment was, the truth he nearly let slip, the rawness behind his voice, it’s already retreating back into the dark.

You feel it, the distance returning, sharp and cold, like the final click of a door locking from the inside.

Of course. Of course he’d leave you standing there with nothing. Of course he’d choose silence again.

Because that’s what he does. That’s what he’s always done.

And suddenly your chest feels too tight, your throat dry, like your body’s trying to brace for impact but the crash never comes.

So you nod. Once. Slow.

You turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.

But as you move past him, something inside you screams enough. And before you can stop yourself-

“Why do you hate me so much?” you ask, your voice cracking before you mean it to. You weren’t even going to say anything, but the way he always looks at you, jaw clenched, arms crossed, that permanent scowl — it’s been eating at you for years.

Joel’s response is a gruff, confused, “What?”

“Every time I’m around, you act like I’ve done something wrong. Like you can’t stand the sight of me. I just- what did I ever do to you, Joel?”

His face shifts. Something flickers in his eyes- not anger. Something else. But it’s gone before you can name it.

“You didn’t do nothin’.” he says quietly.

“Then why? Why are you always so angry with me?”

He won’t look at you. Something between a huff and a laugh escapes his mouth, like he’s mocking you. Silence stretches. But you keep going, your voice sharper now, almost shaking.

“Is it because I’m not your business? Because I was always just Tommy’s dumb little friend hanging around? Or is it just fun for you; pushing me away over and over until I finally take the hint?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” he snaps, his voice cold and defensive, eyes glittering with barely-contained rage.

“Then say it!” you bite out, bitter and breathless. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back for years; say it. Tell me what the hell I ever did to make you look at me like I’m something you need to keep your distance from.”

You’re flushed now. Heart pounding. He still won’t look at you. So you take a step forward.

“Is it because I’m too young? Because I’m soft? Because I forgive people who don’t deserve it?”

Now, finally, Joel looks at you. Maybe he thinks this is meant for him. Maybe he knows he’s one of those who don’t deserve it- forgiveness. Your forgiveness. And something inside him snaps.

“It’s because I can’t afford to look at you the way I want to.” he says low, furious.

You blink. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.

“It’s because every time you walk into a goddamn room, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days. And that shouldn’t be your burden.”

“Joel..” you whisper, barely audible.

He goes on, more raw now.

“You think I’m angry with you? I’m angry with myself. For wantin’ something I got no right to want. For feelin’ like maybe -maybe- there’s a version of me that could be good enough for you. But there ain’t.”

He laughs once, bitter, shaking his head.

“I push you away because if I didn’t, I’d never stop reachin’ for you. And you deserve better than a man who can’t let himself want good things without breakin’ ‘em.”

Silence. His jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides.

“I would’ve given you everything, Joel.” you say, voice trembling. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. Like you just said something cruel. His face twists- not in anger, but disbelief. Something almost panicked beneath the surface.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, quiet, almost pleading.

“What?” you ask, startled.

“You think you do, but you don’t. You’ve always looked at me like I’m some fixed thing. Like I’m solid. Steady. That ain’t love, sweetheart. That’s just safety.”

You blink, like he’s slapped you. And he keeps going, like he has to kill the feeling before it grows roots.

“You don’t want me. You want the idea of me. What I was to Tommy. What I never was to you.”

“If I ever let you close enough to see what’s really here,” Joel gestures vaguely- to his chest, his heart, whatever broken thing still beats inside him, “you’d realize you don’t love me. You just mistook the feelin’. And I can’t be the reason you lose that part of yourself.”

But you’re steady now. Hurt, but unwavering.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I feel.”

Joel stiffens. But you don’t stop.

“You think I saw you as safe? You? With that goddamn storm behind your eyes? With the way you look at the world like it already failed you?”

You step closer. You don’t shout; you just slice.

“I’ve spent years trying to figure out why the worst parts of you still felt like home. Why every time you pushed me away, I wanted to stay. Why I kept waiting for one -just one- moment of softness from you like it might be enough to last me a lifetime.”

You laugh, bitterly, like he did earlier.

“You think I made you into something better than you are? No, Joel. I saw all of it. Every wall. Every silence. Every time you looked right through me like it would be easier if I just disappeared.”

You swallow hard. Your voice cracks, just once.

“And I loved you anyway.”

Silence. He stares at you- stunned. Maybe horrified. Maybe something else. You’d say he almost looks scared of you; if you didn’t know any better.

You continue, quieter. “You don’t get to tell me I mistook the feeling. You just didn’t want to believe anyone could see the truth and stay.”

And then you push again, sharp, your voice shaking with rage and pain as you step forward.

“So, I ask you again, Joel, because you’ve failed to answer me, how dare you tell me what I feel?”

He exhales, tired, low. “I’m tryin’ to protect you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You’re protecting yourself. Because it’s easier to believe I’m just confused than to admit someone could really love you for who you are. Even with all the shit you carry.”

He flinches. You see it. And it only hurts more.

“I do love you.” you tell him. “I love the man who sits in silence and makes sure everyone else eats first. The man who takes the blame even when it isn’t his. The man who looks at me like he’s drowning but won’t reach out.”

You’re toe to toe now. Your voice drops.

“You think that’s not real? You think I don’t know the difference between comfort and love after everything I’ve survived?”

Your next words come softer, almost breaking.

“You’re not some ghost I projected things onto, Joel. I see you. And I still want you.”

You’re standing so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his breath on your face and for a second, you think maybe- maybe this is the moment he’ll finally stop holding back. You reach out, slow, your fingertips brushing the side of his jaw, tentative, trembling with everything you can’t say.

“Joel..” you whisper.

But the second your hand touches him, he flinches- just slightly. Like a breath he wasn’t ready for. Like instinct. But it’s enough. You freeze, your hand falling, your face crumbling. The air goes out of you all at once.

“Right. I- got it,” you say, pulling back, your voice thin and wrecked.

You turn quickly. You don’t want him to see your face, the way it crumples, the way your shoulders shake.

He doesn’t move at first- he’s frozen, like the breath has been punched out of him. But then-

“Wait. Wait- no. No, don’t- don’t do that,” Joel blurts out, panicked.

You keep walking. He follows.

“Don’t you dare think that was about you,” he says, more urgent now.

You stop at the door but don’t turn around. His voice is shaking. You’ve never heard him like this.

“You think I flinched ‘cause I didn’t want you to touch me?”

Your fists clench at your sides. Your heart pounds on your chest; you’re sure he can hear it.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you admit quietly, trying to hide your broken voice.

Joel crosses the distance between you before you can move again. His hand catches your wrist- gentle but firm, turning you to look at him. His voice is low, rough, but soft in a way you’ve never heard before.

“I flinched because it felt like everything I’ve been tryin’ not to feel for years just broke wide open.”

You finally look at him. His eyes are dark, wet, desperate.

“Because the second you touched me, I wanted to fall into it. Into you. And I’ve spent so long convincing myself I don’t get to have that.”

His hand slides to your cheek- slowly, like he’s asking for permission with every inch.

This time, he touches you. His thumb brushes your jaw, reverent. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you in case he loses the right to ever do this again.

“You scare the hell outta me,” Joel breathes, “because you look at me like I’m someone worth lettin’ in. And I ain’t. I know I ain’t. But-”, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice shaking, “-just this once. Let me pretend I am.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just breathe -ragged, shallow- afraid that if you say anything, the spell will break and he’ll pull away again.

But part of you still doesn’t trust it.

Not fully. Not yet.

“Joel..” your voice comes soft, almost broken. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna disappear tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer, and you can see the war raging inside him; you can almost taste it. The doubt. And that silence? It kills you.

So you turn. Ready to leave, to protect what’s left of you.

But he moves, fast.

He doesn’t grab you, just steps into your path, like it’s instinct. For a moment, he considers pressing his palm to the door to stop you. But after everything you’ve been through, he knows better. Even now, even here, he remembers.

“Don’t go,” Joel says, low and aching. One hand half-raised like he’s scared of touching you, scared of what it’ll mean if you let him.

“Why?” you ask, sharp, trembling. “So you can push me away all over again tomorrow?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t look away. He looks at you like he’s falling apart, eyes dark and wide, as if just saying this next part might break him completely.

And then-

“Because if you walk out that door thinkin’ I don’t love you, I won’t survive it.”

The realization.

Your breath catches.

His words settle like thunder under your skin. You look at him -really look- and for the first time, there’s no mask. No guarded distance. Just raw, shattered truth.

He takes a slow step closer, like he’s giving you time to run.

"You still wanna walk away?" Joel’s voice is hoarse.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Joel’s thumb brushes your cheek, his hand warm and steady now, no longer holding back. His forehead rests against yours, and when he speaks, it’s like a promise that’s already been broken.

"Tell me to stop. If you do, I swear I will."

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re something he needs to survive.

"Don’t," you breathe.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and then his mouth is on yours, hungry, devastated, like he’s sorry and aching and starved all at once.

His lips are rough but his hands are gentle, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. The kiss starts slow, reverent and builds, deepens. His hands cradle your face, your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t get enough. Your fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down, pressing into him.

You gasp into his mouth, and he groans like it’s a sound he didn’t mean to let out. He presses you back against the wall, not rough, not aggressive, but desperate.

"Been wantin’ this for so long.." he murmurs into your mouth.

Your hips shift and he feels it- the press of you against him. His hands fall to your waist, dragging you tighter against him, grinding into you like he needs the friction, needs proof this is real.

You arch into him, needy, breathless. He presses into you, the thick line of his thigh between yours, the heat of his body unbearable. Every little grind is slow, controlled, but filled with hunger.

"You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me…" Joel’s voice is hoarse, dark and full of disbelief.

You whimper at the sound of it. He rests his forehead against your neck, breathing hard, hips rolling into yours.

"Then show me," you whisper, soft and ruined.

He kisses you again, deeper this time; his tongue slipping past your lips, tangling with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You think you’d float away, lost in a dream, if the coarse scruff of his beard wasn’t there, grounding you, prickling the skin around your lips.

His hand slides under your shirt, just skin and warmth and a shiver down your spine. But then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

"If we keep goin’, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop."

"Then don’t."

Your lips part from his, breaths mingling in the heavy air. Joel’s hands don’t rush; they trace the lines of your body through your clothes, deliberate and sure, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, ghosting over your ribs, fingertips grazing your skin lightly before returning to the fabric. One hand cups your waist, pulling you flush against his hard thigh- the heat there like a magnet.

You shift your hips slowly, grinding against him, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the tension building with every tiny movement.

"So needy already.. what happens when I really touch you?" His voice is low and rough.

You whimper, pressing closer, needing more contact.

"Feels good, baby? Keep grindin’ just like that."

His hands slide to the front of your shirt, palms cradling your soft breasts, thumbs sweeping lightly over your nipples through the thin fabric. He feels them stiffen instantly beneath his palms, the reaction so visceral it sends a jolt through him, something raw, almost primal, uncoiling in his chest. His fingers pinch and roll them with just enough pressure to make your back arch, to draw a broken gasp from your lips.

He watches you writhe, mesmerized by the way you react to every twist of his fingers, the way you shiver and press into his hands like you need more- need him.

Your hands find his wrists, holding him close, desperate for more.

His thumbs drag slowly again over the sensitive peaks, his mouth watering at the thought of that taut skin against his tongue and he swears under his breath, voice thick.

"Joel- please.." you breathe.

He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your jaw. His brain is deep in a haze of desire and need; he's not in control anymore. Maybe he never was- maybe he was always waiting for you to undo him.

His thigh tightens beneath you, holding you steady as you grind harder, matching his rhythm without words. His fingers tease, flick, and pinch lightly, coaxing every sigh and tremble from you.

"You feel that? That’s mine. You're gonna come for me, right here, just like this. Show me you’re mine."

You arch into him, breath hitching, heart pounding as the friction and his teasing combine into a storm inside you. His hands roam with growing confidence, undeterred by your soft moans and shudders. You can feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading fast and he’s right there- steady and sure beneath you, grounding you even as your senses spiral.

The world narrows to the feel of him, the sound of your ragged breaths and the tight coil of pleasure winding up inside you.

Your breaths come faster, your chest rising and falling as Joel’s fingers trace tight circles over your nipples, every pass sending sparks of heat through you, even though he still hasn’t touched you directly. Your hips grind harder, trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter.

You cry out softly against his pouty lips, your body shuddering against his thigh. The warmth pools low and spreads, waves crashing through you and he swallows every little whimper and moan like a man parched. Your fingers clutch his shirt, digging in as the pleasure ripples and crashes, leaving you breathless and undone.

"God.." Joel whispers, voice almost breaking.

He watches you fall apart- skin flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and something inside him twists.

The love scene.

His hands freeze for a moment, not wanting to disturb you but desperate to hold onto you. He leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath warm and steady. Joel watches -intense, silent- his gaze fixed on how your body unravels under his touch, how every shiver and sigh seems to pull at something deep inside him.

His hand stills, hovering just above your skin, afraid to break the fragile spell but desperate to hold onto this moment. His jaw tightens, eyes dark with a storm of emotions he won’t speak aloud- need, protectiveness, and something rawer he’s terrified to admit.

He wants to say something, anything, to stop the rush of feelings, to keep things safe and simple. But the words catch in his throat.

Instead, he simply presses his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven, trying to steady himself. His body tenses beneath you, a silent war raging inside him; he’s drawn to you like never before, but his mind is screaming that this could burn everything to ashes.

Your breath stays uneven, chest pressed to his, foreheads touching like you’re both holding on to something that would vanish the moment you let go.

"Joel, look at me."

He hesitates. You can feel it- the tremble in his hands, the slight shift in his stance, like his whole body’s braced for you to disappear.

"I’m lookin’."

"I’m still here."

And you are -flushed, shaking, pupils blown wide- but still tethered to him, anchored in this fragile space between fear and want. You watch the fight flicker in his eyes. The way his jaw clenches. The way his hands, warm and steady a moment ago, are now flexing like he’s trying not to grab hold too tight.

"You shouldn’t be."

"Don’t."

He closes his eyes, just for a second. Like that word, like your voice, cuts deeper than it should.

"I don’t know how to do this without hurtin’ you."

"I’m already hurt, Joel. But not by what we just did. By you thinking I can’t decide for myself what I want."

That hits him. You see it. The flinch. The ache. The guilt sinking its claws in.

But you don’t stop. You can’t.

"You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be safe. I just need you to be real."

He looks at you like he’s drowning again. Like you’re offering him something he’s too afraid to take. But his hand rises anyway -slow, hesitant- and brushes your cheek again, thumb catching a tear you didn’t know had slipped down.

"I don’t wanna lose this. Lose you. But I don’t know if I can be the kind of man you hold onto."

"Then let me decide that."

You take his hand. Place it against your chest. Let him feel the way your heart hammers beneath your ribs.

"I already am. Can't you feel it?"

One breath. Then another. Joel exhales slowly, like something inside him just gave up the fight. And what’s left is raw and exposed and his.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Less desperation, more reverence. Like a man memorizing his last breath. And this time, he doesn't pull away.

The kiss deepens again, but there’s no trembling now. No flinching. Just heat. Just his hands moving with purpose, sliding beneath your clothes, skin on skin, rough palms and calloused fingers learning you like he’s starved for the taste.

You gasp as he lifts your shirt, tugging it over your head and tossing it aside. His eyes drag down your body like a slow burn, reverent, almost disbelieving.

"Jesus Christ.."

He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing around your nipples, already raw and swollen from his earlier attention, watching the way your back arches into him like instinct. His mouth follows next, hot and open against your tender skin, teeth grazing your stiffened peaks with aching slowness.

Your cunt is pulsing painfully in anticipation, your panties soaked and surely ruining the thick denim of his jeans. All you seem to be able to do is beg for him one more time.

"Joel- please.. I can't-"

He growls -actually growls- the sound scraping low from his chest, like he’s been waiting years to hear that. His hands roam lower, finding the button of your shorts, undoing them slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough time to stop him, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your hands are just as greedy, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel him, to know him the way he’s never let anyone close enough to know. When you finally get it off him, it’s almost too much. All of him -broad and solid and burning under your palms.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I want you to fuck me, Joel."

A pause. A beat. Like the words steal the air from his lungs.

Then he moves.

Your back hits the wall again -gently, but firm- and his body follows, pressing against yours, one hand slipping into your panties, fingers sliding through slick heat with an almost broken sound.

"You’re so fuckin’ wet.." he breathes against that sensitive spot right beneath your ear and you can feel his hard cock grinding for relief against your hip.

You cry out as two thick fingers slide into you, curling just right, slow and deep. Your soft walls flutter around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. His other hand grabs your thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He’s grinding into you now, rutting slow, the thick line of his cock still trapped behind denim- but you can feel it. Every inch of it, hard and pulsing through his jeans.

The slick, obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt only makes you ache more, arousal spilling down his wrist. You’re so fucking close to snapping, to breaking apart if he doesn’t fuck you right now.

“God, Joel- need you inside me-”

"I know, baby. I know. I got you."

He pulls his hand back, wet with you and brings it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a groan that makes your knees buckle. Then he tugs your shorts down, sliding them off you and undoes his jeans, shoving them low enough to free himself and—

Fuck.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing.

Heat spreads across your skin and you’re acutely aware of how vulnerable you are and how completely ready your body is for him. You lean forward, gently brushing his hand away and replacing it with your own. He hisses at the contact. The head of his shaft pulses against your palm, and your fingers curl around him, unable to stop yourself from feeling how rock-hard he is.

"I’ll go slow. Just.. hold onto me.", his voice is low and thick with need. Your heart lurches at the raw sincerity in his tone and you press your body closer, arms instinctively wrapping tightly around his neck.

He lifts you effortlessly, one leg hooking around his hip and pulling you flush against him. With one impatient tug, his fingers sweep your panties to the side, and cool air skims over your heated skin.

The slick tip of him nudges at your entrance, and a sharp gasp escapes you as you feel him teasing you through your wetness.

He sinks into you with one slow, steady thrust and you arch back, teeth gritting to keep the first cry from escaping. A fierce burn flares deep inside as the first inch slides in, and you instinctively dig your nails into his shoulders.

He groans, bending to press his lips against your ear, and exhales your name as he pauses. Inch by inch, he pushes deeper, every fraction of an inch driving wild pleasure through you. Warmth and fullness bloom between your bodies and a long, trembling sigh escapes as your muscles flutter around him, completely filled, leaving you both panting and still.

"That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, takin’ me so good.."

He stays there, buried deep inside you, forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you trembling, both of you lost.

Then he starts to move.

Slow. Deep. Unrelenting.

The song of your bodies meeting- skin against skin, the slick, filthy rhythm of it- fills the room. Your moans spill into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue tangled with yours, every thrust more desperate, more real than anything either of you has ever known.

"Wanted this.. fuck, wanted you for so long-" he mumbles and you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"Don’t stop. Please- don’t stop-"

He doesn’t. He can’t.

He’s fucking you like he means it, like this is the first and last time he’ll ever get to love someone like this- with everything in him, without apology, without restraint. His hips snap into you with purpose, rhythm deep and relentless, like he’s trying to bury himself in you, like he’s trying to leave part of himself behind.

You can feel the tremble in his arms where they hold you steady, the sweat slicking between your bodies, the way his breath stutters every time you clench around him.

Your name spills from his lips like prayer- wrecked, reverent, desperate. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, teeth dragging over your pulse point like he needs to anchor himself before he loses it completely.

"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans, voice raw. "Shit- don’t know how I ever lived without this."

Your nails dig into his back, trying to pull him closer, trying to keep him right there- inside you, on you, with you. You meet every thrust with your own, chasing that edge together, breathing each other in like oxygen.

Your drooling cunt chokes his dick with every pulse, soaking him all the way down to the base, slick spilling down his balls and ruining his jeans. The sounds of skin slapping skin make you both feral with lust. Your breasts bounce with every hard thrust, your nipples dragging against the coarse hairs on his toned chest, slick and flushed from the effort.

His hand snakes from the small of your back to the base of your neck, wrapping firm- grounding, claiming. You feel your walls flutter instantly under his grip.

“Not yet,” he breathes- simple, sharp, possessive- against your pleasure-parted lips. Like he knows your body better than you do. Like he knows you'll obey.

“Not till I say. You hear me?” His breath is hot against your lips. “You come when I take it from you.”

Everything in you screams to hold on, to never let go of this feeling- this heat, this fucking need. It’s too much and still not enough. Your vision swims with unshed tears, pleasure cresting into pain, into surrender.

His other hand grabs your thigh, spreads you wider and he drives in deeper, his cock hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I need to hear it.” he snarls, forehead pressing to yours, eyes wild. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

Your jaw falls open on a gasp, but no sound comes. You can’t. You can barely breathe. He fucks into you harder, his grip tightening.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I stop. Say who this pussy belongs to.”

Your eyes fill with tears- overstimulated, overwhelmed but your voice still breaks through.

“You- Joel, fuck- you- I’m yours- please- don’t stop-”

He groans, deep and guttural, like that was all he needed to unravel.

“That’s right. You’ve always been. Even when I couldn’t have you. Even when I told myself I shouldn’t touch you.”

He drags his mouth over your jaw, your neck, breathing you in like a man starved.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else. I want you so fucked out and full’a me, no one else ever stands a fuckin’ chance.”

It’s too much- the pressure, the stretch, the heat, him. You try to hold back, to obey, but your walls flutter dangerously around him and he feels it.

“Now.” he growls, voice tearing through the air like a command from God. “Come for me.”

And when you finally fall apart around him- walls pulsing, thighs trembling, stars bursting behind your eyes- you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know, clinging to him like you’ll never let go.

“Mine. Fuckin’ mine.” he growls before he follows you with a broken moan, hips stuttering, his whole body seizing as he spills into you, holding you so tight it’s almost bruising. His face is buried in your neck, breath ragged, heartbeat thundering against your chest like it’s trying to match yours.

Like maybe, for a moment, they’re the same.

The aftermath.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Still buried inside you, still trembling- not from release, but from everything after.

His arms are locked around you, your chests pressed together, heartbeats still thundering in unison. You feel the sweat cooling on his back, his breath uneven against your neck. But it’s not the aftermath of sex that makes him shake.

It’s you.

The fact that he finally has you and the sick, gut-deep fear that he might still lose you.

His hand slides up your spine slowly, until it cups the back of your head. He kisses your hair. Your temple. The curve of your jaw.

“You okay?”

His voice is hoarse- too soft for a man like him and yet it holds the weight of a warning. Like he’s asking if you regret it. If he should start bracing for impact.

You nod, whispering his name into his chest.

His jaw tightens, and you feel it- the wildness under the surface, the animal in him that’s never known gentleness without loss. He kisses you- slow at first, then harder, like he needs to claim the truth on your lips.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters, almost to himself. His hand slides down to your thigh, gripping it, pressing you closer, even though you’re already one body.

“You got no idea what that means, do you?” he murmurs against your mouth. “No fuckin’ clue what I’d do for you.”

You look at him -really look- and suddenly you do.

Because this isn’t about sex. It’s about Joel and how, for once in his life, he wants something enough to stay. To fight. To keep.

He brushes his nose against yours. A soft, strange thing from such a hard man.

“You’re not just mine,” he says, barely audible. “I’m yours too, if you still want me.”

He knows he’s done for. He can’t go back- not after this.

The choice is yours now.

It always was. It always will be.

You lift your head, eyes glassy, lips trembling.

“I always did.”

“Then I got you. I swear to God, I got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it.

[lexiputellas]

The Real Victory

You’re horny. Like, dangerously horny.

Alexia is on the pitch, locked into the Champions League match against Manchester City. She lost the last game, and you know how badly she wants this one. You should be focused too. Supportive. Cheering.

But you're six months pregnant and your entire body is buzzing.

And all you can think about is her.

Not the game. Not the score.

Just her

The way her thighs flex when she sprints, thick and powerful. The way her brow furrows when she’s concentrating, that sharp little frown. The way her hands settle on her hips when something doesn’t go her way, fuck.That posture alone sends a direct electric shock to your clit, like a livewire.

It’s unbearable.

You can’t hear the crowd. You barely notice the plays. It’s just her, her, her.

“Oh, that ref is shit. He should’ve called that a foul,” Alba mutters beside you, snapping you out of your haze.

“What?” you blink.

“The ref,” she says, nodding at the pitch.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” you say, pretending to care. She’s already turned back to the game.

But you? You’re dying.

This feeling is consuming you, melting you from the inside out. You feel like you’re going to burst. Your hands are clenched in your lap, trying to behave, but your legs keep pressing together. You're sweating under your dress, soaked through your underwear, every shift in your seat making you want to whimper.

You can't take it anymore.

You grab your phone and open Alexia’s contact, fingers trembling as you type:

— if after 30 minutes of the game you don’t fuck me and give me at least 2 orgasms i will expose you to the internet. i’m not joking. i’m feral.

You hit send.

She won’t read it now, obviously. But when she gets back to the locker room, when she finally checks her phone, you want her to know what she did to you.

You type again:

— i’m a mess. i’m so wet it’s probably running through my dress and dripping onto the fucking seats. this is 100% your fault.

You stare at the screen, your heart pounding harder than the crowd’s chants.

Final whistle.

Barça wins.

The stadium erupts. People are screaming, waving flags. Fireworks. Hugs. Applause.

You don't care.

Finale. They’re going to the goddamn finale.

And all you want is her.

All you want is home

All you want is to be touched.

You turn to Alba. “Let’s go.”

She glances at you, a little surprised. “Already?”

“Help me up.”

She does, and you wobble a bit, pregnant belly leading the way. You make your way to the VIP lounge and ask for a bottle of water. Your heart is racing like you played 90 minutes.

“You having dinner with us?” you ask Alba casually, your brain screaming please say no please say no please say no—

“I don’t think so, actually. I promised Julia I’d have dinner with her tonight. Been a while.”

YES.

“Oh, okay,” you say, masking the desperate joy clawing at your throat. “I just thought—”

“I’m sorry!” she smiles. “We can have dinner later this week.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere. All you can think is: Where the fuck is Alexia?

Why is she not here yet? Is she still giving interviews? Talking to people? Laughing with teammates while you’re over here throbbing?

Then, finally, she walks through the doors.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your entire body clenches. She looks so fucking good. Post-game glow, loose ponytail, jersey stuck to her skin, thighs still tense from running. She’s flushed. Confident. Unreal.

You bite your lip. Hard. Press your thighs together again.

You love her. You hate her. You want to murder her and climb her at the same time.

“Oi, bebé,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek, arms wrapping around you.

You give her a dry peck back, but your eyes are blazing. She hugs Alba next.

“Hey, you coming to dinner?”

“Oh, can’t. Was just waiting for you to show up. I’ve got plans.”

“Okay,” Alexia nods. Alba leaves.

“Dinner out or do you want to order in?” she asks, turning to you with that too-casual tone.

“Order,” you narrow your eyes. She was really about to take you to a restaurant like she didn’t just read those texts? Is she insane?

Then again, she is insane. She's mean. She's hot. She’s yours. So so yours.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, grabbing your purse and holding out her hand.

You walk with her, past a few teammates. She says her goodbyes. Opens the car door for you. Puts her gear in the trunk. Starts the engine.

She’s humming along to the song on the radio. Calm. Collected.

You look at her. Really look.

What kind of monster leaves their pregnant, needy, drenched wife like this?

The way her fingers grip the wheel. The muscles in her forearms. The little furrow of concentration on her brow.

It’s criminal.

“What?” she says suddenly, catching your stare.

“You’re so mean,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“What? How am I mean?”

“You read the messages. And you chose to ignore me. You ignored your pregnant, unholy, unsatisfied wife”

“I didn’t ignore you,” she smirks. “I just wanted to see when you’d break.”

“When I’d— WHAT KIND OF MONSTER SAYS THAT? I hate you!” you yell, dramatic and breathless.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I hate you so much!”

She looks at you sideways, eyes dark and smug, and then slowly lets one hand slide off the wheel, straight to your thigh.

You gasp.

Her fingers press into your skin, spreading a little warmth, a little promise.

“You don’t hate me,” she says, low and certain.

And god help you, she’s right.

Her hand stays there hot, firm, steady on your thigh. Not moving. Just existing. Like a warning. Like a fucking claim.

And you're trembling.

“You don't hate me,” she says again, softer this time, almost teasing, like she already knows you're seconds from falling apart. “You’re just mad I made you wait.”

You twist toward her in your seat, glaring. “I wasn’t mad. I was dying. There’s a difference. You left me like that for ninety minutes. In public.”

“In a stadium,” she corrects, her thumb now rubbing slow, maddening circles over your skin. “While my team fought for the Champions League.”

“I fought for my life. ”

She laughs, actually laughs, and you nearly claw at her. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” you nearly shriek. “I threatened you. I explicitly said two orgasms and you acted like I said two cappuccinos,”

“I saw that,” she says, grinning wider. “And the one after. The part about your dress. And the seats.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“And?” you snap, voice shaky.

She hums, dragging the tip of her fingernail up and down your thigh now. You shiver. “And I guess we’ll see if you were exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I hope not.”

You make a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl. Your hands are fisted in your lap again, trying not to beg her in traffic.

The city blurs outside the window, but all you see is her profile, focused, gorgeous, unfazed. Your whole body is throbbing and she’s just…driving. Calmly. Like you’re not about to crawl into her lap.

You glance down at her hand on your leg. Her thumb is drifting closer to the inside of your thigh now. Dangerous territory. Too close. You spread your legs slightly without thinking.

She doesn’t say anything. Just flicks her eyes toward you with a slow smirk.

You clench your fists tighter.

“You’re a menace,” you mutter.

“You married me.”

“I was tricked.”

She chuckles again, completely in control, and your pulse is in your ears. She's wearing that smug, satisfied post-match look, jersey still sticking to her skin, and all you can think about is how much you need her on you, in you, now now now.

“Alexia,” you whisper, desperate.

She exhales through her nose, leans forward to turn down the music, then returns her hand to your thighs, this time higher, much higher.

“Shhh, bebé. Almost home.”

Your hips twitch toward her.

“No, not shhh. I’m going to die,” you say breathlessly. “You’re going to have to explain to the paramedics that you edged your pregnant wife into a cardiac event.”

She grins. “I’ll just say it was hormones.”

You whimper. Actually whimper.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says, but her voice is lower now, quieter, slipping into that tone you know means trouble.

Then she turns onto your street.

Your breathing stutters.

You’re seconds away from sobbing, from tearing the fabric of your dress apart, from climbing her while the engine’s still on. She parks the car and the moment it clicks into place, you undo your seatbelt and twist to her.

She hasn’t even opened her door yet.

You lean toward her, breath warm, hands shaking.

“I swear to God,” you whisper, “if you make me wait one more second,”

But she’s already moving. Turning to you. Hand slipping behind your neck and pulling you in for a deep, hot kiss. It hits you like fireneedy, claiming, hungry. Her tongue sweeps over yours and her fingers dig into your skin and just like that, you’re gone.

Your moan gets swallowed in her mouth.

She reaches down, pulls the lever, and shoves the driver’s seat all the way back.

Your breath catches.

“Come here,” she says, low.

“What?”

“You heard me. Come here.”

You scramble over the center console, breathless, messy, belly in the way, everything awkward and unhinged. But she helps you, strong arms around you, guiding you to straddle her lap. Her hands slide under your thighs, lifting you so you’re not too heavy, easing you down until you're sitting right against her.

The moment you're seated, your soaked center pressed against the firm muscle of her thigh, your arms around her neck, she kisses you.

Hard.

Messy.

Open-mouthed and fucking relentless.

You moan into her, rocking instinctively, already rolling your hips against her. Her hands slip up under your dress, grabbing the back of your thighs, your ass, your hips, tugging you closer until you're gasping into her mouth.

“Ale, fuck, I’m gonna explode”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, lips wet, eyes glassy.

Her hand slides between your legs. Straight under your underwear.

And when she feels how wet you are?

Her jaw clenches.

“You’re soaked.”

“I told you,” you gasp.

“Sit up,” she orders, and you barely register what she’s doing before she slides her fingers inside: slow, deep, no warning.

Your whole body jerks.

“FUCK”

Her other hand grips your hip, grounding you, holding you in place.

“You gonna ride me like you threatened to?” she breathes into your neck. “Or do I have to make you beg for it?”

You’re already moving. Hips grinding down, your belly tight against her chest, your thighs trembling with the effort.

“God, yes, yes, please, Alexia”

“You’re so desperate,” she whispers. “So messy. You wanted to come in my car so bad? Do it.”

Her fingers are already soaked, dripping, knuckles buried in your cunt as you grind against her like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. She’s letting you do the work, just watching, controlling the rhythm with the slow flex of her hand.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” she mutters, voice low, forehead pressed to yours. “Dripping all over me. Can you feel how wet you are?“

Your jaw drops. You moan, raw, desperate and she doesn't give you space to recover.

Her fingers curl inside you, deep and mean, rubbing against that swollen, electric spot that sends sparks flying up your spine. Her palm drags hard over your clit. Again and again and again.

You fall apart.

Your back arches, your belly tight and shaking, and then your cunt clenches down so hard on her fingers it hurts. You don’t just moan, you wail, the sound tearing from your throat like a sob. Your head tips back, body locking, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

She’s right there, whispering filth into your skin.

“That's it. Give it to me, bebé. Let me feel it. Let me feel all of it.”

You try to breathe, but your lungs won’t work. Your whole body is twitching, seized by the orgasm, soaking her wrist, her palm, the fucking seat. You’re gushing, crying, shaking in her lap like your body’s been possessed.

She holds you there through it gripping your ass with one hand, still inside you with the other, riding it out until you're limp and clinging to her.

When you finally collapse forward, she’s panting against your ear, voice rough with praise.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “You came so hard for me. Fuck.”

Your whole body buzzes. You’re not sure if you’re still crying or just breathless, but her jersey is wet with sweat, and your thighs are shaking.

“That’s one,” she says, slowly pulling her fingers out, wet, slick, obscene. She lifts them to her mouth and licks them clean while you just stare, wrecked and speechless.

Then, with a grin that’s all teeth:

“You still owe me another.”

“And I haven’t even ripped your fucking dress yet.”

[rockwoodchevy]

Pneumonia

Jackson!Joel x F!Reader

summary: you're feeling icky today but Joel has patrol. unfortunately, it's more serious than either of you thought.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: illness, fainting

a/n: hi everyone! it's been a hot minute since I posted anything so here is a little thing I worked on between work. let me know what you all think! enjoy!

__________________________________________________

“Joel, please don’t go out today.” You ask, sniffling to yourself. 

You know that you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather recently, chest feeling heavy and thick with something that you cannot quite put your finger on. The world seems dizzying almost, weighed down by something you can’t quite place your finger on. The thought of being alone right now makes you anxious, especially when you don’t know exactly what is wrong.

”You know that I have to. Town’s getting bigger by the month and we need people out on patrol.”

”Just this once? I’m just… feeling down in the dumps right now.”

Joel turned to look at you sitting in the bed. He noticed that you looked a bit pale recently and could hear the slight sniffles you were releasing, but he talked it up to you having a small cold. He would be back in about 12 hours so he wasn’t too worried.

”I have’ta go, honey. I won’t be gone long. Plus, Ellie will be here to keep you company. I’ll ask her to stick around for a while.”

”Please, Joel? I really don’t… I just think something is wrong with me.”

”I probably just have a bug, I know something has been going around lately in town. Just try and sleep it off, maybe Maria has something for you to take. I’m sorry but I gotta go.”  

Joel places a quick kiss to your forehead, eyebrows furrowing when he realizes that you are a bit warm. He decides to shrug it off as the small illness some people in town are fighting right now, straightening back up. 

“I’ll be back later tonight. Just… rest, alright?” 

You’re too fatigued to continue arguing with him. You nod your head, resigning from the conversation. He dips his head at you one time, grabbing his bag and heading out the door.

”Love ya, hon!” He yells from downstairs. 

You’re too tired to yell anything back, laying back in your spot and throwing the blanket off of your body. You feel like you’ve already sweat through the sheets and your stomach rolls and turns. Bless him for putting the garbage can in here, you think to yourself as you lean over the side of the bed, feeling like the breakfast you forced down this morning was coming back up for an encore. To your dismay, nothing comes up and your stomach continues to feel the same way it did a few moments ago. Throwing yourself on your back in your spot again with an arm tossed over your eyes, you drift off to sleep praying to whoever is out there that Joel’s patrol shift flies by.

____________________________________

You think you’re dreaming still, but you can hear a voice calling out your name. Blinking a bit, your vision clears and you see Ellie sitting on Joel’s side of the bed, a concerned look on her face.

”Damn, and I thought that Joel slept like the dead.” She said, quietly.

”Sorry, El,” you croaked out to her, sitting up. “Just not feeling too hot today.”

“That’s what Joel told me. Asked me to come and watch you for a bit.”

Once you were completely sat up, Ellie reached her out to your forehead, placing the back of her hand against it.

”He said you were warm but I didn’t think you were this warm.”

”I’m alright. Joel thinks I have that stupid bug going around right now.” You say, looking down at your hands in your lap. You hear Ellie say your name and you look back up at her.

”I don’t know about that, I’ve seen the people who have the bug and they aren’t close to as bad as you look.”

”Gee, thanks El.” You roll your eyes, turning to move out of the bed.

You stand even though it makes you feel slightly dizzy. Stretching out your body, you turn back to Ellie who is tracking your every movement.

”I hope you didn’t have to cancel any plans just to come and babysit me today.” 

“Nah,” Ellie stands from her spot. “Was just gonna go and see the movie they were playing today. Guess it's a new one that someone found while on patrol or something.”

Now you felt bad that Ellie had to change her plans just to come and take care of you. Shaking your head, you move for the dresser.

”No way, Jose. I’m taking you to watch that movie.” The sentence barely finishes coming out of your mouth before a cough attack happens. 

“I don’t think that is a good idea, dude, you look like walking death.”

You turn towards her, a look of determination on your face. “Absolutely not, we are going to see that movie if it kills me.”

Ellie rolls her eyes but gives in. She knows that if you are able to fight Joel hard enough for him to give in, then she has no shot against you. She nods, throwing her hands up.

”Alright, alright. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

________________________________

The winter air outside feels like Heaven against your skin, which you know is still sweaty regardless of how cold it is outside. Ellie and yourself are walking side by side as you approach the town center where the movie will be playing tonight. She looks at you warily, worried about your well-being.

”You sure about this? We can always just stay at your place, play a game or make fun of Joel or something.”

You laugh slightly but that turns into a full blown coughing attack. “Yeah, I’m sure. I feel fine, actually.” 

That was a big ol’ lie. 

Ellie nods as you both enter the hall. She searches for someone, you aren’t sure who, but her eyes brighten a bit once she sees them. 

“I’ll be right over there if you need me!” She points as she runs off in the opposite direction. You nod to no one, moving to the back of the room to stay out of the way of everybody.

The movie, apparently something called ‘Angels in the Outfield’, plays for a little while before you see someone walking over to you in your peripheral vision. Turning your head, you see Tommy heading your direction. You smile at him slightly, but his mouth is downturned as he approaches you.

”Whatr’ya doing here, huh?” He says, his arms crossed over her chest. “Joel said you weren’t feelin’ too hot.”

”I’m fine,” You say back, though you can tell he knows that you’re lying. “Just a little bug. He had poor Ellie cancel her plans just to watch me while he was gone but I couldn’t let her do that so I brought her here to see the movie.”

”You sure about that? You look like death.” He moves a hand towards your forehead but you move before he can touch your skin.

”Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m alright! Peachy actually. It’s just a little warm in here is all.” You respond, rolling your aching shoulders back. 

Tommy gives you an odd look. You scrunch your eyebrows at him. “What?” You question.

”Warm? In here?” 

“Yeah,” a look on your face like he said something ridiculous. “I’m sweatin’ like a whore in church.”

He says your name, resting a hand on your shoulder. You raise an eyebrow at him.

”The heatin’ in here broke 4 days ago. It’s, like, 65 degrees in here.”

Your stomach flips again like it did earlier today. How could that be? You’ve been sweating for a while now, you figured maybe the people in here were still cold from the outside air since they all had their coats and jackets on still. You’re confused suddenly, almost a panicked feeling running through your body. You look at Tommy, placing a hand on the arm that is still attached to your shoulder. 

“Tommy, I don’t feel so good.” You tell him, the room spinning slightly.

He looks extremely worried now, placing his arm around your shoulder. He begins to lead you towards someone else in the hall.

”We should get you to the infirmary. Let’s go get Maria, huh?”

His voice sounds a bit far away and your vision tunnels before it blacks out. You don’t feel your knees give out as your body collapses to the floor, your head barely missing the ground as Tommy goes down with you. Tommy yells out for help from anyone, also yelling for both Maria and Ellie as he keeps your head up, lightly tapping your cheeks to see if you’ll come to. A few moments pass before both Maria and Ellie are around your body, some other citizens now on the ground trying to help in any way they can. 

_____________________________________

By the time you come to, you’re laying on a tiny cot in a small room that smells like antiseptic. You take a deep breath, moving to rub your eyes. You hear your name and move your head to see both Maria and Ellie, Ellie now standing over you, your hand in hers and Maria still in her seat. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have made us stay at your house! That was such a bad idea, oh Christ, Joel is gonna be SO mad at me-“ Ellie practically rants. You shush her, moving to sit up in the bed.

”Ellie, it’s alright. It was my idea anyways, so I’m the one that he’ll be upset with, not you.” You squeeze her hand. She smiles slightly at you. “What happened, anyway? I was talking to Tommy and now I’m waking up here.”

”You fainted. Tommy said he was bringing you here and then all of a sudden, you were on the ground. Doctor said you have some sort of lung thing that starts with a P but it doesn’t sound like it.”

”Pneumonia?” Both you and Maria say at the same time, though yours sounded more like a question and her more like an answer. You look over at her.

”It’s pneumonia. Doctor said they have some antibiotics you can take for a little while. You scared the shit out of us, you know?” Maria said.

”I’m sorry. I thought I just had that bug going around.” You groaned at your aching body. “Where’s Tommy?” 

Ellie and Maria looked at each other. 

“He’s riding out to get Joel. We tried to tell him that his shift would be over in a few hours but he said Joel would have a conniption fit if he found out after he got back. He left about half an hour ago so it may be a little bit until they get back.” Maria told you, standing and grabbing a bottle of water off the floor to give to you. You took it gladly, drinking almost half of it in one go. ”Doctor said you’re good to go once you feel like it. You wanna stay for a bit or head back to your place?” 

You shook your head. “I wanna go home. Be in my own bed. Plus I’m sure that will be the first place Joel will go so…”

Ellie and Maria both nod and help you up from the bed. They help to keep you steady as you all walk back to the house. Once you arrive, you sit on the couch in the living room, Ellie on the other side of you. She refused to let go of your hand the whole way home and still won’t now. Maria stands by the front window, searching for both Tommy and Joel. All three of you have casual conversation, save for your couple of coughing fits. About an hour later, as Maria is finishing up a story, she stops mid-sentence. You and Ellie both look at her weirdly before she starts again.

”Joel runs pretty fast for an old man.”

Your stomach flips one more time as you anticipate Joel’s arrival any minute. You can feel your heart rate spike, heat in your veins. Ellie’s thumb brushed back and forth on your hand for a second, catching your eye. She opened her mouth to say something, but the front door slammed open. All three of you looked towards it at once, Joel barreling in with Tommy not far behind him. Joel’s eyes fell in you, looking distressed and uneasy. 

“Baby…” A breath fell from his lips. 

You stood from your spot on the couch to approach him, but he was much faster. He swiftly made his way over to you, engulfing you in what you think may be the tightest hug in all of human history. Squished to his chest, cheek pressed up against his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around you as taut as they could. You could feel the quick rise and fall of his chest, his rapid heartbeat. 

“Let's leave them be.” You could hear Tommy say from the doorway. You could hear both Ellie and Maria move throughout the room to the exit, the door closing behind them. 

You both stood there for a minute, Joel holding you to him and you enjoying the comfort of his arms. You missed him, even for the less than twelve hours that he was gone. You missed him every second he wasn’t by your side, which unfortunately was more often than you would both like due to his patrol and you helping out with the cattle some days. Regardless, you both made what you could out of the time you both got together. It was incredible to see Joel’s growth since you both settled down in Jackson, how he began to open himself up more. He seemed less stressed all the time, his shoulders not carrying the weight that they used to. But you know that now that all three of you are settled, he feels like he needs to pull his weight in making sure the town stays safe. But you know him well, and you know that he probably feels beyond guilty right now knowing what happened to you after he left for patrol even though you practically begged for him to stay with you. 

“Joel-” You whispered into his shoulder.

“Don’t. Just… let me hold you a second longer.” He responded, voice tight in his chest. 

You obliged him, just standing in his grip. After a few more moments, his hold on you loosened and he pulled back a bit. His hands gripped your upper arms, holding you out in front of him. His eyes scanned over your body, searching for something you weren’t sure of. 

“I’m alright.” You mutter to him.

His eyes snap back up to yours, searching them like he’s looking for something specific. 

“What the fuck happened?” He asks, running one of his hands down to yours, bringing it to his lips and pressing short kisses to your knuckles. 

“I can’t believe you told Ellie to cancel her plans just to watch me.” You changed the subject, slightly upset with him.

“That isn’t what I asked, honey.” He responded, his lips still brushing against the skin on your hands. 

“I don’t care, why would y-”

You were cut off by his gruff voice saying your name in a tone, that tone where you know he isn’t playing. You sigh, moving away from him to sit down again. You take a breath to start explaining to him, but get cut off by a rough coughing fit. Joel immediately sat down next to you, a hand patting your back. After a quick moment, the coughing stops.

“I took Ellie to see the movie because I felt bad that her plans got cancelled because of me. Tommy saw me, which I don’t appreciate you just yapping to people that I’m not feeling well by the way, and pretty much wrung my ass because I was out. I told him that I was hot in the hall and he said something about the heating breaking and apparently it was super cold in there so he wanted to take me to the infirmary but I got dizzy and confused and all of a sudden, I was waking up at the infirmary. Doctor said something about me having pneumonia.”

Joel remained silent for a moment before you finally looked up at him. You almost couldn’t believe it, but his lower lash line was stinging with tears.

“...I left you alone while you had pneumonia?”

“Joel, I’m fine really. It isn’t that big of a deal really-”

“Yes, it is!” He exclaimed. “You practically begged me to stay home with you this morning and I just left!” He stood from his spot, a hand on his forehead.

“Doesn’t matter if you stayed home or not. If my body was going to give up on itself, it would have done it regardless of you being here or not.” You stand shakily. Joel immediately had his hands on you, making sure you were steady.

“But I still coulda been there. Christ, honey, do you know how far my heart dropped into my ass when I saw Tommy riding towards me like that? He wouldn’ta come all the way out there for any reason except you so I knew something happened to ya. Scared me shitless, know that?” 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. “I really thought I was alright. Just… I don’t know, this morning I thought I just had anxiety about you leaving but I guess my head just knew something was wrong.”

“You ain’t got a reason to apologize. I’m the one that should be sorry for not listening to ya this morning. You never ask me to stay home like that so I shoulda knew there was something wrong.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in towards him. He dropped a kiss to your forehead, causing you to smile. 

“Can’t we both just be sorry and call it a day? I missed you and my body feels like jello.”

You can hear him huff out a laugh, placing a second kiss to your forehead.

“Course we can. Not letting you go for a while. I already told Tommy he’ll have to find someone to take my next few patrol shifts because I am not lettin’ you out of my sight until I feel like you’re 100% recovered.” He moves your body back from him by your shoulders, his thumbs tracing small circles there as well. 

“Think we have ingredients for you to make me soup?” You ask him, trying to clear your throat. 

“Even if we don’t, I’ll raid this whole town to find some. Do anything for you.” He replies. 

And you just smile at him, because you know he’s not joking.

[callofthefae]

1. My eighteen-pocket coat that I sewed 18 years ago (it fits everything in it!), my phone, and all of my Loreena McKennitt records.

2. Annachie Gordon by (big shock here) Loreena McKennitt. It’s arguably the most haunting song of all time and I highly recommend it.

3. I love reading, listening to music, daydreaming, singing, writing, learning new things, ranting about topics I’m interested in, sewing, and playing the many instruments I can.

4. I don’t really celebrate holidays that much, but I participate at the local Beltane festival every year, and it’s mystical in a way I cannot describe.

5. I am a singer, author, instrumentalist, actress, anthropologist, and painter.

6. I’m going to be honest, I have too many different friend groups to choose one person who I hang out with. (I also have quite the tendency for reclusiveness, so….) If I had to choose one person, it would probably be my friend and band member, Dan Walsh, who I’ve known since I was eight.

7. One hundred percent night owl. I’ve been staying up till sunrise reading since I was four.

8. If I had to choose, probably llamas! They’re adorable and interesting!

9. I am nothing if not extremely introverted. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t tour often (also why I don’t act that much despite many offers). People usually exhaust me.

10. No! Quite frankly, I’m very glad I don’t.

11. Sort of cottagecore mixed with light and dark academia. I do dress more casually often, though, but I love wearing more fashionable outfits.

12. I love bad movies, so my favourite movie would probably be Joshua and the Promised Land, a horrid movie that I found on DVD at a thrift store last year. The animation’s awful, the story’s confusing, it’s a Christian movie, it’s so bad it’s perfect. My friend Tony is a film buff, so I enjoy traumatising him and making him watch these with me.

13. Crushes? Mayhaps, but despite my hopelessly romantic nature, I am romantically hopeless.

14. Libra. Honestly, I despise the idea that these in any way, shape or form determine your personality.

15. Anything that involves bread or cheese!

16. I am a musician and anthropologist, travelling is a part of the job. My travels throughout the world have influenced the music I make.

17. Again, it’s kind of part of the job, although I may have gone a bit overkill with them. I can play twenty-nine, most notably the harp, hurdy-gurdy, Byzantine Lyra, bagpipes, fiddle, piano, accordion, bouzouki, cello, and oud.

18. I don’t really have anyone I’d call my best friend, but Dan, as I mentioned earlier, has been my friend for the longest and is one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met.

19. Maybe not a least favourite, but I distaste the taste of chocolate. I also despise seafood.

20. Áine Noelle O’Cleary. Áine for the Queen of the Elves, and Noelle for…actually, I have no fecking clue why that’s my middle name. I guess my parents just liked the sound?

21. Actually, not at all! I love savoury and salty things, though.

22. I don’t really have any nicknames. Perhaps it’s because my name’s already short? A friend of mine who constantly will come up with the oddest wordplays for another friend of ours whose last name starts with Mc has tried some with my surname, but nothing has stuck.

23. The phrase “lock in”, proshippers, socialism, people who don’t understand that you can think something is immoral without thinking it should be illegal, bi erasure, ace/aro erasure, gender roles/stereotypes, conformity, people who don’t believe in true love, people who don’t have a sense of wonder, people who don’t take anything seriously, people, monolingualism, anti-intellectualism, over-consumption.

24. No, but I’ve thought about getting a cat!

25. Staying at home!

QUESTIONS TO ANSWER AS YOUR 𝒟R 𝒮ELF ✸

ib this post from @zaddizu & heavily ib premiumbitch ★

#1. what are 3 items you can’t live without?

#2. favorite song?

#3. what are your hobbies?

#4. favorite holiday?

#5. what do you do for a living?

#6. who is someone you always hangout with?

#7. are you a night person or a morning person?

#8. favorite animal?

#9. introvert or extrovert?

#10. do you have siblings?

#11. how do you dress?

#12. favorite movie / tv show?

#13. do you have a crush / significant other?

#14. what’s your zodiac sign?

#15. what’s your favorite snack?

#16. do you travel a lot?

#17. do you play instruments?

#18. who is your best friend?

#19. least favorite food?

#20. what’s your name?

#21. do you have a sweet tooth?

#22. nicknames your family or friends call you?

#23. what is something that annoys you?

#24. do you have a pet?

#25. do you prefer going out or staying at home?

[pork-pop]

DON’T MAKE ME BEG FOR YOU!

✧ the girl of his dreams is throwing him a bone…is he feigning nonchalance or acting a fool?!

contains: gojo, geto, nanami || cw: p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f. receiving), like a hint of hair pulling for suguru, mentions of masturbation || wc: 1.7k~

✧ a/n: i am half asleep right now if there’s a typo just come to my home and take me out before i wake up! cheers. srry nanami’s ended up kinda shorter than the others oopsie daisy.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!

SATORU GOJO

acting a fool is an understatement

Satoru is terrible at the art of subtlety, and to most, making one’s intentions blatantly clear to the person they’re interested in might seem mortifying. But that’s been Satoru’s goal since the start. Those lingering touches, the flirtatious glances and suggestive comments were all done in stride, after all, he takes pride in the fact that he’s getting what he wants. You, however, have been the hardest shell to crack. So, naturally, he’s utterly whipped. 

He can hardly believe his luck when you choose to reciprocate after months of cat and mouse, and he has no choice but to lay out all of his chips and double down. 

For someone who was raised to be a gentleman, he sure does know how to get your clothes on the floor without any manners at all. As soon as you’re blessing him, deepening the kiss, his wandering hands are tugging at your blouse for permission to show you how much he’ll work for it. 

“Isn’t this a treat?” He pants humorously between thrusts, fucking into you like he’ll know he’ll find the answers to all of his intrusive questions regarding you if he just gets an inch or two deeper. Satoru hisses as you tighten around him, “You gonna keep talking or are you gonna fuck me harder?” you snicker. And you should know that there’s nothing Satoru loves more than a good challenge; getting you like this wasn’t the challenge he’d most anticipated, no, it was making you crave it just as much as he did. 

“Is that an invitation?” He asks, a big grin twisting at the corners of his lips while he inches a hand down to thumb teasingly at your clit, “You know, I’ve been thinking about you saying that for a while now, don’t you?” In spite of his stamina, Satoru’s breath is ragged and shaky, could it be that he was even a bit…nervous? You didn’t have the time to put much thought into it before his hips speed up, knocking every one of those pretty suspicions out of your head for the time being. Your eyes roll back and you swear you can hear a triumphant little huff of a laugh from him as he takes that as inspiration to roughen the circles he’s drawing against your clit. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you’d sound like when you cum, too,” he admits without a shred of shame, nosing into the tender column of your throat so you can hear him better, “Can I hear?” “Fuck!” Is all you can manage through a strangled cry, clawing at the shifting muscles of his back in a futile attempt to ground yourself. “C’mon, I can tell you’re getting close,” he rasps madly, “I wanna hear you.” He begs, suddenly licking a greedy stripe along the dampened skin of your neck. 

And who are you to deny him? You cry out a declaration of your sudden orgasm, features squeezed and mouth parted as you struggle to catch your breath. Satoru stares at you with widened eyes, and a stuttered breath, “Hah-...” He hadn’t even realized how close he’d been getting to spilling inside you, but welcomed the overwhelming feeling with open arms. He could go for five more rounds if you’d let him, anyways. 

God, this must be what it’s like to hit the jackpot. 

SUGURU GETO

nonchalant (acting a fool)

Suguru can’t lie to himself and pretend like he hadn’t imagined this scenario too many times to count before, usually as a desperate last resort when he’d found he can’t imagine getting off to anything other than the thought of you at a certain point. He’s sure that he’s a better man than this, and he’d certainly tried to be courteous and discrete about the way you make him feel, shying away from the line he’s been dreaming to cross. 

But now, sitting up on the mattress and unable to tear his eyes away from your tits, he realizes that he’d been overshooting the strength of his own resolve. Suguru surges forward, taking one in his mouth as he guides you up and down his length, doing anything he can to prove he’s still being normal about this. Fuck it. 

“Fuck,”  he moans against your chest, “wait a minute-...” You still your movements, tilting your head curiously at him as he swallows breathlessly, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” He quickly reassures with a shake of his head, gently squeezing at your hips to punctuate the promise, “God, nothing’s wrong at all, I just need-...let me eat you out. Please?” You blink at him in surprise, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Huh?” 

“Seriously, I-...” He shakes his head, gazing up at you like you’re the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen, “it’s all I’ve been thinking about.” 

During those moments in the past in which he found himself fucking his fist to the thought of you, he only ever found himself relishing in the idea of burying himself between your legs and making careful sure that the only thing you’d be capable of saying was his name. The both of you had been too hasty in the wake of realizing your feelings were reciprocated, too desperate to give each other everything you’d been dreaming of. It feels like the heavens have opened up before him as you slip off of his lap, letting him situate you against the pillows. 

Suguru’s methodic in the way he trails warm kisses down your body, stopping to suck a mark into your hip, but he can’t tease for too long, not when he probably wants to get you off on his tongue more than you want it (which is saying a lot). 

He kisses your bare cunt gratefully, before dragging his tongue against your entrance, eyelids already going heavy as he slips into a euphoric trance. Suguru tries his very hardest to keen on every noise you make, every cry of his name, but it’s hard to do that when he’s getting so drunk off the flavor of you. He’s suddenly starved, devouring you completely, too far gone to be embarrassed of the way he shakes his head against your pussy or moans just as loud as you do. 

Geto’s suspicions had been utterly correct. While he’s been eager to have you like he did moments before, to feel you wrap around him and to fuck up into you with calculated thrusts, this definitely takes the cake. He grows dizzy off your scent, grinding against the mattress to prevent himself from further losing his mind over the prospect of what he’s doing right now. 

You lace your hands through his hair, pulling at it as he brings you closer to the edge. This is all he needs, he thinks, he can easily be fine spending the rest of his life like this. Suguru wants to prove that much over and over again to you, and he won’t hesitate if you’ll let him. “You’re perfect.” He mumbles against your cunt, and he’s partially glad you’re too far gone to hear some of the pathetic remarks he’s uttering, “Need this so bad.”

Yeah, good luck hopping back on his dick anytime soon now that he knows he was right about how addicting you’d be. 

KENTO NANAMI

nonchalant by a thread

It’s easy for Kento to have steel-grade self control when you’re fully clothed and the conversation is tame. But when clothes are taken out of the equation, well, that’s a different story. That being said, he won’t forget his manners. 

You’re in a tender mating press, smiling softly at the sweet kisses Nanami keeps peppering across your face, and occasionally one to your lips. He briefly wonders why he ever thought it was a good idea to hesitate in taking the initiative to have you laid out against his pillows like this, moaning his name almost as if you knew how much that chipped away at his own self-preservation. You’re dangerously close to getting him to embarrass himself. 

“Do you like this?” He breathes against the shell of your ear as his pace speeds up a bit, knocking the wind out of you. Regardless, you nod, hardly able to wrap your lips around anything other than the shape of his name. Kento bites his lip, fighting the urge to go even faster. This was your first time together, after all, he’d be mad not to cherish it like something fleeting and sacred. He wants more, he wants this all the time, and he’s so close to begging you for it. In some last attempt of self-preservation, he utters, “You feel amazing,” almost choking on his breath after the fact. 

“Fuck, keep doing that.” You cry out, throwing your head back to give him a clear view of your throat that he so desperately wishes to mark up. He almost asked what you meant, before he peers down, realizing he’d mindlessly begun rubbing circles into your clit. Kento feels like he’s getting ahead of himself, yet not doing enough at the same time; this feeling is so foreign and overwhelming, but he’s falling in love with it. 

Following your orders, he continues his steady pace on your clit, mouth going dry as you tell him how close you are. Yes, please, that’s all I want to hear. 

“Please,” he murmurs in a gravelly voice, not realizing he’d started voicing his own thoughts, “cum for me.” Nanami is certain he’s going to lose control any moment, and he’s sure that you cumming around his cock is not going to help him at all in his hope to still be a gentleman to you. It’s alright, though, he thinks. If he’s going to embarrass himself, lose all resolve and allow himself to drown in this simple pleasure, Kento doesn’t think he’d want to do it with anyone else but you.

[draconym]

so I don’t know you but i’ve followed all this discourse and I first want to say I heavily relate to you and think everything you’ve said and done is valid and justified. and I honestly really hate the internet’s tendency to respond to almost every problem in any kind of relationship with “you should cut them off and find better people.”  I feel like they don’t understand that for a lot of people it takes a tremendous amount of time and care and effort to get close to people and that cutting everyone off at the first hiccup just leads to being sad and lonely. also, being told to be less kind to others is quite frustrating and never really solves…anything? it doesn’t mean your needs are more met just because you are doing less for others. the problem isnt not wanting to put in work, it’s wanting to have others support you back. cutting out the first part of the equation might “balance” it but it would just make me more unfulfilled. leaning into the relationships that make you feel most valued is good advice, and so is communicating with people you care about in regards to your wants and needs. I just feel the internet is far too trigger happy about ending relationships. and maybe this generation in general is. I kept having people tell me to break up with my partner when mental health and medical issues meant they had a really hard time communicating with me and needed far more support than they were able to give. which, fuck that, I should be allowed to express that I’m having a hard time without everyone jumping to “you should abandon them they’re treating you unfairly.” I’m so glad I did not. Instead we realized we both needed to lean a bit more on our wider support networks. Sometimes solutions do indeed exist. And it’s funny how the people who say “you deserve better” are rarely the people who actually step up to support you…

Anon, thank you. It's been disappointing that almost all of the online advice I've ever received about my mom is "go no contact" because she is sometimes selfish or immature. I don't want to go no contact with my mom. I want us both to grow as people and learn to talk to one another like adults.

"Go no contact" is not a conflict resolution strategy, it is a danger avoidance strategy. And it is sometimes the best solution, but ... actually addressing conflict is kind of essential if you want any of your relationships to other people to last.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Pleeease can you write something where reader takes care of Alfie's psoriasis?? Like he's trying to act super macho about it, like it doesn't bother him but then gets super soft when she starts treating it 🥺

“Loving you”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Alfie’s Masterlist

Summary: Alfie can’t help but let his guard down — and his softer side show — when you tend to the skin condition he usually keeps hidden.

WC: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk.

The cold air filtered through the open windows of the Solomons’ home. The moonlight painted the room in hues of pale blue, casting long shadows over the heavy wooden furniture and the worn rug underfoot.

Alfie trudged into the sitting room, his broad shoulders seemed to sag slightly, the day’s weight visible in the furrow of his brow. But you noticed something else too, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the subtle shift in his stance. He was uncomfortable, you could see it clear as the day, and you could also see the irritated skin on his neck, raw and red, flaking with scales that trailed down along his flesh.

“Let me guess,” you began, tilting your head to appraise him. “It’s acting up again.”

He stopped short, his face an unreadable mask. “Dunno what you’re on about, woman.” His voice was gruff and dismissive. “I’m bloody fine, ain’t I?”

“Alfred Solomons,” you said, standing to meet him, hands on your hips. “You’ve been scratching yourself like a dog with fleas for days. Let me see.”

“Look,” he began, throwing up his hands defensively, “this ain’t a bloody—what’s the word—interrogation, yeah? Just got home, haven’t I? Thought we’d sit down, have a nice supper, maybe a drop o’ rum after, yeah? Not get a bloody inquisition.”

“Come on, Alfie,” you said gently, breaking the silence. “Sit down.”

He turned to look at you, his brows furrowing. “I told ya, love, it’s nothin’. Just a bit o’ skin, right? Nothin’ to fuss over. I’ve lived with it this long, ain’t I?”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “Yes, you have, and you’ve done a fine job of ignoring it, but it’s bothering you, I can see that. Now, sit down and let me help.”

Alfie’s lips pressed into a firm line, his pride warring with the truth of your words. You’d seen him win fights with men twice his size, talk his way out of impossible situations, but here he was, hesitating like a child caught misbehaving. It was almost endearing if you ignored the fact that he was internally suffering.

Alfie stared at you, his jaw twitching as he weighed his options, he could refuse—he was, after all, Alfie Solomons, a man who answered to no one— but there was only one person who always made Alfie give in, and that was you, his wife. With a grumble under his breath, he lowered himself onto the armchair, sprawling out like a man whose kingdom had just fallen.

“Woman, you’re bloody relentless,” he muttered under his breath, the way he said it lacked any real heat; it was more a gruff acknowledgment of defeat.

“Take off your shirt,” you said softly.

Alfie cocked his head, as a smirk began to slowly form on his lips.

“Right, well, love, if you fancied seein’ me bollock naked, yeah? You could’ve just said so, straight up. Saved us all the fuckin’ theatrics. I’d have you up against that fuckin’ wall by now, makin’ a goddamn mess of things.”

You didn’t even blink, you knew how Alfie’s defense mechanism had always been humor, he’d crack a joke to avoid taking things too seriously. But you knew that behind every laugh, every sarcastic remark, there was a man scared to take a hit to his pride by asking for help. After all, he was forced to carry every burden on his own all his life, that until he met you.

“I’m serious, Alfie.” Voice flat, no smile this time. “Take the shirt off.”

Alfie huffed, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness. “You’d think I was some feeble old man the way you’re carryin’ on,” he grumbled. “I don’t need lookin’ after, love. I’m a bloody force of nature, yeah?”

“Yes, you’re a force of nature,” you agreed with a smile, “but even storms need a bit of care sometimes.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing, his shirt finally coming off and landing in a crumpled heap beside him. You bit your lip as your eyes roamed over his body, the patches of red, inflamed skin were stark against his otherwise light complexion. Some areas were cracked and dry, while others looked painfully raw.

“Alfie,” you murmured, your voice tinged with concern. “It’s worse than last time.”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, his tone rough. “Don’t you bloody start, right? I know what it looks like. Just a bit of dry skin, that’s all.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m not starting anything. I just want to help. Dry skin doesn’t look like this.”

He relaxed under your touch, though he still looked straight ahead, his jaw set stubbornly. “Fine, then. Do your worst.”

You knelt in front of him, settling between his legs as he sat back in the worn armchair, the lamplight cast a soft glow over his battered chest, the heat radiating from his skin palpable before you even touched him. He’d ignored it, neglected it for so long that it was the worst you’d ever seen it, and it must be hurting him so much, those angry red patches that bloomed across his torso and shoulders, the edges raw with peeling skin, irritated and roughened by days of stubbornness.

Your fingers moved carefully, barely grazing his side at first, his muscles tensed beneath the contact, a knee-jerk flinch more from instinct than actual pain, as if he was used to bracing for something harsher.

“Not so bad, you said?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

“That why you haven’t even taken your shirt off when we fuck?” you asked, eyes locked on him. “’Cause you didn’t want me to see how bad it got?”

There was a pause, a flicker behind his eyes, something he tried to smother with a scoff. You knew you’d hit a sensitive topic by saying that.

“Well, aren’t you a fuckin’ detective now, eh? Bloody Sherlock Holmes,” he let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Didn’t think you needed to see it. S’not pretty. Nothin’ romantic about it.”

"You shouldn’t feel insecure about it," you said.

"Pfff, insecure? Bollocks, that is," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Men like me—we don't do insecure, right? That's for… for poets and posh lads with too much time on their hands."

But you saw the truth behind his eyes, that split-second crack in the armor, Alfie would never admit to feeling insecure about the way he looked, not even to you, his biggest confidant. And so you decided not to push the subject, you knew better than to fight a war you couldn’t win with words, besides, you had better ways of proving how handsome he was to you, like worshipping him with your mouth, or cunt.

“It must be driving you mad.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smirk. “Got more important things to worry about than a bit o’ itching.”

But you weren’t fooled, beneath his bravado, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as though resisting the urge to scratch.

“Stay still,” you instructed, scooping a dollop of ointment onto your fingers.

He flinched as you began to apply the salve, his usual boldness faltering. “Bloody cold, that is,” he muttered.

“It’s supposed to be soothing,” you said, your voice low, patient. You leaned in, working the ointment into his skin with slow, deliberate movements.

His skin was hot to the touch, the irritation beneath your fingertips angry and inflamed. You moved with care, smoothing the salve in small circles, avoiding the worst of the raw spots. Alfie exhaled through his nose, his body twitching beneath your hands before slowly relaxing, like he couldn’t help but lean into your touch once the sting eased, giving way to relief.

“That stuff smells awful,” he said, wrinkling his nose. There it was that stubbornness again, like accepting help, or letting you soothe the ache, meant weakness. You found it amusing, how in so many ways, this big and dangerous man reminded you of a little boy.

“Doesn’t matter how it smells. It’ll help,” you replied, working your way across his chest, thumbs grazing the curve of his collarbones, tracing along the tender edges with a gentleness that made his throat bob in a tight swallow.

“Still feels like I’m being fuckin’ punished,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to where your hands moved over his ribs.

“You’re not,” you murmured, catching his gaze briefly. “You’re being looked after. Big difference.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackling of the fire. Alfie’s eyes were fixed on a point just above your head, his jaw tight as though willing himself not to react. As you spread the ointment slowly over the worst of the irritation, you felt it happen, the first shift in his breathing, from shallow and tense to something deeper. The slow drop of his shoulders, no longer braced against the tenderness. The subtle release of his clenched fists, his fingers unfurling where they’d been pressed into his thighs.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Of course I do,” you replied without hesitation. “You’re my husband.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, well. Don’t reckon you signed up for all this, did you? A husband with bad skin and worse manners.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “But I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“You’re good at this,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

“Good at what?”

“Lookin’ after me. Puttin’ up with me. All of it, really.”

He was so stubborn sometimes, too caught up in his own worries to realize that you didn’t do this out of obligation, you did it because you loved him, because giving him this kind of comfort was something you’d gladly offer every single time he needed it.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you resumed. “It’s not putting up with you, Alfie. It’s loving you.”

He turned his head fully this time, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the vulnerability in his gaze took your breath away. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, woman,” he said quietly.

“And you’ve got a heart you try too hard to hide,” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch, letting out a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah? Got a reputation to maintain.”

“All your secrets are safe with me,” you promised with a smile.

For the next hour, you worked diligently, your fingers gentle as they massaged the ointment into his skin. Alfie, for his part, remained unusually quiet, his usual stream of sharp wit replaced by a rare, unguarded vulnerability.

When you were finished, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work, the redness had diminished slightly, the skin looking less angry.

“There,” you said, capping the tin. “That should help.”

He looked down at his chest, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“You’re a good woman,” he said gruffly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t reckon I tell you that enough.”

“You don’t,” you agreed, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, eh?”

The tin of ointment clattered softly against the wood floor as Alfie pulled you up into his lap, the gruff tenderness in his hands making your breath hitch. He didn’t bother with words, not at first, he simply held you there, his rough palms trailing up and down your back, grounding you both in a moment of rare softness.

“Come here, pet,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a low rumble in the space between you.

You settled on top of him, your knees bracketing his thighs. His beard scratched softly against your cheek as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the faint lavender oil you always dabbed behind your ears before bed.

He buried his head against your chest, breathing deep like he needed to memorize the scent of you to survive. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a purr, like a satisfied cat curling up in a patch of sunlight. There were only a handful of moments in his life where Alfie Solomons had let the world slip far enough to be this soft, and all of them had been with you, the only person he trusted enough to see this side of him.

“You smell good,” he said, the words muffled against your skin. Relaxing moments like this always softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look younger, almost boyish. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his beard, and he sighed, the sound deep and contented.

He shifted beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips as though anchoring himself. “Dunno what I’ve done to deserve you,” he said, the words heavy with sincerity.

“I don’t like when you say that. You’re not bad, Alf” you replied with a small smile. “Under all that grumbling and growling, you’re a good man.”

It was the truth. Yes, maybe he’d done bad things, things he couldn’t forget, things that haunted him every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror. But you saw more, so much more. You saw a man who had raised himself from nothing, who’d survived when the world tried to break him, who’d watched his friends die in trenches and still found the strength to carry on. You saw a man who’d opened his heart to you, who’d bought you your dream house and treated you like a queen in her own palace. Who had only ever been gentle with you, patient, kind, giving, even when he didn’t know how to be those things with himself.

His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. “Not sure half the blokes around here would agree with that one, love.”

“Don't care what they think, they're not my husband,” you said simply. “You are.”

That seemed to strike something deep in him. His eyes softened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I am, ain’t I?”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding at the same time. He kissed you like a man who knew how fleeting happiness and peace could be, who understood the weight of a moment like this.

The kiss deepened, his hands moving with more urgency now as they traced over your body, making you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “You make me feel the same way you did all those years ago.”

You laughed softly, a low, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate right through your chest when he leaned to capture his lips into another kiss. It was still slow, languid, the kind of kiss that made time crawl, your tongues sliding together with unhurried precision. His hands kept wandering, greedy and possessive roaming all over your body, gripping the small of your waist to ground you, kneading the soft flesh of your ass, tracing the dip of your spine, splaying wide across your lower back as if trying to brand you to him.

The hard length of him beneath you was impossible to ignore, thick and insistent against the thin barrier of your underwear, and when you shifted again, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging your cunt over him with maddening friction, he let out a raw, broken sound that made your core clench.

“Gonna ride you,” you murmured, voice thick with hunger. Alfie was a man who thrived on control, sure, but when it came to you, he had no problem handing over the reins now and then. In fact, he loved it. Watching his missus bounce on top of him, taking every bit of pleasure she deserved? That was a big, fat yes for Alfie.

You grinned at his reaction, emboldened by the crack in his usually composed demeanor, the way his eyes had gone half-lidded, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. You reached between your bodies to undo the fastening of his trousers, unable to wait one second more than necessary.

He chuckled low and hungry. “Yeah? Right, well—fuckin’ hell, woman—’course you wanna ride it.” He spread his hands, leaned back like he was bartering with God. “I’m all yours, ain’t I? Go on then, fuckin’ take what’s yours. Ruin me proper.”

He watched you, eyes locked on your hands, on how they were working his pants open, making his chest rise and fall with deep, shaky breaths. His hands didn’t stay behind, his rough fingers were roaming over your ribs, up your sides, then down again to knead your thighs, your ass, as if he truly didn’t know where to land next.

“You’re too bloody good at this,” he muttered, voice all hoarse and reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, how he’d landed such a beautiful woman, convinced her to marry him, and now had her on top of him eager to please him.

"It's the experience, been riding you dumb for ten years," you said with a smirk.

"Mhm," he huffed. "And you get better every fuckin' time, pet."

He loved this, especially on those days when he was bone-tired, when his skin was on fire, his back ached, his knees throbbed, his hips screamed, or the days when he had to deal with “fucking cunts,” as he’d put it. Nothing would make him happier than leaning back, letting go, and having a damn good orgasm by doing absolutely nothing, just watching you take control and do all the work for him.

You’d barely gotten his trousers down before his cock sprang free, slapping against his belly, so thick, so heavy, flushed and glistening at the tip like he’d been waiting all fucking day for this moment. The second your fingers wrapped around him, firm and instinctive, he gasped and his hips jerked like he didn’t give a toss about dignity anymore.

“You’re too bloody impatient,” you shot back with a teasing smirk, stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist just enough to make him curse under his breath.

You shifted your weight, lining yourself up, your thighs bracketing his hips as you positioned yourself over him. His hands flew to your hips, holding you steady, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, as the head of his cock brushed against your slick heat. Your breath hitched at the contact, at how easily your soaked folds parted to welcome him, at how swollen and desperate you already were.

“Impatient?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Love, you’ve been teasin’ me for the past ten minutes. If anyone’s impatient, it’s you.”

You rocked your hips just enough to let his head catch at your entrance, not yet taking him, not fully, just dragging your wetness over him, back and forth, until he growled.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” he snapped, his hips jerking up, desperate for more friction, to be buried inside you. “You tryin’ to kill me? Playin' this bloody games with your poor 'ol husband? My fuckin' heart can't take this teasin', It's delicate, It is.”

“But it's too fun to tease you,” you whispered, lowering yourself an inch more. The stretch made you gasp, thick and delicious as always, and you swore you could feel every ridge and every vein of him.

He was watching your face now, intently, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen, but you could see how hard he was fighting the urge to slam up into you. “Don’t fuckin’ tease,” he growled. “Be a good girl and sit on it proper.”

You obliged, how could you not when he talked like that? You sank down in one slow, torturous motion, your walls clenching around him inch by inch. The sound he made was filthy, a half groan half praise, guttural and deep. His head fell back, teeth gritted, chest rising with labored breaths as you took every last inch of him, seated fully, snug and wet around him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped. “That’s it. That’s my pet. Perfect fuckin' cunt, still as tight as the day I first filled her up, yeah?"

You moaned, rolling your hips in a slow circle, grinding down with a filthy little twist at the end that made his cock drive right up into that sweet, aching spot inside you. Your breath caught sharp in your throat, eyes going hazy, Alfie groaned low like the wind had been knocked clean out of him, his hands clutched at your hips, guiding you with a kind of reverence, like you were something holy and he was the lucky bastard who got to worship at the altar.

He was trying hard to let you do your thing, let you take your time and move at your own pace, riding him how you wanted, but God, you were squeezing him so tight and dripping all over his cock, that it was almost imppossible to stop himself from thrusting up into you like a beast.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Ridin’ me like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

“Maybe I was,” you shot back, voice breathless, your lips brushing his ear as you leaned in.

Alfie met your movements with thrusts of his own, rolling his hips up hard, deep, making you bounce in his lap with every needy grind. His hands gripped your hips, firm but never too harsh, thumbs pressing into your flesh like he needed to memorize every curve, every quake of your body under his. The coarse trail of hair beneath his navel rubbed right up against your clit with every thrust, each drag of his body with that maddening friction made you jolt and shudder.

"Ohh, Alfie... feels so good," you moaned gasping into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders like you couldn’t get close enough. "Please don't stop, don't stop fucking me like that."

“Not stoppin'. Can’t stop when you’re so bloody perfect,” he rasped, his eyes dropping to where your soaked cunt was swallowing him again and again, wet sounds filling the air with each slap of skin against skin. “Perfect cunt. Perfect tits. Perfect wife.”

His head snapped forward so he could bite at your throat, not hard, just enough to make you whimper. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your slip up with urgency, bunching it around your waist until the fabric was out of his way and he could have a better view of everything, from your body glistening with sweat, your thighs shaking, to the way your soaked pussy kept taking his cock like you needed it.

That was the thing with Alfie, he never knew where the fuck to look, it was all too good. Your supple breasts, so soft and perfect, jiggling with every thrust, just begging to be grabbed. Your face, fuck, your face was so hot, those little pouts you made, the way your eyes fluttered shut when he hit a good spot deep inside you. And the way his thick cock slid in your cunt, coming out so wet and slick, your juices coating his navel and trickling down to coat his balls.

“Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, voice thick. “You’re grippin’ me so tight—fuckin’ hell…”

You leaned forward, your hands braced against his chest, hair falling around your face as you found the perfect rhythm, grinding down in slow, greedy strokes that made both of you moan. His cock filled you perfectly, thick and hot and stretching you with every thrust of his hips.

Alfie’s attention was drifting, his eyes moved from the place where you two were connected, to the soft bounce of your breasts with every motion, your nipples peeking through the thin, rumpled slip. He licked his lips, rough hands sliding up your waist, over your ribs, until they cupped your breasts and gave them a slow squeeze.

“Look at these fuckin’ things,” he muttered. “Drivin’ me mad, the way they bounce when you ride me like that…”

Then he surged forward, mouth latching onto one of your nipples through the damp fabric, the hot drag of his tongue and the sudden suck of his mouth made you cry out, your hips stuttering as the pleasure hit you like a jolt.

“Alfie—” you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he pulled the slip down, baring your chest fully. He didn’t hesitate, he wrapped his mouth around your nipple and sucked hard, filthy sounds filling the air as he groaned against your skin. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak, then he moved to the other breast, biting down just enough to make your back arch.

"I'd kill a man for your left tit," he mumbled, voice muffled, barely undertandable with his mouth still sucking around your nipple. "And then I'd kill another for the right one. Fuckin' perfect things."

“Shit—Alfie—Feels... so good… so full.” you moaned, grinding harder now, the added stimulation on your nipples sending you spiraling, and if that wasn’t good enough, you felt your clit catching on his pelvis with every thrust down, making your walls clench even tighter around him.

“Fuckin’ ride it—show me how needy you are. You like me suckin’ on your tits while you fuck yourself on my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, you were so drunk in the pleasure he was giving you that it was impossible to articulate words, you just let that intense pleasure ripple through you.

“You are mine. Mine, yeah? All fuckin’ mine.”

“Yours,” you choked out, your voice breaking on a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that your body jolted, eyes fluttering shut, vision blurring with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s my good wife. So sweet and tight for me, drippin’ on me lap.”

The praise hit you like a shockwave, heat coiling in your gut, your body was desperately trying to chase your high. Just like as if he’d read your mind, sensing what you needed, his hands gripped your hips with force, lifting you up and slamming you down on his cock over and over again at the same time he thrusted up to meet you with rough, almost desperate violence. You weren't riding him anymore, he was fucking you through it.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his voice rough and unraveling. “Take it, my filthy little missus. Show me how good I make you feel. Ride it like you mean it.”

You cried out, the pleasure now becoming unbearable, forcing your body to clench hard around him, making your thighs tremble, the slick sound of your cunt milking him was louder now, filthier, wetter with every thrust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and hot and perfectly angled to build your orgasm.

“Cum for your husband. Let me know I’m the only bastard who can make you feel like this. Just me. Just your fuckin' man.”

You snapped. Your head fell back, your mouth dropped open in a cry of pure ecstasy as you came hard. Your cunt spasmed around him, soaking him in a rush that made him curse and grip you tighter.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s it, pet,” he groaned, voice strangled. “Milk it. Milk my cock just like that. Gonna leave that pretty cunt drippin’ my cum for for weeks. Fuckin’ ruined.”

Alfie followed you just a couple of thrusts later, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. He came with a low, shuddering groan, his cock pulsing inside you, flooding you with his cum as he clutched you tight, holding you in place like he couldn’t bear the thought of you ever pulling away.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat and sex, his release leaking out of you slowly as his softening cock stayed inside. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, while his lips pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Ahhh—fuckin’ hell, yeah—that’s what a man needs, innit?” he groaned, voice thick and slurred like he was drunk on you. “To come home after a long day of dealin’ with cunts and madness, yeah, and have his sweet little wife sittin' pretty on his cock—riding him like it’s her god-given job.”

"Glad to hear I'm good at my job," you teased, voice raspy, still trying to catch your breath.

"Ohhh, you're the fuckin' best, pet. Not one fuckin' soul like you," he muttered, still breathless. "God broke the mould when he made you, thank fuckin' Christ he did."

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slowing little by little as his breathing evened out. For a long moment, there was just the sound of your shared breaths, the creak of the armchair as he adjusted to hold you closer, with his nose buried in your hair.

Then, softly, quieter than you were used to hearing him, he spoke.

“Thanks for takin' care of me,” he said, a little raw. “Proper, like no one ever has. Not just the shaggin’, love, though—don’t get me wrong, yeah, that’s… exceptional.” He smirked faintly, and you laughed. “But it’s the other things. All the little things you do for me.”

Your throat tightened as he continued, getting to hear this sweet side of him was something you’d never get used to, not because it was rare, he gave it to you more often than he probably even realized, but because it always felt like a little secret, meant only for you.

“I’m not easy, right? I know that. I’m rough and moody and loud as hell. And yet you—you’re always there. Calm. Warm. Always fuckin’ takin’ care of me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “So I just wanted to say thank you. For stayin’ even after all these years. For seein’ the worst of me and lovin’ me anyway.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words could ever manage, and when you pulled back, your voice was thick with emotion.

“You’re not the worst, Alf. You never were.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you tighter against him. Looking at you with eyes that said “I love you. I’d be lost without you by my side.” You felt it in your chest, in your bones. He made you feel like the most loved woman in the world.

“Well, I’ll tell you what you are,” he murmured. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

AN: Thank you so much for your request!! You gave me the perfect opportunity to write this cause I’ve actually been thinking for a while about a fic where the reader takes care of Alfie’s sciatica, but I absolutely loved your idea🩷🫶🏻

I hope that you and everyone else enjoyed this. Your support means the world to me!!

One more Alfie fic to go and then I’m officially done with requests heheh😮‍💨

@ficthots

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[cass-1]

౨ৎ —his little secret — ౨ৎ

You and Ghost had close relations, which he insisted on keeping private, no matter how much you asked to get serious.

He wouldn't let you flirt with other men, maybe he thought he owned you. He'd love you, open up to you, comfort you, let you comfort him, but once you weren't alone, he'd act like you were nothing. It was odd.

You were cuddling on his bed, his hand on your waist. but something bugged you. The way he wouldn't even consider a relationship with you.

You sighed softly, looking up at the man next to you. He glanced at you as soon as you let out the sigh, curious about what was on your mind.

Simon knew what was coming now, having expected you to bring it up again. He was quiet, keeping his hand on your side, waiting for you to speak.

“Simon, why do you not want a relationship with me.” You said looking up at him with those big doe eyes. He looked down at you, then away.

“What av I told yu about askin’ silly questions darlin.” He responded with an annoyed tone.

“Let me know— you always keep secrets from me.” You said as you sat up, your arm still against his chest. Looking straight at him.

“No, darlin’ the ansas no.” He groaned in annoyance, “ please, ghost! please..” you begged, not even giving him a chance to react.

“I don’t want a relationship with yu.” He hesitated before saying bluntly, throwing you off track. Your face looking at him with a confused look. This man has had you in every position, seen your weak spots— even at your most vulnerable times, this can’t be right.

“Is this a joke? It’s not funny, Simon—“

“No, is not. The truth is, i’m not interested in yu.” He shot back before giving you anytime to react

Saying such evil words broke her heart, she felt the waterworks flooding her eyes. You’d stare at him at your eyes went glossy with tears, he knew you were a sensitive person. He knew how overprotective of that v card you were, you didn’t wanna waste your one chance with a ‘man’ as a teenager.

You could hear him sigh when you put your hands over your face to try hide the tears, wiping them away urgently. Ghost tried taking a hand off of your face, trying to be all sympathetic. You pulled away, getting up off of the bed.

Regret filled your mind, wondering the worst of the worst scenarios you possibly could think of, even thought this wasn’t the worst thing however it meant the most to you. Just as you thought, he stayed sat on the bed, not budging a finger. Prick. You gathered your belongings, your clothes scattered on the floor and began to hurriedly put them on.

He flooded your phone after you left his house hurriedly put together, sending apology paragraphs, is this him making effort?

Bit different from the smut I’d post but feeling lowk emotional right now 💔

sorry I didn’t make one of these in like 3 weeks now 💔 I’ve been so busy but I’m back now.

Let me know if you want a part 2!

[darkmatilda]

𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer’s curiosity leads to the exposure of your shared secret

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reference to spencer and reader getting married in vegas, the secret marriage not so secret anymore, penelope and reid being my favorite sibling duo, reader is trying to murder reid and im saying that with the straightest face imaginable, MASSIVE diva reader lore drop, oh and lowkey angsty ending

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: request

“I’ve got him! I think I’ve got him…” Penelope spun halfway around in her chair, landing at her second monitor and typing rapidly, her fingers flying across the keyboard with focus. Spencer was standing right next to her, one hand resting on the desk, leaning over so he could see the results of her search. If their reasoning was correct, they had just managed to identify the unsub. But it was still too early to celebrate. “It has to be him! Thomas Murphy, 47 years old. Between 1994 and 2005 he worked as a plumber in Seattle before moving in with his now ex-wife… I’m sending you his address.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch replied.

Then the call ended — and that was it from their end. From Garcia’s office, there was nothing else they could do except stay by the phone in case they were needed again. Spencer finally straightened up and then, a bit aimlessly, dropped into the smaller chair beside his friend. Penelope was taking a deep breath and sliding her glasses off her nose to polish them with a yellow cloth patterned with flowers. He stretched out his legs and laced his fingers together over his stomach, trying to push away a certain stupid thought that had just appeared in his head.

“So…” Reid began, trying to convince himself it wasn’t too late to bite his stupid tongue. “We don’t have anything left to do. And I was thinking…”

“That you finally want me to teach you how to play video games?” Penelope offered smoothly, slipping her glasses back on.

Thrown off, Spencer furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose. “What? N-no, that’s totally not what I meant, I was thinking more like…okay, never mind. It’s stupid.”

For the first time, his friend turned fully to face him, squinting at him suspiciously.

“I forbid you to back out now. I’m far too intrigued. So?”

He held his breath for a moment before exhaling heavily. He could’ve just said nothing. But since he already had… and since he couldn’t shake the idea from his head…

“You know, I’ve been thinking lately about how much information about specific people you’re able to find in such an impressively short amount of time…”

“Oh my goodness, you want me to stalk someone for you!”

Despite the flush on his cheeks, the look on his face was absolutely, deeply, immensely offended.

“Using the word stalking in this context is a serious misuse,” he objected, raising both hands as if shielding himself from the mere suggestion. “And you should know that, working here. Stalking refers to persistent harassment, systematic pursuit and intimidation of a person that causes them fear, anxiety, and a sense of danger — it is definitely not the same as retrieving publicly accessible information from the internet…”

Penelope rolled her eyes dramatically.

“That’s just what people say. But the answer is yes, my love, I’ll happily stalk someone for you.”

Spencer felt like he couldn’t open his mouth and actually ask her to do it out loud. Deep down, he still thought it was stupid. But maybe he gave himself away — that flicker of gratitude in his eyes in response to her readiness. Penelope clapped her hands excitedly, spinning toward the screen.

“Who’s the lucky one? Kidding, you don’t even have to tell me. I know who it is.”

He scoffed at her confidence — how could she possibly know?

 “I bet you’re wrong…” His expression fell the moment Garcia pulled up the exact name he’d intended to give her in the first place. He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Okay, yes, that’s who I meant, but it’s not what you think!”

 “Sweetie, there’s no need to explain anything to me. I get it completely, even if you don’t get it yet.”

 He opened his mouth to disagree, only to find himself stalled by his own words. Especially that second part. He stayed quiet for a long moment, turning them over in his mind. What brought him back was her next question.

 “Tell me what you want to know.”

 He shrugged, genuinely unsure.

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I want any sensitive, private information or anything I couldn’t ask about myself…”

 “Mhmm, just like I thought. Ex-lovers.”

 He quickly started shaking his head.

 “No… I mean… not exactly…you’re the one who suggested—”

 “Wait, did you know she used to be a model?”

Until now sitting with his back fully pressed against the chair’s backrest, Spencer jumped up so fast he nearly smashed his nose on the computer screen. Penelope didn’t even tease him, which indicated she was just as surprised. In the heavy silence, barely blinking, they watched an ad for a lip makeup line from about ten years ago. A brand small enough that they didn’t use real celebrities, but big enough that it was…impressive.

But Spencer wasn’t silent because he was impressed. He was silent, head slightly tilted to the side and lips parted just a little, because he had just realized he had never seen—or even wondered about—how she used to look. Younger, with a different hairstyle and even a different gaze, less experienced and less relentless, but still carrying plenty of confidence. Just not as much as now.

For the record, he also had to admit she was very attractive. But that part hadn’t changed.

Penelope mouthed wow—just the movement of her lips. Or maybe she had said it out loud, but he was slightly dazed, meaning focused on something else, and only registered the movement, not the sound. Either way, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching herself.

“Right. You asked about her ex-lovers.”

Spencer was immediately snapped out of his daze—meaning focus.

“I didn’t!” he protested, which, technically, was true. She had been the one to bring it up; he’d just failed to shut it down. But he didn’t want the responsibility for it sticking to him. Garcia had already gotten back to the keyboard when he went on. “I didn’t ask about her ex-lovers, that’s just your projection. Honestly, the last thing I’m interested in is her—”

“Oh, she was engaged once,” she cut in.

Reid froze.

“What happened to her fiancé?” slipped out of him before he could stop it.

Penelope gave him a sideways look, mockingly.

“Right. The last thing you’re interested in.”

“Oh, come on. You were so happy to help me stalk her, so now at least do it right and tell me what happened to her fiancé.”

 “Ouch, no need to bite. I’m trying to find out! Believe it or not, she’s my friend too and I’m also curious.” She opened some page in the browser. Suddenly, she paused, one finger hovering over the mouse. She turned slowly to Spencer. “We are disgustingly nosy, aren’t we?”

 “We…” Spencer hesitated, feeling like Garcia kind of had a point. But his curiosity won. “Maybe a little. Who isn’t. So what about the fiancé?”

 “Look, that’s them at his sister’s wedding.” All of Penelope’s moral hesitation evaporated as she showed him a photo. “I mean, the fiancé. And here they are together.”

They both went silent for a moment, judging. Eventually, Spencer gathered himself enough to form a truly eloquent, thoughtful sentence.

 “Compared to her… he kind of looks like…a loser.”

 “He lowkey looks like you,” said Penelope at almost the same time, apparently not hearing his previous comment. He gave her a look, which she ignored. His eyes went back to the screen, to the photo of them with their arms around each other, but this time he focused on the man beside her, absolutely disagreeing with his friend’s remark.

That guy looked nothing like him. Sure, he was tall, had brown eyes and a slender frame, but other than that his hair was darker. Two completely different people. As he analyzed their similarities, Garcia kept rambling.

 “You know, I’ve been out for drinks with her a few times and judging by the kind of guys who always hit on her, I was convinced her type was more…chunky guys, you know what I mean. Oh Reid, I feel bad that I found this. She never told me she was engaged, probably didn’t want to talk about it. I wonder what happened. Did they break up or… wait, you don’t think he… oh whew, haha, he’s alive and well. Look, he has a labrador now. So they broke up… WAIT!”

Penelope leaned toward the screen, her face suddenly tense. Spencer jumped in his seat.

 “What is it?”

 “Did you know she has a husband now… wait, is that the same guy…?”

A cold sweat flooded not just the back of Reid’s neck, but also his spine, ribs, and  even heels. He became cold sweat. He shook his head quickly, desperately trying to steer Garcia away from that thought.

 “You know, you were absolutely right, we shouldn’t be digging through her past like this, I’m really not comfortable with it…”

He trailed off — it was already too late. Penelope turned to him, jaw dropped in shock, eyes full of disbelief, accusation, and a clear demand for explanation.

*

Flowers and coffee.

Flowers and her favorite coffee.

That should do the trick, right?

Okay, Spencer wasn’t deluding himself—it wouldn’t. He was just hoping, really hoping, that when she inevitably decided to murder him, she’d at least do it in a not-particularly-brutal way. But seriously, if he delivered the news gently…okay, no, she’d still be furious. There was no avoiding it.

Spencer stepped into her lab after putting it off and standing outside the door for so long that the coffee he’d brought her was nearly cold. She was busy working, so she didn’t even notice as he approached, slowed, and finally stopped just behind her. A bit of her blouse was sticking out from under her lab coat—it was almost exactly the same color as the dress she’d been wearing in that photo with her ex-fiancé. Funny, that this was what he thought of right now...

“How much longer are you planning to stand there breathing down my neck?” she hissed, not showing even the slightest sign that she’d noticed him. But she had.

Startled, he stepped back half a pace. He cleared his throat—none of the twenty versions of this conversation he’d rehearsed had started like this. Think, Reid, think...

“I brought you something,” he said, just to break the strange silence that had fallen between them. They weren’t entirely alone in the room, but none of the other chemists paid them the slightest bit of attention.

The woman paused at his words, then slowly turned around, resting both hands on the counter behind her, raising an eyebrow even before she saw what he was holding. Once she did, her brows only went slightly higher.

“What’s the occasion?”

Spencer swallowed—her eye contact made him even more nervous. He couldn’t…he couldn’t just blurt out hey, I brought you flowers so you won’t kill me for the fact that I accidentally spilled to Penelope that we got drunk married in Vegas…

He decided to start vague. Then ease into the specifics.

“What’s the occasion…Well, I realized I never thanked you for last time. When I got beaten up and you…took care of me.”

Technically, he really hadn’t thanked her, so he sounded very sincere. Because he was sincere, with the small problem that this wasn’t the whole story. And because he sounded so sincere, he felt like with every word he said…her expression softened just a little more, showing not the slightest trace of suspicion.

Internally, Spencer was panicking.

He wanted her to be suspicious! He wanted her to be skeptical! He’d rather she were in a bad mood from the start, so the change that was about to happen wouldn’t be so abrupt!

A heavy feeling was crushing his chest.

“So, that’s what it’s for. Thank you.” First, he handed her the coffee, so she could set it down on the counter behind her, and then the bouquet.

Red roses—probably had some symbolic meaning, but he hadn’t cared when buying them. He just wanted them to be her favorite color and ridiculously gorgeous. 

She accepted them with an unreadable expression. The bouquet was so large she had to tilt it to one side so it wouldn’t block his face while they talked. Her head tilted slightly as well.

“Thanks accepted,” she replied with a nod.

It wasn’t a dry response. In fact, her tone was unusually soft. But also expectant.

Expecting whatever else he was about to say.

He drew a breath.

"You look…luminous, sophisticated, truly breathtaking today," he added, eyes wide from the stress, not blinking. “Penelope knows we got married.”

Her arms dropped sharply to her sides, bouquet and all, and a petal from one of the roses floated to the floor.

“Oh, I fucking knew it!” she shouted at him, punctuating it with a stomp of her heel. For his own safety, Spencer took another step back. “I knew the moment you started complimenting me. Before that, I was still holding on to the delusion that the flowers were actually out of the goodness of your heart and gratitude…”

 “...because they are out of the goodness of my heart and gratitude—”

“Shut up. Shut up, don’t you dare interrupt me or correct me right now.” She pointed a warning finger at him. But after a moment, her hand curled into a fist, and her eyelids clenched as she took a calming breath. Without opening her eyes, she ground out through clenched teeth, “How did it happen that Penelope—whom I obviously love, but who can’t keep anything a secret—found out?”

Spencer raised both hands in a defensive gesture, his brain spinning and steaming, doing everything it could not to reveal the actual circumstances of how it all happened.

“By accident—really, I… let it slip,” he lied, hoping the desperation in his voice would mask the lack of truth, and that she was too angry to act as a lie detector. “Honestly, it was my fault, I’m fully aware, I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry—”

“And you really thought that some stupid flowers would make me not angry?”

“Well, flowers and coffee—”

He had to duck to avoid getting hit in the face with them.

“I thought maybe you’d be less angry!” he explained. “And don’t hit me with them, they didn’t do anything…!”

“That’s exactly why I’m hitting you, dumbass.”

But that was, in fact, the last display of such open aggression toward him. Sure, she was still furious, tense and ticking but Spencer, watching from what he considered a safe distance, felt slightly more secure.

For a moment, silence fell between them.

She leaned her lower back against the counter, arms tightly crossed over her chest.

“You know we have to do something about this, right?”

Spencer nodded, terrified that saying anything might reset their relationship to what it had been two minutes and forty-one seconds ago.

“I already know what,” she declared. “And you, as compensation for what you’ve done, are going to help me. Also, put those flowers in some water.”

Naturally, he did as he was told.

*

“This is weird.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have spilled, and we wouldn’t have to do this.”

“It’s still weird! I mean, we could’ve just politely asked her not to tell anyone. I’m almost certain she would’ve respected that…”

“Exactly—almost certain. And I want full certainty. So hush, I think she’s coming.”

Penelope stepped into the interrogation room where they’d arranged to meet her, glancing around uncertainly.

“Are we even allowed to be in here?”

Spencer gave her a reassuring—and at the same time apologetic—look, even though he wasn’t entirely sure they were allowed to be there either.

His companion didn’t even flinch.

“My dear Penelope, do you know why we wanted to see you here today?”

Garcia sat down on the opposite side of the table—right where they usually placed the people being interrogated. Though initially hesitant and reserved, she suddenly clasped her hands together with an impressively bold expression.

“As a matter of fact, I do know why you wanted to see me here,” she declared, her eyes darting between their faces. “Because even though on a daily basis you claim you don’t even like each other, you literally got married. And that’s not something normal people do. I mean—I love you two, and I’m rooting for you—but those are just the facts.”

Spencer was watching her profile as she listened to those words. He noticed she rolled her eyes at the I love you two, and I’m rooting for you part. But other than that, she didn’t seem particularly moved by what Penelope had said.

 Unlike him.

Reid had apparently needed to hear it from a third party to start actually wondering if, yeah, maybe it wasn’t entirely normal.

“I guess we’re not normal,” she said plainly, shrugging nonchalantly. Then suddenly she sighed and looked at the woman in front of her with something almost like tenderness. “Penelope, you know I love you, but I will murder you if you tell anyone. Just to be safe, I’ve prepared this.”

She reached into the front pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a document.

 “A nondisclosure agreement. Just a little incentive for you to keep quiet.”

Both Spencer and Penelope stared at her, completely baffled.

His confusion was layered with something else.

“You’re really embarrassed you married me, aren’t you?” slipped out of him.

She turned her head toward him—they locked eyes.

Garcia stood up nervously from her chair.

“Maybe I should give you two a moment—”

She was stopped with a quick hand gesture.

“I’m not embarrassed that I married you,” she said, looking at him sternly. She barely blinked. “I’m embarrassed by the circumstances. And the fact that we still haven’t dealt with it.”

“Well, if I recall correctly, it was a mutual decision.”

“A stupid decision. What were we even thinking?”

Spencer felt a strange, uncomfortable tension inside him, in her, and between them.

Penelope clearly felt it too, because she quickly pulled the document toward herself and signed it with an exaggerated flourish.

“There you go. And now I’m off. Nothing worse than getting stuck in the middle of a marital argument. Kisses!”

And just like that, she disappeared, leaving the two of them alone in the interrogation room.

For a moment, the silence was incredibly heavy. Spencer was used to silences like that. He’d conducted dozens, if not hundreds, of interrogations. But this was the first time the silence felt like his problem.

They stood across from each other on either side of the short table, which, given the size of the room, meant they were fairly close. He no longer stole uncertain glances at her profile—he stared openly now, with far too many questions about her sudden shift in how she was approaching the decision they had once made together.

“We should’ve gotten divorced right away,” she said coldly, turning her head but not her body toward him. “Then it wouldn’t have gotten so...too real.”

Too real. Spencer didn’t even get a chance to reflect on those words before she walked out of the room, leaving the two of them, him and the silence, behind. 

Too real. He didn’t understand those words, not even when he did think about them. Or rather, he understood their meaning, their connection, what they implied but he didn’t understand how they related to them.

And yet, as the next few minutes passed, he remembered that small stab of excitement when Garcia agreed to look her up for him and the other sharp pang when he stared at the photo of her with her ex fiancé and maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to understand what the whole too real thing had meant.

[societyfolklore]

Found this in drafts... I don't know if this I posted this already another time or if it's just there... so.. enjoy! I'm sick so if this was already up somewhere that I forgot about so be it... BUCKY DRABBLE

You knew he'd be edgey when he got back. But when the door slammed open and he filled the threshold, all tactical black and seething heat, nothing prepared you for this. The raw, unhinged violence of him. Broad-shouldered, breathing heavy, beard thicker, eyes darker, like war hadn't ended, it had just come home with him.

He looked like a goddamn problem.

Your back hit the wall before you could speak. Metal fingers curled in your hair, tilting your head, and he didn’t kiss you, he took your mouth like it was something to devour.

“Missed you,” Bucky growled, voice shredded. “Missed your fuckin’ taste.”

His other hand was already on your thigh, hauling it up around his hip. His body pressed hot and brutal between your legs, that thick, aching cock grinding right against your soaked panties, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Need you. Now.”

And then it was chaos. Tactical belt clattering. Your shirt torn like paper. Pants yanked halfway down your thighs before he spun you to the wall and shoved your hands up. His chest crushed against your back, his breath burning in your ear.

“Been thinkin’ about this pussy since the second I left. Gonna fuck you so full, you forget your own name.”

When he pushed inside, it was a claim. No teasing, no mercy. Just a feral, breathless thrust that forced a chocked gasp from your lips. He was already panting, grunting, hips slamming into you like it was instinct, like it was necessary.

“Mine,” he growled. “This pussy’s mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your forehead pressed hard to the wall, legs already shaking.

“Say it louder.”

“Yours, Bucky, it’s yours!”

He bit down on your shoulder, fucked you harder, metal fingers wrapped tight in your hair, pulling you back so he could hear every whimper, every desperate cry.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he snarled. “Gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl. Then I’m gonna fill you. Not stoppin’ ‘til I see it dripping out.”

You shattered. Your orgasm tore through you, white-hot, legs giving out as he held you up and rutted through it, chasing his own end with brutal, slamming thrusts. His hips stuttered, and with a loud, filthy groan, he buried himself as deep as he could go, cock twitching as he filled you.

The silence after was filled with your breathing. His weight pressed against your back. His lips dragging up your neck.

“Don’t think I’m done,” Bucky whispered, voice rough. “I’ve been gone too long.”

And you?

You weren’t walking tomorrow.

[suunani]

full of you [ jeong jaehyun ]

you somehow end up cockwarming in your best friend’s lap by the end of the night.

❛ content 2.5k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, bottom! male reader, cockwarming, so much praise, lots of pet names, jaehyun being completely gone for reader, sligh fingering (prep), fluff, lots of kisses.

( part one )

you hadn’t planned on staying the night.

it was just supposed to be dinner. maybe a movie. a casual tuesday night the same way it had always been — except 'casual' hadn’t meant the same thing in weeks. not since that kiss. not since everything shifted without either of you really acknowledging it, like the ground had quietly changed beneath your feet and you both just agreed not to panic about it.

now jaehyun kissed you often.

on your mouth, your cheek, your shoulder when you were brushing your teeth. he didn’t ask anymore. and, honestly, he didn’t need to.

you were already his — and he was yours — in every wordless way that mattered.

so when his fingers had curled around yours after dinner, tugging you gently into his bedroom without saying a word, you didn’t question it. you never could, not when he looked at you like that : soft and full of something you didn’t quite have a name for, but felt deep in your bones.

he sat on the edge of the bed while you stood between his knees, your thighs brushing the outsides of his, his hands exploring in slow, patient movements — under your shirt, across your waist, thumbs skimming the waistband of your sweats like he was drawing a map of you in his mind.

jaehyun didn’t rush. he never rushed. not with you.

you leaned down and kissed him — not deep, not eager, just slow. mouths barely parting. it was the kind of kiss that just felt like breathing, like leaning into warmth. you felt the subtle flex of his fingers on your hips, the way he exhaled softly through his nose when your lips skimmed the corner of his mouth. that made him weak — you could tell, and it made your heart ache with affection.

“can i ask you, hum… something?” he murmured, barely breaking the kiss, his lips brushing yours with each word.

“mmh?” your forehead stayed pressed to his.

his thumbs rubbed slow circles into the bare skin just above your waistband — he was not pushing, not teasing either, just… grounding you.

“i’ve been thinking about something,” he said, eyes flicking up.

you pulled back just a bit, enough to see the shift in his face — open, but careful. that look he gave you when he was being vulnerable. when he wanted something and wasn’t sure how you’d take it. that look alone made your stomach flutter.

“yeah?” you asked gently.

“i kinda wanna try cockwarming.”

you blinked.

your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. your throat went tight, and your heart slammed once — hard enough you could feel it in your teeth. his words didn’t even fully register at first, like your brain had hit a glitch trying to process them.

jaehyun smiled softly, thumb still tracing your skin. “you okay, baby?”

“i…” you swallowed, your eyes flicking down to his chest like you couldn’t look at him for a second. “you want me to… sit on it?”

“that’s the general idea,” he said, smiling a little more, voice still so soft. he laughed gently when your face went warm — not teasing, just fond. “but only if you want to.”

you choked a little — or whatever the hell that thing in your throat was — because your whole body had gone tight. not out of fear. just that visceral hit of nerves and want colliding in your chest like a wave.

you tried to speak, failed, cleared your throat, and tried again. “y–yeah. i want to. just… wasn’t expecting that.”

“i know,” he said, and his hands moved slowly up your sides, like he was reading you. “i’ll be really soft with you.” his voice dropped a note, not dirty — not even close — but reverent, like he was giving you a promise.

it went straight through you.

“i just want to feel you,” he said, breath brushing your jaw. “no rush. just… stay inside you.”

you didn’t even realize your fingers had curled into the fabric of his shirt until he tilted his head and pressed a slow kiss to your jaw, like he could taste the way your pulse jumped there.

“okay,” you whispered, breath catching.

“yeah?”

you nodded.

his hand found yours again, his fingers lacing with yours like they always did when he needed you to stay close.

“come here, baby.”

the clothes came off slow — peeled away like they had all the time in the universe. his hands skimmed up your back when he took your shirt off, brushing his fingers down your spine as if he couldn’t bear to lose contact. your pants were pushed past your thighs with quiet exhales and shy glances, every bit of skin uncovered only making the air feel heavier between you.

he laid you back on the bed for a moment, not even to do anything — just to look at you, to lean over and kiss down your chest, his mouth tracing every line of you with quiet awe. he kissed your stomach, the soft part just below your navel, his hand warm against your side while the other held the lube.

then he settled behind you, letting you lean back into him while he slicked his fingers and started prepping you — slow, warm, so careful. every movement was met with a whisper at your ear.

“you’re doing so good,” he murmured, voice low and intimate, lips brushing the side of your face. “opening up so easy for me, honey. like your body already knows what it wants.”

you groaned, head falling back against his shoulder. his fingers moved deeper, coaxing you open, the stretch manageable only because he gave you so much time. his free hand stroked along your waist, grounding you with every soft word and every warm breath.

by the time you were ready, he was sitting back against the headboard again, legs spread just enough, his dick flushed and slick in his hand. you watched him stroke it slow while you moved into his lap, watched the way his breath caught just slightly when you just touched his shoulders for balance.

everything slowed down.

your knees pressed to the mattress on either side of his hips. you hovered just a little, hands on his shoulders, letting him guide you by the waist as you lined yourself up his dick.

the tip nudged against you, and—

the stretch made your breath hitch immediately. your fingers clenched on his shoulders like you needed to anchor yourself really bad, your thighs trembling with the effort to stay in control.

“you okay my love?” he asked, eyes locked on your face. you nodded shakily.

“y–yeah. just… oh my god.”

jaehyun smiled, smoothing one hand slowly up your spine. “take your time, baby. don’t rush. i’ve got you.”

so you did. you took your time — letting yourself sink down inch by inch, breathing hard, feeling your body slowly adjust around him. it was intense — the pressure, the heat, the way he filled you without even moving. his hands never left you, stroking your waist, brushing the backs of your thighs, eyes never leaving your face.

and when you finally settled all the way down, seated flush in his lap, his dick buried deep inside you… everything went still.

your chest was pressed to his. you could feel the way your own heart pounded against his, the subtle shudder in your limbs, your fingers trembling where they clutched his shoulders. he wrapped his arms around you like he was holding something fragile, his face burying into your neck as he let out a low, shaky breath.

“fuck,” he whispered. “you feel… so warm. my pretty baby. so perfect.”

you didn’t move. honestly, you couldn’t. he filled you so completely, so deeply, you could feel the whole shape of him pressing against the most tender parts of you. the weight of him inside was overwhelming — not in a painful way, but in that too-much-and-still-not-enough way that made your head feel like it was floating.

every twitch of him inside you made your body respond — tightening involuntarily, fluttering around him in little pulses. even the smallest shift in your position sent a slow, pulsing wave up your spine, making your chest rise sharply against his.

and yet… the stillness was a high all its own. the way nothing moved. the way your body and his body simply existed together, locked in this quiet, molten closeness.

jaehyun’s mouth moved against your skin — soft kisses along your shoulder, your neck, the edge of your jaw. he didn’t press for more, didn’t chase the rhythm most people would. he kissed you like worship, like gratitude. like touching you like this was more than enough.

“god, you feel so good,” he breathed at your ear, his voice cracking faintly at the edges. “so fucking warm… so tight around me, baby. i could stay like this forever.”

your whole body flushed at the confession. you clenched down on him — just slightly, unintentionally — and the way he groaned in response made your eyes flutter shut. his forehead dropped to your collarbone, breath stuttering against your skin.

“shit…” he murmured. “you can’t do that, baby. i’m trying to behave.”

you laughed — breathless, warm — and your hands came up to cup his face. his skin was hot under your palms. your thumbs brushed over the apple of his cheeks, which were flushed high with pink. his lips were swollen from kissing, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

he looked… completely gone.

like he was drunk on you.

“you’re really not gonna move?” you asked, voice barely steady, teasing him enough to make him smile again.

“not unless you do first.”

his hands slid over your thighs — warm, gentle, almost reverent — before settling again at your lower back. the pressure was soft but firm, grounding. his touch felt like a tether, like it was holding you right there, keeping you full and safe and still.

you rested your forehead to his and just breathed.

and with every second you stayed like that, your nerves slowly began to quiet — like the rest of the world was fading out. all that was left was the fullness, the heat of him inside you, the solid weight of his body beneath your hands. every throb of his dick, every tiny twitch, sent ripples of sensation through you. your muscles clenched without thought, your body pulsing around him in soft, slow waves.

jaehyun leaned in and kissed you again — soft, unrushed. his lips moved against yours like the world was paused just for you two. then he pulled back just far enough to see your face again.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “you know that?”

your throat tightened at the sound of his voice — like it cracked open something inside you that you weren’t ready for.

“jaehyun…”

“you are,” he insisted, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “the way you look at me… the way you feel around me. my pretty boy, you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

the ache in your chest bloomed at those words, too full to hold. you kissed him before he could say more — a deeper kiss this time, one that felt desperate not from lust but from emotion. from the sheer weight of everything he was giving you just by being here like this.

minutes passed in a haze of soft touches and slower breaths. neither of you spoke. you didn’t need to.

you let your bodies say everything else — in the warmth of your mouths, in the quiet slide of your fingers up his arms, in the way your bodies fit together without friction, without force.

eventually, you shifted in his lap — just the barest rock of your hips. not a thrust, not even a grind, just enough to feel him move inside you. and jaehyun moaned — loud and raw, like he hadn’t expected it.

“oh my god…”

you froze — startled — and then let out a soft laugh against his mouth.

“sensitive?” you teased, your voice breathy with affection.

he glared up at you with playful exasperation, his hands tightening on your waist like he was restraining himself from snapping his hips up.

“baby, i’m trying to last, and you’re out here trying to kill me,” he muttered.

you laughed again — full and quiet — and then gasped as you moved just a little more, the slow drag of him inside you setting every nerve on fire.

jaehyun kissed you again — harder now, but not fast. his hands came up to cup your face like he couldn’t stop touching you, his lips sliding against yours, his tongue brushing soft and slow. you felt his hips twitch under you — once, restrained — like his body couldn’t help but react even when he was trying so hard not to.

“stay like that,” he whispered, breath trembling. “don’t move. just let me feel you, baby.”

you rested your head on his shoulder, breathing hard. your dick was fully hard now, pinned between your stomachs, leaking steadily onto his skin. the way your bodies were pressed together made the sensation almost unbearable.

“can i come like this?” you asked, voice soft, uncertain.

jaehyun moaned at the question, a loud moan, like just the thought undid him.

“yeah, baby,” he breathed, and one of his hands slid down between your bodies, wrapping carefully around your dick. “come just from sitting on me. let me feel it, yeah? let me have it.”

his hand moved slowly — steady, perfect strokes in sync with the pulse of his dick inside you. you were so full, so open, it was almost too much — but not in a way that made you want it to stop. in a way that made you want to live there, in that moment, forever.

you were shaking when it hit — a soft, beautiful, startled gasp leaving your mouth as you came, your body clenching around him so tightly that his breath caught hard in his chest.

“fuck— you’re so perfect,” jaehyun groaned, voice breaking. “so fucking perfect.”

you spilled between you, the heat of it spreading across both your bellies, and he held you through it — one hand stroking your back, the other cradling your jaw, pressing tender kisses to your temple, your cheek, like you’d just given him something really sacred.

after a beat, when your heart had slowed and your breath had steadied, you felt his hips shift, just once.

a shallow grind. a soft moan that sounded like a plea.

“baby,” he whispered, voice cracked and wrecked. “i need…”

you nodded, not even waiting for him to finish.

“okay,” you breathed, still trembling.

jaehyun thrust once — slow and so deep — and you felt his whole body shudder beneath you. he came with a gasp against your neck, arms wrapping tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needed to feel every inch of you when he let go.

the warmth of him filled you, spilling deep, your body still fluttering around him with every soft aftershock.

you stayed like that — his dick still inside you, your chest pressed to his, his breath against your throat — for what could’ve been hours. long enough for his pulse to slow. long enough for your fingers to loosen from his shoulders. long enough for the world to feel quiet again.

neither of you spoke.

there was nothing to say, really. not when everything had already been said — in every whisper, every still breath, every soft praise pressed between kisses.

because this wasn’t about trying something new.

it was about knowing each other — and wanting to be known that way.

[lafleurperdue]

🌿 pairing — suguru geto x f!reader

summary — you're just friends. you've always been. but on a beach trip years after everything, glances last too long, touches linger too easily, and the past you both tried to forget starts to pull at the tide between you.

🌿 word count — 5.2k

🌿 genre — 16+, friends to lovers, tropical getaway, soft romance, sensual tension, mutual pining, slight angst, fluffy ending

🌿 warnings — suggestive scenes, language, water-based teasing, skinny dipping (👀), and a whole lot of heart

🌿 author's note — this one means a lot to me. it was inspired by "Show Me Love" by Tyla — that warm, rhythmic kind of song that feels like sunlight on your skin. i’ve been daydreaming about writing something that captures the quiet burn of a friendship that becomes more, especially in a setting that feels soft and slow and golden. think: rihanna playing in the background, tan lines, coconut water, stolen glances under umbrellas, and a kind of love that’s always been there — just waiting for the right moment.

Florianópolis was warmer than you remembered. The air was syrupy-sweet, thick with salt, mango trees, and the hum of distant waves rolling in slow and lazy. By the time your cab pulled up to the beach house, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting everything in that golden hue that made even the ordinary feel cinematic.

You stepped out with your suitcase behind you, thanking the driver politely. Brushing a few windswept strands of hair from your face as you slowly made your way to the patio—laughter floated loudly, familiar voices echoing across time.

Then you saw him.

Suguru Geto, leaning against the balcony rail, glass of something amber in his hands, shirt unbuttoned just enough to remind you he never did care much for modesty in this heat. His hair was longer, messier. His smile was slower, like honey, when he saw you.

He didn't wave. He didn't shout. He just watched.

Like he hadn’t seen you in years. Like it hadn't hurt.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Satoru’s voice cut through the stillness, still loud as ever. He bounded down the steps barefoot, Hawaiian shirt open, sunglasses still on despite the sunset. “I was this close to sending Suguru to come find you. He was about to swim across the ocean if you didn't show.”

You laughed, letting Satoru pull you into a sweaty hug.

“Flight got delayed; they mentioned something about the weather.”

“That old excuse,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were still in college.

“We're blaming you if we're late for dinner; Nanami’s already calculating time loss.”

“I heard that,” Nanami called dryly from somewhere inside the patio. More voices followed—Shoko emerged with a cigarette tucked between her fingers, already waving lazily; Haibara yelled something unintelligible from the kitchen, likely involving caipirinhas. It all blurred together.

Until you looked back up.

And Suguru was still watching you.

Not one word has slipped from his lips.

༄༅༄༅༄

Later, after you’d tossed your bag into the guest room and splashed your face with water, you’d had just enough time to unpack and put everything where it needed to be. You were halfway through hanging up your clothes when you heard a voice you’d recognize from miles away.

“You know he’s still so into you.”

You turned, rolling your eyes. “Shoko.”

She leaned against the doorway, cigarette already perched between two fingers.

“Shoko, those cigarettes—we talked about this,” you said, playful but stern.

“Stop changing the subject.” She walked in like she owned the place, flicking your forehead just hard enough to make you groan.

She hasn’t changed a bit, you thought. “You two still haven’t talked about that night?” she asked, flopping down beside you on the bed.

That night.

The library.

The memory that played on loop in your mind more often than you’d ever admit.

You wondered, not for the first time, if he ever thought of it too.

Flashback

It was sometime past 2 a.m. in the old campus library, and the lights above your study table buzzed faintly, like they too were struggling to stay awake. You and Suguru had been there for hours—your laptop batteries both long dead, the textbooks between you now serving more as elbow rests than anything helpful.

He looked soft in that hour. Hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms, hair half-tied and falling in strands around his face. He had been making quiet jokes all night to keep you from spiraling about finals. You hadn’t even realized how much closer he’d scooted.

You don’t remember what made you look up.

Maybe it was how he still got it. Maybe it was the way your laughter had faded into quiet.

But when you looked up… he was already watching you.

Not in a casual way. Not in a "best friend" way. His eyes had softened in a way you’d never seen before. Like he was seeing you for the first time—even though he always saw you first.

"You're going to ace this," he whispered.

You could barely find your voice.

“Only if you stop looking at me like that.”

He tilted his head.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to kiss me.”

You said it without thinking.

His lips parted—just barely. And for a second, you both leaned in. So close, you swear you could feel the warmth of his breath.

But the janitor passed by the end of the aisle, and the light shuffle of their footsteps was enough to snap you both out of it.

You pulled back.

He blinked.

Then he smiled.

That easy, charming smile he always used when he was trying to pretend something didn’t mean too much.

You laughed it off, like it never happened.

And that was it.

So did he.

But you never forgot the way it felt.

Not then.

Not even now.

End of Flashback

“You need to tell him, Y/N,” she commented, and this time she was being serious. You gave her a shrug and only led her to sigh—because to be in your position wasn't really the best.

“Dinner is almost ready. Gojo's gonna freak out if we don't go to drink tonight,” she winked before leaving you alone in a room full of silence.

You stepped onto the back porch barefoot and sat on the railing, legs dangling like a little girl. The sun was lower now. A pink-gold bruise across the sky. For some reason, you couldn't help but think of what Shoko said—she's definitely right, right?

Before your thoughts were loud enough, you heard a soft knock behind you.

Suguru.

“Hey stranger,” he said softly.

“Hey,” you replied, with a smile.

He took a seat beside you. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You could hear the sea, taste the salt in the air, and feel the weight of something unspoken stretching between you like a hammock strung too tight.

“You look different,” he murmured. “Older. But… not.”

“You’re one to talk,” you smirked, bumping your shoulder gently into his.

“I missed you,” he said.

The words weren’t loud, but they landed like a pebble dropped into still water.

You turned your head and met his eyes.

Dark, steady. Familiar.

“I missed you too,” you admitted, breath barely there.

A beat passed. Then another. He looked at you like he wanted to say something else—maybe something heavier. Maybe something he’d been carrying for too long.

But Satoru’s voice came from inside, loud and ridiculous:

“ARE YOU TWO HAVING A MOMENT OUT THERE OR SHOULD I BRING THE CAMERAS?!”

You burst out laughing. So did Suguru.

“I swear to God,” you muttered.

“Some things never change,” he chuckled.

But this time, when he looked at you again, there was something else in his eyes.

And you felt it.

The shift.

The slow turn of a tide.

“Come on,” he said as he got up and held out his hand towards you. “Let's go have dinner.” You hesitated; it's been a long time ever since you felt his skin upon yours—you grabbed his hand, and for the first time in such a long time, you felt his warmth again.

It's been so long.

You smiled as you released his hand and made your way towards the dinner table.

༄༅༄༅༄

After dinner, the group decides to head into town. There's a small local bar tucked between beach cafés, where live music plays—something rhythmic, soulful, maybe a little nostalgic. It’s hot. People are already dancing barefoot on the patio floor under string lights. The drinks are cold and fruity. The air smells like lime, sweat, and sea salt.

Satoru was already on the dance floor with some girl, Haibara throwing out wild moves like he was trying to win a competition, while Nanami stood stiffly to the side—clearly looking for a way to escape the chaos.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

And of course, Shoko had already found her drink—and a bartender to flirt with.

Seeing all your friends like this again, still the same carefree people they’d been in college…It was something you truly, deeply treasured.

“If I remember well, you loved dancing?” A little blush crossed your features—luckily they were hidden by the flashy disco light in the small room.

“And if I recall well, Suguru Geto was never the type to dance?” he smirked at your challenge but didn't respond. Instead he catches your wrist, just enough to pull you—so, so close to his warm body.

“Come on. One dance,” he whispered in your ear. You look up into his eyes —and to tell the truth, if you weren't this intoxicated, you would be a wreck, but thanks to the alcohol, you were feeling a little too dangerous.

You smirked up at him and pulled him closer as you whispered to him so softly yet so seductively, “Make sure you can keep up, baby boy.” This time you were the one pulling him towards the dance floor.

One of your favorite songs kicked in—loud, fast, familiar—and before you realized it, your hips were already swaying. The alcohol was warm in your veins, the lights fuzzy and golden, and everything felt just light enough to laugh at. For a moment you almost forgot Suguru was next to you—and at the moment you didn't care. You turned around slowly, your back pressed to his chest, hips still moving in sync with the music—lazy, unhurried rolls that made your skin hum. His hands found your waist without hesitation, but you didn’t stop there.

One of your arms reached up, bending behind you until your fingers slid around the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. The other followed, trailing lower—slow and featherlight—over the curve of his chest, down the front of his shirt, until your palm flattened against his stomach.

You kept moving, swaying against him, your head tilting back slightly to brush his shoulder.

You felt his breath hitch.

You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

“You good back there, Suguru?” You murmured teasingly, still moving. His breath against your neck felt too familiar, too fresh—this feeling of him pressed up against you made everything worthwhile.

He laughed, low in your ear. “Ask me again in five seconds.” You could only giggle—deep down you knew he was slowly losing his sanity. To add more fuel to the fire, slowly you dragged your palm down his stomach, pausing just above the waistband of his shirt—then moving like nothing happened. You could hear him groan—soft, barely audible—his fingers twitching against your waist like he was holding himself back.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the confession.

“If I'm making it hard to breathe, you could always let go.”

You let the music guide you—hips rolling, one arm still hooked behind Suguru’s neck, the other still lazily tracing teasing patterns above his waist. He felt so solid behind you, hands resting at your waist like he was trying to stay calm.

But you weren’t done teasing him.

You let your body sink slowly with the music, back still pressed to his front—hips rolling down to the floor, slow and steady, dragging against him the entire way.And when you came back up, it was even slower—your movement controlled, deliberate, sensual.

You felt him tense behind you.

You felt his grip falter. Just for a second.

Then it happened.

In one smooth move, his hand caught yours and spun you around—your back leaving his chest, your body turning until you were facing him. Chest-to-chest. Barely inches apart.

His eyes were darker now, locked on yours.His breath grazed your lips.

In the back you could hear Satoru yell, “You two trying to give us a show or finally admit you’re married?” and a whistle from Haibara. But deep down you couldn't care less about that because right now he was in front of you.

Face-to-face.

“You've always been a bad dancer,” the mummers without breaking eye contact.

“And you've always been a bad liar,” you shot back, grinning. But the smile slipped slightly when his hands slid a bit lower, and for a moment you got lost in his eyes.

You could no longer hear the music; it all started to fade away—as if in the moment of truth it was only the two of you. Meanwhile, you could slowly but steadily feel the adrenaline that supposedly kept you going vanish like it was never there. He leaned in like he was going to say something—but he didn’t. Just stayed there, forehead almost brushing your temple, breathing in time with you. The space between you burned.

“I…” but he only shook his head—and you finally realized the song has changed into something slower. But neither of you moved. Not away. Not closer. Just… there. His hands were still on your hips and yours slowly guiding themselves behind his neck, and so on the world had slowly gone a little softer around the edges.

His eyes never left yours, studying you—your one hand slowly made its way to his chest as you placed your head on his shoulder, savoring it, and suddenly it wasn't just dancing.

It was remembering.

It was wondering.

It was, what if we stopped pretending?.

That night neither of you said a word—just danced in a room full of unspoken feelings, in a room full of people where you could only feel his presence—in a room where you could only hold him like you belonged there.

༄༅༄༅༄

A few days have passed since that night—the music, the lights, the way your body had moved with him like you'd done it a thousand times. And maybe, in some way, you have. Not like that, maybe, but close enough.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected the next morning. Awkward glances? Avoidance? Regret?

But Suguru had been… calm. Warm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made your stomach flutter in ways it shouldn’t have. He’d handed you a glass of juice and told you breakfast was out on the porch, like nothing had happened.

Except something had happened.

And you could feel it in every glance that lingered too long, in every brush of fingertips that lasted a second more than it needed to. You swore you felt it when he passed you the sunscreen and your hands touched.

It was all very subtle. Quiet. Careful. But it was there.

And now it was beach day—hot sun, cold drinks, and the sea stretching out in lazy blues. The house was loud with the chaos of sunscreen arguments and bad playlists, and someone—probably Satoru—was already yelling about watermelons.

You were wearing something Shoko had forced you into—she claimed Suguru would lose his mind.It wasn’t too much. Just your amber bikini, the one that matched your skin tone perfectly, paired with an ivory cardigan and simple sandals. Minimal, but intentional.

You stepped out slowly.

“That’s a dangerous bikini,” Satoru called, of course the first to say something. Typical.

“And that’s a dangerous face,” you shot back without missing a beat.

Your eyes flicked past him to the man behind.Suguru stood with a beer in his hand, relaxed as ever. He met your gaze with a soft smile—just a flicker—before turning his attention back to packing the cooler.

It didn’t take long for the group to claim their usual spot.

Shoko was already lying out in sunglasses and a cigarette. Nanami was seated under an umbrella, nose deep in a book. Haibara had decided it was a great day to half-bury himself in sand, and Satoru was... being exactly who he always was.

Your eyes drifted again. —Suguru settled under the shade of an umbrella. He looked... calm.Like the heat didn’t bother him. Like the world didn’t move too fast for him.

Always still, always steady.

Always a little too inviting.

You started walking toward him.

And then—a man stepped in front of you, causing you to halt.

“Oh my god!” You gasped. “You scared me.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Probably came off too forward.”

He offered you a fresh coconut with a sheepish smile.

“Umm... thank you so much?” You replied, your voice caught between polite and confused. He was cute, you had to admit—flustered in a way that felt endearing.

“Sorry, this might sound weird,” he continued, “but I saw you, and I just... had to come over.”

The moment hung awkwardly between you—until Satoru materialized at your side, draping an arm over your shoulders like it was nothing.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said cheerfully.“She’s taken.”

The stranger’s face dropped slightly, and before you could explain—or object—he’d already turned and walked away.

“Satoru!” You smacked the back of his head.“You idiot.”

He just winked and jogged off, calling over his shoulder:

“Suguru, you can thank me later!”

You let out a groan, shaking your head as you finally made your way to the umbrella. Suguru looked up at you, eyes half-lidded behind his sunglasses, his beer still in hand.

“Already making friends?” he asked, tone casual as ever—but there was something behind it. Not quite annoyed. Not quite teasing.

Just…something.

You plopped down beside him on the towel, brushing hair from his face.

“It's not my fault for attracting random men that bear coconuts.” You said, slightly irritated.

He chuckled. “He had good taste.”

You offered him a glance. “Jealous?”

You offered him a sip of your coconut beverage—he happily sipped and agreed on the taste. He leaned back on one elbow and let the silence stretch long enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Only of the coconut”

You blinked, surprised.Then laughed. You weren't sure what you'd expect him to say. But it surely wasn't that.

“You're such a bad liar, you know that?” You said, bumping his shoulder with yours. He didn't respond. Just let your arm stay there, close against his, as the ocean crashes in slow waves somewhere behind you.

“You look good today,” he said after a pause, voice low like it wasn't meant to carry any emotion.

You turned to him, caught off guard.

“I always look good, Suguru Geto.”

He smiled. “I know.”

As much as you were confident within every word you blithered, in this moment you let every guard down. Your cheeks were red from the heat—or so you claimed. His eyes never left you in that moment, but there was always something that stopped the both of you—next thing you know, you both were soaked in water.

You squealed as the cold water dripped from your hair. You knew exactly who it was—and indeed the culprit standing behind you was none other than Satoru Gojo along with his wingman Yu Haibara.

They were both snickering like middle school kids. Until both of them were covered in wanted too—by none other than Shoko. “You boys really thought that was a nice way to ruin a cute moment?” you laughed softly, and your gaze finally landed on Suguru.

He was wet—dripping from head to toe—and you…you couldn't take your eyes off him as he took out his bun and ran his hand through his hair. You swallowed so loud, and you swore—it was enough for him to hear you because his eyes were on you.

He casually picked up a towel and wrapped it around your figure.

“You good?” he simply asked, and you just smiled up at him and nodded as he leaned in to make sure you weren't shivering.

You felt the towel on your skin, but it was his closeness that made the goosebumps rise. He was right there. One hand braced against the umbrella pole behind you, head tilted slightly as his eyes scanned your face—checking for something. You didn't know what, but it made you nervous as always.

You swallowed.

“You're staring,” you whispered.

“You're wet,” he replied enough to make your cheeks burn.

“So are you,” you said softly as his hand brushed against your collarbone—just lightly enough. You sucked in a breath, and he paused.

You didn't move. Neither did he. The moment was quiet. Heavy, like something falling apart or falling together at any given moment.

“Suguru…” you stated. .

“Yeah,” he murmured so softly, like you were the only one meant to hear his voice.

Before you could answer, someone yelled something about volleyball, and Shoko was dragging you away by the wrist—leaving Suguru standing there, still watching.

༄༅༄༅༄

Slowly time passed by, and the chaos only continued to unfold. Suguru didn't even join the game at first. He just watched—arms crossed, eyes shaded behind sunglasses—as you threw yourself into it with way more competitive energy than necessary.

“You suck!” you shouted at Satoru after he missed the pass. “And I thought you were good at everything!” you continued.

“I'm here for vibes, not pain,” he yelled back sassily.

You laughed so hard, you nearly tripped over Haibara—only to be caught by two warm hands.

Suguru.

“Careful,” he whispered, barely looking at you, but his hands lingered a little longer than necessary. You gathered all your strength to pull away just enough to create distance between the two of you.

“You're going to owe me a point for that catch,” he said, smirking.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Excuse me, you weren't even playing,” you exclaimed, arms crossed.

“Well, I am now,” he winked; you couldn't help but blush.

“And if we win,” you said casually, swinging the ball in your hand, “you're going to owe me a kiss.”

He raised a brow. “Oh, is that so?”

“What? It's just a friendly team prize,” you claimed boldly, a smirk tugging at your lips.

The next few minutes were a blur of laughter, teasing, and half-serious competitiveness. Suguru was good—annoyingly good—and somehow made even the way he served the ball look smooth. Satoru kept shouting made-up rules, Shoko nearly spilled her drink from laughing, and Nanami muttered something about regretting his life choices every time he was forced into this group.

You and Suguru were in sync without even trying. At one point, your hands collided going for the same ball, and you both stumbled, falling back into the sand, breathless from laughter.

He offered you a hand, still smiling. “Does that count as a win?”

You took it, pulling yourself up with a grin.

“I’ll let you know after the kiss.”

He just looked at you for a beat—like he wasn’t expecting that comeback—before shaking his head softly.

“Dangerous,” he murmured under his breath, but you heard it anyway.

༄༅༄༅༄

The sun had dipped lower by the time the group began packing up—sand towels, empty bottles, Haibara and Satoru convincing everyone to stay out a little longer.

But your thoughts were elsewhere.

Maybe it was the alcohol, yet again.

Maybe it was the buzz from the sun or… the soft flush still on your cheeks from Suguru’s stare.

The ocean was still warm. The waves were calmer than ever. And tonight you felt a little too reckless.

He was staring; you could feel it—you don't know how, but you could feel his eyes lingering behind you. You heard his footsteps slowly approach your figures, the voices of your friends long gone.

It was just the two of you.

“You just gonna stand there all evening and watch me, Suguru?” you playfully challenged him as you sat down near the shore, tugging your legs against your chest—smiling at him over your shoulder.

He let out a chuckle as he approached you; he sat next to you—just enough for you to lean on his shoulder.

“Today was a good day; you totally beat Satoru,” you commented.

“You mean we—we were great out there. You are competitive as always, but great.” You both laughed.

Silence.

It finally approached the both of you, but it wasn't the kind of silence filled with awkwardness or any uneasy feelings but the type where one or the other could just breathe within each other's presence, the type where lovers held hands, the type where the world just fell silent—and it was just the two of you.

You could say an hour or so passed, but you still sat there with him.

You slowly got up and gave him a cheeky smile—and casually slipped off your cardigan, then your bikini —slow enough to give him a show. Like a man that's just been struck by Cupid—you could slowly see him regaining consciousness.

“You coming or what?” you asked, catching him in a state of awe.

“Are you serious?”

You already started to step into the water and replied, “I am. But you'll be late to the party, Suguru Geto.”

You heard him groan and mutter in frustration, “You're going to be the death of me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that—and not to mention how bold you’ve become.

Back in college, it was never like this.

You were always the shy one, never said much, but now…

Now it’s like you’ve blossomed into a flower of your own.

Your breath caught as you watched him undress slowly—like he was deliberately teasing you.

Your eyes wandered across his figure.

He’d changed over the years, grown into himself. Time had been kind to him.

And yet, your gaze never left his—not even as he stepped into the water.

And just like that, he was in front of you.

Naked.

Both of you.

Not just in body, but in mind. In soul.

The water held you, but the weight of the moment hit you like a wave.

You looked down into the dark ripples between you, heart pounding, avoiding his eyes.

This was intimate. Too intimate. And yet—you didn’t want to move.

The soft waves brushed against your skin, quiet surrounding you like a breath.

He still stood apart from you… But it was as if he read your mind.

Slowly, he drifted closer—until he tilted your chin up, guiding your eyes to his.

Those eyes…

Those beautiful brown orbs had always been so deceiving.

You could never read them the way he read you.

And now, they held something… raw. Something unspoken.

His hands found your hips—gentle, grounding.

Yours settled against his chest.

Warm. Familiar. Alive.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” you confessed, voice soft.

He half-smiled.

“That’s because I’ve been watching you all day. That usually shuts me up.” You let out a breath of laughter, fingers tracing small patterns across his chest, trying to calm your nerves.

“You used to tell me everything.”

Silence.

“And you used to look at me like you still wanted to hear it,” he murmured.

Your eyes dropped, heart cracking open.

There was a reason for that. A good one.

Your voice wavered.

“I… I haven’t stopped thinking about that night.”

“The one at the library?”

He asked it gently, like if he spoke too loudly it might scare the memory away.

“Yeah…”

A tremble in your voice, tears threatening your lashes.“Why didn’t we ever talk about it?”

He paused. Too long.

And for a moment, your chest ached with fear.But still, his touch lingered on your skin, his eyes soft, searching.

“Because I was scared that if I said it out loud…”

He exhaled.

“I wouldn’t be able to let it go.”

You frowned, barely above a whisper now.

“You never had to let it go.”

And then—silence again.

You could feel his heartbeat through your palms, fast and uneven.

Your eyes shimmered, and a single tear slipped down your cheek.

“Tell me you mean it,” he breathed.He was close now. Too close.

You nodded slowly, barely able to breathe as your fingers tightened slightly against his chest.

“I mean it, Suguru,” you whispered, barely a breath. “I’ve always meant it.”

That was all it took.

His lips were on yours.

Slow at first—tentative, like he was still making sure this was real. The kind of kiss that felt like a question and an answer all at once. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he’d been waiting for this.

And then it deepened.

His hands pulled you closer by your waist until your bare chest pressed against his, skin to skin beneath the water. You felt his sigh against your mouth, low and broken, like he was exhaling every moment he’d ever held back.

Your arms slid around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair, still damp and loose from earlier. He groaned softly against your lips, not from desire—but from relief.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered between kisses, his voice raw.You smiled against his mouth.

“Then show me.”

And he did.

He kissed you again—this time deeper, messier. The soft splash of waves around you barely covered the sounds between you. Every time you pulled back for air, it was like neither of you could stay away for long. He kissed your jaw. Your neck. The corner of your mouth. Like he was learning the shape of you all over again.

At one point, you let out the smallest gasp when his teeth grazed your lower lip—and he stilled for a moment, just looking at you.

“Still with me?” he asked, forehead pressed against yours.

“Always,” you breathed.

You were weightless. Floating in his arms. A little reckless. A little in love. And completely undone.

The water felt quieter now. Like it was holding its breath with you.

His forehead rested gently against yours, your noses nearly brushing, lips swollen from kisses that said everything you'd been too afraid to speak. He smiled first—soft, like he'd finally exhaled.

“You always had me,” he whispered.

Your hands were softly tugging his long wet locks—innocently you smiled up at him, biting your lip.

Then his eyes dropped to your mouth again, darker this time, and the corners of his lips lifted into that familiar, slow smirk.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and close to your ear. “You keep doing that, and I'm not going to make it back to the house with my dignity intact.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up—breathy, dizzy, full of something you hadn’t felt in years.

Your fingers found his hand beneath the water, and he held it, like a promise he’d never broken.

You walked back together in silence—his shirt draped around your shoulders, his thumb brushing slow circles against your knuckles. The night felt different now. Full.

Something had shifted.

And it wasn’t going back.

✧ author's note — thank you for reading. i know that haven't been active for the past few months but my exams are finally over and that means i can indulge myself in writing. hopefully you enjoyed this fic and please do leave comments and reblog if you like. much love from my side!! ♡

📌 want to be added to my taglist for upcoming fics? comment below or send me an ask ♡

©lafleurperdue. please do not copy, translate, repost, or claim my writing, art, or designs. dividers, words, and worlds belong to me. katherine , with soft ink & heavy heart 🤍

[horny-marbles]

Hihi! Unsure if you’d recognize me as 🧃 anon over on Tiv’s blog,,(I’m always found in the trenches over there) but I’ve been lurking on here for a bit now and can hold silent no longer!

As a fellow Ej main,,,, I gotta ask u. Erm what’s ur take on what HE would be like during period sex??? 👉👈

Ehe I love your work sm!!!!

hiiii yes i know u!! OK SO i'm using this as an excuse to post this fic i wrote a few months ago because i wasn't sure if i'd be shunned off this app for it lmfao, so like. i hope you got your answer 🫡

(also this is just some munch behaviour, but p in v is basically the same. he WILL get rabies. godspeed if you're on your period while he has his rut, you might actually get dicked into a coma)

(also also i'm not the proudest of this one but i've been fiending to post it so WHATEVER go my cannibal bf)

Bloodhound (Eyeless Jack x F!Reader)

CW: period oral, multiple orgasms, kinda public

wordcount 2.6k

It took forever to get to this point with Jack.

He’s not emotionally available. He doesn’t date. He doesn’t cuddle. He doesn’t care—at least, that’s what everyone at the mansion thought. He always keeps a distance, clinically cold, silent unless necessary. Most creeps only interact with him when they're dying and hoping he’d patch them up in time. You? You got in somehow.

It started with shared silences. You didn’t push, didn’t ask invasive questions. You treated him like a person, not a monster, not someone you can get something from. Maybe that’s what cracked him open.

Nothing about it was fast. It was Jack, after all. Glacial patience, iron self-control. And he… was a project in erosion. Small conversations, slow touches. Letting him fix a cut on your hand, not flinching at his claws, letting him hear your heartbeat up close while he stitched you up.

It took weeks for him to even look at you like something more than another resident of the mansion. Even longer to speak to you like you mattered. And months before you saw him with his guard down. Just a little. A crooked smile when you said something that caught him off-guard. He was cautious—frustratingly so—but over time, he allowed you closer.

Something changed along the lines. Eventually, you broke through. Maybe it was your quiet persistence. Maybe it was just time. Maybe he got tired of pretending your presence hadn't become sought out rather than just a nice surprise on the occasion.

Whatever it was, you were his now. And he was yours. Carefully. Quietly. Privately. Like something precious. It was gentler than you could've anticipated, but it felt monumental.

You knew he was demon enough to survive off flesh. You knew his senses were heightened—he’d mentioned it once, bluntly, like a clinical report. “Everyone in this house reeks. I ignore it. Easier that way.” You didn’t ask more.

So when your period started, you didn’t even think to tell him. Why would you? You weren’t the kind of person to make a big deal out of it out loud. You’d stuff a pad in your jacket, pop some ibuprofen, sulk, call it a day. Maybe mention it if sex came up to make sure he wasn't squeamish, but otherwise—whatever.

He was NOT squeamish.

He was a fucking wreck, in such a visceral way that it knocked him off balance.

He didn’t realize it at first. Not consciously. There was just… a difference.

Your heartbeat was lower. Your temperature ran hotter. A subtle change in the chemistry of your sweat. Not bad—nothing ever was with you. But different. Complicated.

Jack tuned these things out. Hormones, sweat, stress, sex—this mansion stank of it. He’d learned long ago that the only way to keep his sanity was to ignore everything that wasn’t essential. If he let it in—really let it in—he’d never get peace again.

But this wasn’t the house. This wasn’t “ambient noise.” This was you.

And your scent had changed.

At first, it was small. Just enough to raise the hair on his arms. His instincts whispered to him in the background, tugged at the base of his spine like a hooked wire. Something important was happening. Something ripe.

The smell started sweet. Then it got wet. Iron and heat. Blood and sugar and skin. A slick, dizzying cocktail of copper and pheromones that made something deep in his gut twitch.

He realized—too late—that you were bleeding.

He’d smelled it before, of course. Lived with women in this house. It had never meant anything to him. Just another reason to stay away for a few days, let the hormone cloud settle and spare himself the migraine.

But this wasn’t just any blood. It wasn't the viscera and gore he was so used to when feeding. This wasn't about hunger and survival. It was about you. About everything else that came with it — your hormones, the heat under your skin, the scent of pain and lust and life. You were a walking furnace, and he was standing downwind from the smoke.

Jack hadn’t accounted for that when he lowered his defenses to let you in. He hadn’t even considered that it might affect him differently.

But now it was like every cell in his body was tuned to you. Your scent dragged claws down his brainstem, lit every nerve like a chemical explosion. His mouth filled with saliva he didn’t need. His muscles locked so tight it hurt to move.

And his cock was constantly throbbing. There was barely any angle to adjust, no distraction strong enough. His body was betraying him, rock-solid and aching, cock flushed and twitching behind his jeans like it wanted to rip through.

Not just hard. Rigid. Like his entire body was bracing against some invisible force. His shoulders tense. Jaw clenched. Claws scraping gouges into the inside of his palm just to focus.

He stayed away that first day. Locked himself in his room. Didn’t answer when you knocked.

But the second day, your scent wafted behind you when you passed by him in the hall, grazing under his nose like it was both mocking and luring him in, and his knees buckled.

You were too busy chasing your cramps away with painkillers and heat pads to notice your boyfriend's change in behaviour, though.

You never noticed the way he breathed around you, measured and tight and absolutely refusing to inhale through his nose. The way he kept his hands in his pockets, hidden, clenched. The way his voice went low and clipped when you got too close.

But the way he wouldn't even look in your general direction—allusive to an actual glance as it would've been—became too on the nose. The way his shirt clung to his chest. The sheen of sweat permanently on his collar.

His breath stuttered when you leaned over the sink at some point before heading to bed. You were just getting a glass of water.

And Jack folded like laundry.

“Sit down.” His voice was low, firm, strained. Out of nowhere.

You blinked and turned around slowly. “What?”

His head was tilted slightly downward, jaw clenched like he was about to snap it off at the hinge. “The couch. Sit.”

You sat, confused. Bracing for the talk. Surely, the strange behaviour meant he was just done, for some reason. That's what your homonal mind jumped to anyway.

He knelt between your legs without another word. Okay, so no talk.

You stare down at him.

He's kneeling. Still. Broad hands braced on your thighs, fingers twitching like he’s holding himself back from shredding you to ribbons. He’s staring at your padded pussy like he can see it through your pajamas, like it owes him money. Like it promised him something and he came to collect.

Your legs spread a little—not even fully open—but his breath shudders out like he’s been punched.

“Jack?” you murmur, half-laughing, half-nervous. “What are you doing?”

His claws curl tighter into your thighs. He doesn’t answer right away. You can see the war in his head, muscles in his jaw doing Olympics when they twitch. He lifts a hand and rubs his face hard, dragging clawed fingers from brow to chin like he’s trying to scrape the hunger out of his skull.

He leans closer. Breathes in. Then again.

“Fuck—”

It’s a hiss. Half-formed. Desperate. Almost makes you jerk back, not with fear or disgust, but with realization.

“Jack—people could walk in—”

“Don’t care,” he growls. Not harsh—just raw. Like it costs him to speak at all. “I'll kill them. You need to—fuck—open your legs.”

You’re already open, but you listen. You shift. Knees wider. Hips tilted forward.

The second you do it, he twitches. Full body.

And then he leaps. Not violent—but like a man dying of thirst finally handed a glass of water. He buries his face in your clothed pussy and groans.

You feel it all: heat, vibration, desperation. He’s nuzzling hard through the fabric like it’s not enough, like he needs skin, taste, your fucking soul. His breath is hot, fast. You can feel him mouthing you over the cotton, and it sends sparks ripping through your spine.

“Jack—Jesus—wait, I'm on my—”

“Exactly,” he growls again, this time muffled against your cunt. “I need this.”

He yanks at your waistband, fast but careful. Pants and padded panties yanked off your ankles and tossed behind him on the floor. He looks deranged, mouth slightly parted, nostrils flaring, sweat beading at his temples.

And then—without asking, without warning—he leans in.

You jolt when you feel the first tongue.

Wet. Hot and starved. It licks from the bottom of your pussy to your clit in one slow, savoring drag. A moan vibrates against you—deep, long, throaty—and you feel how hard he’s gripping your thighs now, claws pressing in like they’re the only things tethering him to the floor.

The second tongue follows. Then the third. One on your clit. One swirling around your folds to pick up any trace of blood like he's licking a plate clean. The last one dips inside.

You choke out a sound that’s not even a word.

Jack doesn’t stop. Doesn’t breathe. He’s full-body focused, shuddering between your legs like he’s being electrocuted with pleasure just from tasting you. His tongues move in urgent patterns—suckling, lapping, sliding inside you—and the third one curls deep, pumping in slow, sinful thrusts like he’s tongue-fucking your cervix.

He's drinking you. Literally. You feel the small gush as your blood mixes with your arousal and his growl deepens. His head tilts, adjusting his angle like he’s trying to get more of it, and he moans again.

Jack doesn’t moan. He barely talks.

But right now, he’s loud and messy and desperate, to the point where—if you could have a moment of clarity—you would think his mating season came early.

Slurping noises echo off the walls, obscene and wet. You realize again where you are—the common room—and your whole body flushes.

“Jack—fucking hell, w-what if someone walks in—”

His only answer is to suck your clit into his mouth while his third tongue curls up inside you, pressing so deep it makes your vision stutter.

Your hips buck. He groans, and the vibration rattles your bones.

He moves faster.

Tongue on your clit flicking now, licking in fast little swipes. Second tongue dragging figure-eights across your folds. Third tongue fucking you like it’s trying to crawl into your womb.

Your thighs are trembling. Your head tips back, hand flying to his head, burying in his hair. You feel his body—solid, trembling, tense with restraint.

You cum so fast it makes you choke.

It hits you like lightning, shattering through your spine, hips jerking, thighs locking around his head. You hear yourself whimper trying to stay silent, feel your body clamp around his tongues, and Jack just growls into you like it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever experienced.

He doesn’t stop. Not even when you’re shaking. Not even when the blood runs thicker.

He just pulls back slightly to breathe—and fuck, he looks wrecked. His mouth is soaked—chin slick with blood and spit, dark red smeared halfway up to his cheeks, coating his skin like warpaint. He stares at your cunt like he’s starving, heaving like it's hurting him to unlatch his mouth from your taste.

You see his hand now. The one not gripping your thigh with bruising force, wrapped around his cock. Fist pumping slow and vicious—like he’s trying not to cum from the taste of you alone.

Because he almost did.

You feel the heat of his stare. Like he’s burned every inch of your cunt into his brain. Like nothing else exists in this moment but your flushed, swollen pussy and the mess he just made of you.

He looks up at you with bloodied lips parted and tongues curling, one of them flicking over his bottom lip in a slow, hungry drag.

“You’re gonna cum again,” he says, voice rough and quiet like a threat. “You're gonna give me everything."

You whimper simply from the way he leans back in like he owns you, like he was born for this.

The first tongue enters slow this time—broad and heavy, pushing past your bullied entrance with a wet, obscene squelch. Your hips twitch. You’re already sensitive, but your body opens for him anyway, clenches like it knows what’s coming.

He groans low in his throat. You feel the way your blood drips down his tongue, how he laps it deeper inside you like honey from the comb.

Then the second tongue slips in. Coiling around the first like a twisting vine, filling and stretching.

You cry out softly, biting your lip. Jack moans, long and muffled and fuck just drown me in this pussy.

His third tongue curls upward, lashes across your clit in maddening, lazy strokes like he’s teasing you on purpose. Tongue-fucking up into your walls with two thick lengths, while the third plays you like an instrument.

You don’t even realize your legs are shaking again until your hips lift off the couch.

He follows, grinding his face deeper, mouth slightly clumsy from the way he's stroking his cock—so hungry and fast it's shaking his whole body between your legs. You glance down through half-lidded eyes just to see him leaking, twitching with every slick drag of his tongues inside you.

He’s drenched in you.

From the mouth down. His chin, neck, part of his chest where he pressed in too close. The scent of blood and heat clings to him like paint, thick and sweet and wrong, but he looks exalted.

“Fffuck,” he slurs against you. “Your blood—fuck, your cunt, tastes like fucking life—”

The words shake you. Filthy and sincere. He’s never been this devastated before, this starved. His tongues are working you over like you’re his last meal, like he’s feeding off of you. And fuck, maybe he is. Maybe something deep in his instincts, something more primal, is actually reveling in this.

His pace quickens. You can feel it—that edge coming again. Too fast. Too hard. Overstimulated but desperate, everything in your body pulling tight like a bowstring.

You grab at his hair, desperate to ground yourself.

One tongue thrusts hard, firm and deep. The second curls tighter, twisting against your walls. The third presses flat to your clit, and when he moans into you again, the vibration alone is enough to split you.

“Jack—Jack I’m—”

“Cum for me,” he growls. Muffled, throat clicking and rasping. Tongue still deep inside you. “Cum with my fucking name in your mouth.”

You do, and it leaves you raw.

Back arching. Hands clawing at the couch. Legs locking around his head so tight he grunts, but doesn’t stop. He leans into it, forces the orgasm to drag out, mouth still moving until you’re jerking, twitching, moaning high and sharp as your body convulses under the weight of your second release.

You have to pry him away with a weak hand on his forehead and a choked sob for him to unlatch his lips from your clit with a wet pop.

He’s panting against your pussy, blood and slick coating his face, and you can feel his body shaking between your legs with every feral pump of his fist, tight and harsh around his cock.

And he growls, low and feral, and you can only jerk back and look around to make sure no one was around as he cums hard between his knees, untouched by you, just from tasting your cunt and blood. Hot ropes splatter against the floor. His head tips back, face the most beautifully grotesque picture of bliss.

The room is silent but for your breaths. Heavy. Laced with the obscene stink of sex and blood and pure animalistic worship.

Jack wipes his face with the back of his hand only to lick the smeared blood off his knuckles. Not slow. Not seductive. Just hungry.

He looks at you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever need to taste.

“…We’re doing this every month,” he says, voice hoarse. “Every month.”