#...stupid lodge lighting >:[

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizon zero dawn (remastered) | talanah 12/?

[tonycries]

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

Synopsis. Don’t worry, he knows exactly the solution when you’re upset - fúck it out of you, of course!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, FÉRAL GOJO, cheering you up, oraI (fem receiving), breéding, MAJOR overstím, PRAISE, THEY’RE SO DOWN BAD, lowkey sweet, slight exhíbitionism (Toji’s), mean Geto, síxty-nine, chokíng, making Choso cry mhm, spítting, pússy-slappíng, cúmplay, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. You’re loved n’ I hope y’all have a good leak day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Noise complaint(s)

Any time Toji decided to visit you in your cute lil’ apartment, so did a few complaints from your neighbors. 

It wasn’t because of his intimidating presence, or those deadly glares of his - targeted at everyone but you, or even because of the way his large frame unapologetically blocked every doorway in your building.

No, they were noise complaints. 

“So that’s what’s got my girl so mm- upset?” Toji has the audacity to chuckle - chuckle - so raggedly at that syrupy pout of yours he’s kissing away. “Usually you and this sweet pussy-” He cups a palm at your glistening cunt, smearing your sweet, sweet juices in a glossy sheen down his wrist. “-are so happy to see me, n’ now you want to keep her quiet? All because some blue-balled loser just moved in next door and got jealous overhearing your pretty moans?”

At your nervous nod, he clicks his tongue gruffly, “Makin’ you all upset like this, tch-” Leaning down to whisper, until his sharp canines graze dangerously against your earlobe, “He’s about to find out that he hasn’t heard even half of it.”

“But Toji!” you’re squealing, fingers scrambling to clamp your already-deliriously sagging mouth shut. “I told you- we have to mmpf- be quiet. He seemed so grumpy, and-”

You’re being cut off with Toji nudging the divot of his fat head against your g-spot, until all those complaints are lodged in your quivering chest by a moan. Teasing, “Talking ‘bout another man when m’trynna make you feel better, doll? Bold today, aren’t ya?”

“N-no I was jus-” Barely-audible babbles drag out of you at the heavenly stretch of your pussy lips. Toji’s muscled chest heaves up and down at the way your pussy lips addictively swallow up his leaky cock, slobbering down, down, down his length till it glistened in the dim lighting. Your legs kicking up in the air when he insistently feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch. 

Again. And again and again and so needy. Depraved. 

But it still wasn’t enough for him.

“Aww, come on, woman.” He’s rolling his eyes, that tiny scar curling up in a devilish grin when he pries away the hand on your mouth. “Why’re you lyin’ to yourself like this? I know you wanna heh- scream my name as much as this cute cunt of yours is right now. Do it.”

As if to confirm his point, Toji’s pushing apart your puffy folds to let your gaping pussy squelch! even louder at each of his bullying thrusts. Tight ring of muscle taking each and every smack of his sharp hip bones so well, the riotous creaking of your bed following shortly, headboard just slamming into your poor wall despite being bolted onto it.

It was already so loud. 

“I don’t hngh-” you let out a feverish gasp when each roll of his hypnotic cadence gets too much. “I don’t wanna give off a b-bad impression…I just want the neighbors to like me.”

Heart clenching in his chest at how cute you are, how sorry your voice sounds, he finds his irritation flaring once again at whoever this bastard was that had you doubting yourself this way.

“Doll– they’d be fuckin’ stupid not to. And I’d beat their asses, too.” Two soft pads of his fingers come to smush your cheeks together, forcing you to stare up into his darkened emerald eyes. “But my poor baby’s still ngh- upset, no?” When you’re hesitant with your answer, they slide down to your neck - just barely putting a bit of leering pressure, “Answer me while m’still being nice, doll.”

It’s all you can do to choke out a shrill, “Yes.” He can feel your walls clenching around every ridge and prominent vein down his shaft so tight with every sultry, mewled-out word. “H-he was really sweet! But it made me- a bit- jus’ a bit.”

“See?” And Toji sounds so smug, predatory tone bleeding into the way his harsh rams pick up to an obscene speed. A thumb of his dips down to swivel over your neglected clit, wrenching out those candied moans he loves so much. “Nothin’ wrong with makin’ my girl feel better after a shitty experience. N’ if anyone has anything to s-say, they can come complain to hngh- me.”

“B-but-”

“Ah ah-” Toji kisses sloppily at your lips trying to press together and quieten, sucking on your lower lip. “What did I say just now? Loud, pretty girl.” 

And it’s like a dam breaks open right then and there, you’re arching your body off the bed like such a slut to press your bare tits against Toji’s pecs. Sensitive. Faster. “Toji- oh fuck, m’so-”

“Heh, louder. I don’t hear you losing your beautiful voice yet.”

Keening, “M’so close. Fuck- g-gonna cum all over your cock.”

He’s cupping his ear so mockingly, hips still stuttering and thrusting forwards without a moments’ faltering. “Still can’t hear you, m-ah not gonna let you cum if you’re not loud enough, y’know.”

You were sure your sinful noises were traveling through the heavy, plastered wall now. Picking up in pitch and speed with every double-attack on your sweet spots everywhere. Spearing the lewd curve of his dick into you, he’s fucking you into the mattress so mean - meaner that usual. Rugged muscles of his toned waist flexing when he jostles and thrusts unforgivingly. Your voice is hoarse at this point, “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck Toji m’cumming. I’m-”

Every other loud moan is drowned out by the ringing in your ears, Toji’s own soft rasps filtering through the white-hot pleasure running down your spine. 

He’s fucking you through wave after wave of high, gifting your bruised g-spot with a thorough, sly pistons of his still-swollen cock. Something that didn’t bode well for you, you already knew. 

“Tha’s it. Yeahh, that’s it-” A hand cups the back of your head gently, even though his slamming staccato was anything but. “Loud. Jus’ like that- shit, gonna make him jealous. Have him regret makin’ my girl upset, fuck-” An irritated banging sounds from the other side of the wall right above your headboard - your neighbor. “Fuck, just watch I’ll give him a real show.” Still throwing jagged hips your way, ram after ram. “What’s the fucker’s name again?”

“He- he said his name was Shiu.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Sweet, sweet treat

“I can fix it.” your husband eyed that droopy bowl of frosting and back to your candied, icing-glossed pout. He can’t help but plant a sweet, sweltering kiss on them, just groaning out, “We can do it together.” Barely managing to break away and breathe out, “S’gonna- turn out- perfect, my love.”

Which is how you find yourself splayed out so shamefully on the cool granite countertops of your kitchen, your soft cotton dress only pulled lazily to the side. Nanami’s knees seated firmly on the hardwood floors, face tucked in between the heavenly sweet folds of your already soaked cunt. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Ken–” he makes you let out a honeyed drawl with every drag of his hot tongue up and down your soppingly wet slit. “Y-you’re gonna get the- ngh- counter dirty!”

So what? He thinks, and it only takes a flicker of surprise in your half-lidded eyes for him to realize he accidentally said that out loud. Not used to those uncharacteristically brash sentences, but Nanami was so drunk off your addictive juices right now. 

Tipping his head back, back, back to let them make their slow, sultry journey down his throat. He’s slurring out proudly, “I’ll clean the mess after I cheer up my upset lil’ wife, okay?”

With this, he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Adding to the glistening gloss that traveled down your folds - and Nanami couldn’t help himself but kiss at the mess he’s made. Over and over and-

“F-fuuuck, jus’ like that-” You’re keening when he’s alternating between hollowing his cheeks out with methodical, never-ending sucks on your sensitive clit and just peeking inside your needy hole with his tongue. “You’re too good with your hngh! -tongue, Ken–”

It’s impossible to run away - and he knew that, too. Every little inch you backed on the counter had him just dragging you back twice as much. Hot tongue clashing and angry to part your swollen pussy lips. 

You can only thread your fingers through his neat blond hair even tighter when he surges back forward. Pussydrunk. Groaning at the lewd smack of his tongue dipping in and out of your puffy folds, Thumb circling around your throbbing clit, “And you’re too sweet, darling. Even sweeter than-” He pools your slick on two thick fingers of his, coating a glossy sheen of obscenity all the way from his rounded tips to the gold wedding ring glinting in the dim light. Before popping them in his mouth to take such long, cleansing drags without even a shred of abashed hesitation, “-that icing of yours.”

“I know–” you’re babbling in disappointment, the full force of your failed attempts at baking something special earlier this evening hitting you once again at full force. “Ugh, what a waste. I can’t even-”

A syrupy beat passes. One. Two. 

And at that very moment, you’re feeling the maddening stretching of your gummy walls being forced to their very limits. Whirling your dazed gaze down to spot that Nanami was now standing, belt unbuckled, tugged down just enough that you were reeling from the pressure of his fat head just barely kissing past your fluttering hole. 

“That’s my wife you’re talkin’ about.” he growls, low and satiny. Hands steadying on the two sides of your trembling thighs, his grunts catch in his throat when he thoroughly sinks his swollen length in. Never-ending, dizzying. A quick frosting-coated glide of Nanami’s fingers on your lips, and he’s pressing another lingering kiss on your slack mouth. Tasting you and the sweet icing and you, “And I don’t let anyone talk about her that way, my love.”

Now, usually, Nanami was a man of patience - liking to prepare and play around with your pretty pussy as if you were his favorite toy. Molding your plush walls like clay to take his massive cock.

But now, oh now Nanami Kento was anything but patient. Shit, he didn’t even know if your snug walls could take him right now. 

Hands curling up into painful fists far away from the curve of your hips, as if he was trying to stop himself from just grabbing your quivering body and just slamming himself inside you until he reached your lungs, your heart, that stupid brain of yours that loved to overthink.

“Don’t you ever fuckin’ say anything bad about my wife. You’re perfect.” he breathes, greedy hazel eyes looking like they could devour you whole. “The frosting is perfect, the anniversary cake is perfect, your smile, your mind, you-” You’re being attacked by a flurry of kisses being gifted on every inch of your face that could be reached, “You you you- I love you.”

If you were in the right state of mind, you’d have responded back in a heartbeat. But right now, he’s not waiting a split-second longer before bullying the rest of his swollen, filthy cock in. Solid inches being shoved inside to force your walls to accommodate, stretching out so maddeningly across every divot and upwards curve down his shaft.

In and out in and out in and-

Your nails tear across his favorite blue button-up, down his muscled shoulders, down to that speckled yellow tie you’d gotten him a few years ago. 

“You’re so- hngh-” you squeal, tugging Nanami closer by his tie. Making him bully past your narrow opening even deeper, slick walls squeezing so tight at how his weepy red tip presses right on top of your g-spot. 

He chuckles, it’s so endearing how you’re already too cockdrunk to speak. One engulfing hand on your shoulder is all it takes for you to be sprawled back on the cool counter. Nanami’s pummeling cock bullying so deep inside your hot core it’s the only thing you can think about - nothing but him. 

“How about, after-” Another dredge of sweet sweet frosting is dabbed along your lips, your heated skin. All for Nanami to lick sultrily, “-we’ll make the cake together, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just use me, baby.”

Those shallow, sultry words are falling from Choso’s rosy lips before he even realizes it - ringing like sheer melodies over the heady smacking of skin-on-skin where he’s bullying his fat cock into you. 

After a few seconds of his sloppy, stuttering rams sending the gooey puddle of cum and slick spreading further and further on the sticky, silken sheets below you - the words finally register. 

“Use you, baby?” you purr, batting your lashes in a way that has him gulping. Feeling his aching shaft twitch against your gummy walls, swollen balls squeezing so so angrily with how much seed he’d been gushing out tonight. “You want me to use you?”

Each thrust of his is lingering, rolling forwards to push you further and further up that pooling mess. He can’t think, he can’t even breathe. And it takes everything in Choso to groan out, “Yes yes- fuck, please.” You’re feeling him place a trail of wet kisses up to the nape of your neck, big tears clinging to his dark lashes, “If my- hngh- if my girl is upset, I want her to use me. Ruin me till she forgets all about it.”

It only takes a split-second for you to immediately flip around your positions, pinning a whiny, pliant Choso so harshly down onto the plush mattress. 

“Hngh- oh, baby—” He bounces slightly at the sheer force. Dewy eyes rolling to the back of his head at the slobbering sheen of cum dripping down his long, long length. Bucking up his quivering hips till you’re speared all the way down on his cock, clit hitting the tufts of black at his thick hilt. “Fuuuck—.” He’s groaning raggedly, like a mantra, two big arms tugging your body stuck to his sculpted front. Nodding half-lucidly, “Yeah- yeah just like that. Whatever you want with me.”

Your pace was unforgiving - barely even giving him a moment to spew out those pussydrunk promises before rocking your hips up and down up and-

“Use you, huh?” you echo back his own words, the sheer need dripping in them having Choso bow his body upwards to pummel into you in a matching feverish pace. You’re humming, thinking back to those stupid pick-up lines the creepy new manager at work had snided just today. It was harmless, but oh how Choso would kill him if he knew. “Well then, don’t mind if I do.”

With a pained keen, he’s surging upwards onto his elbows, craning his head to mesh your honeyed lips with his. “Mmm- mpfh yeah, exactly like this.” Mixing out such throaty groans with your gasps, so desperate to please you with the way he plants two feet on the bed, thrusting up hazily to find your sweet spots, “S’this any better? How do you- ngh how do you feel, baby?”

You’re letting out a drunken giggle with how he’s the one asking - when really it should be you. Because your sweet boyfriend looked so ruined, eyes wrecked with tears. Milky skin a canvas for possessive red marks from your nails. Kiss-bitten lips spit-glossed and permanently parted in ecstasy, only slacking further every time your snug channel dragged down him. 

“Much better, forgot about m’day already.” you’re hissing into his open mouth. “So fuckin’ gorgeous n’ mine, that bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s ah- talking about.”

Choso had no idea what you were talking about - though, he thinks his mind is too much of a hot, gooey mess to understand right now. Still so needy to please. Only being able to babble out a stupid, “Yours- fuck m’yours.”

And despite being the one setting the tempo, you can only let out such whiny groans at the sheer stretch Choso’s swollen cock is causing you. By the way he’s molding your gummy walls to each and every throbbing vein decorating down him.

“Sh-shit m’so close, baby.” he whines, a fresh wave of tears streaming down with each overstimulating smack! of his tight, overworked balls against the curve of your ass. Lazily, like he’s moving through molasses, Choso’s drawing messy patterns on your pulsing clit - not even circles, brain too fried to. “M’so close fuck- I need you to- I need-”

“Shhh shhh.” you coo, running a hand through his dark strands, damp with sweat. “Cum f’me, Cho~”

“Hngh!” He can’t stop his hips from bucking up ferally, crying out, “But- I can’t. Wan’ you to feel better. Need you to cum f’me. Use me-”

“Cho.”

“Please-”

“Choso.” you warn, narrowing your eyes, deciding to tease him a little with shallow, repetitive grinds of your hips up and down. Toes curling at the friction of his creamy seed sloshing around inside. “Cum.”

“Hngh- but-” he’s thrashing upwards, so addicted to the rough collision of your sensitive spots against his fat head. Pulling out such fucked-out moans from you already, “But m’spposed to be making you feel happy-”

Your fingers deftly find themselves on Choso’s temping throat, right above his racing pulse. You tighten your nails just enough to leave five matching crescents to match the rest of his marked-up body.

“Cho–” you puff in a sultry groan against his ear. “All I want is for you to fill me up right now.”

And then he’s spilling into you in thick, hot dredge after dredge of his potent seed - before you’ve even finished your sentence. It overfills your pre-painted cunt, that obscene white slopping out of your slit and onto where your hips rocked against your boyfriend’s even harder. A creamy white ring forming mouthwateringly. Relentlessly. 

“See?” Choso couldn’t - vision blurry, ears stuffed with cotton. “I don’t care what any sleazy manager has to say, you’re perfect for me.” A gentle kiss is placed on his pouty, worried lips and shit you still didn’t show any signs of slowing down, overstimulating him to tears. You trace his furious marks, “N’ pick me up from work tomorrow in your skimpiest muscle tee~”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Overtime?

A lewd smack! is all that’s ringing in your ears right now, so loud over the distant hum of the photocopier. Accompanied shortly by Geto’s sing-song rasp of, “Heh, missin’ our reservation for this- Are you the one havin’ a bad day or am I?”

Before you can answer, you’re being gifted with another mean kiss of your boyfriend’s palm against your bulging pussy. Smack! Lingering on the nudge of where he could feel your sloppy hole mending around his girthy shaft, before dancing upwards to grip your hair in a sultry hold. 

Pulling your entire weight up, up, up like he didn’t care about the way he was treating you like some ragdoll right now. Up to drag his lips towards your ear, “Doesn’t matter, because m’still fuckin’ you just the same.”

“S-Sugu–” your breaths crack with need when he’s pushing in a harsh thrust to slam back into the very bottom of your poor pussy. Eyes darting to the tiny window of your office photocopy room, “Sugu, we’re going to get caught.”

“And yet, she’s still hah- sucking me up as sluttily as ever.” he grins, tilting his head back to get those long, inky strands out of his face. He chuckles at the obscene sight of your cunt stretched to her limits, struggling, and drooling a sweet, sweet gloss down his length. “What’s with the ngh- attitude now? You said you wanted to feel better about working overtime so here we are.”

You bite down on your lower lip to hold back your moans when his fat tip draws a solid, straight line across your bruised cervix. Slamming forwards to have you scrambling forwards into some more important paperwork you really should be looking over right now. 

“I did but-”

“Problem solved then.” Geto lets out a low whistle, sounding so utterly smug when he pulls your hips deeper into his. “Now let me make this shitty workload hah- so much better for you, gorgeous.”

Honestly, when you told your dear boyfriend that you’d have to cancel tonight’s date because of a sudden deadline for tomorrow, you felt guilty. Working after everyone else had left, spewing out upset little apologies until he told you he’d come over to the office to “help you take your mind off of things.”

You just didn’t expect it’d end up like this. 

Smack!

Geto scoffs, “Aww documents have you zoning out on me again, pretty girl? Take a break, didn’t I tell ya you don’t have to worry about work and all those stupid things when you’re with me?”

Your knees weaken involuntarily when his gruff question is followed by such an unapologetic crash into your ravaged g-spot. Thankfully being held up by one of Geto’s strong arms to fuck yourself back all the way from his red, weepy tip to that see-through ring dredged up on his thick base. Somehow, you’re managing to gasp out, “N-no, I was just…”

“N-n-no, you were just zoning out, that’s what.” he’s mocking your answer in an overly-dramatic higher pitch, adding a few extra moans you were spilling with every harsh slam after slam of his hips. “What did I tell you now, relax. Let me fuck this shitty overtime and that shitty boss outta ya cute lil’ head, gorgeous. You and her-” His red-rimmed eyes, drunk on the feeling of your slicked walls enveloping him, lock on the sight of his curved dick disappearing so easily in and out of you. “-don’t have to worry about a thing right now.”

It was that same little promise - the one he’d whispered over and over into your sagging open mouth when he’d first ambushed you in the photocopy room. Bending you over the nearest flat surface before ramming into you all those thick, greedy inches of his long-needy cock.

And here he still was. 

Splatters of your syrupy slick coats his toned pelvis with every jagged thrust, fucking you so deep - so disrespectfully - into the office desk. Your feet don’t even touch the ground now, mind spinning and syrupy. Geto’s bending his own to angle up exactly to hit the bullseye of your sweet spots. All those familiarly mapped-out areas to drive anything and everything out of your mind but him and the temptation for more more more-

Click!

Both of you are raising your heads in sync at the distinct clamor of an opening door somewhere in the office - shit, was someone doing patrols at this time?

Your jaw drops open in shock - and the feeling of your boyfriend sliding two slender fingers to your pulsing clit. Drawing rough, skimming circles on the bundle of nerves. He has you jolting and arching your back right into him, his arms - exactly where he loved to have you. 

“Now we’re-” your words come in strangled little stutters, mindlessly bouncing your ass back onto his cock. Feeling the sinful tremors run down your spine with each slam, “-we’re really gonna get hah- caught. And I’m not even halfway through my project yet.”

And Geto - that smug bastard - sounds amused. He thinks he’ll have a ah- talk with your boss later about piling on workloads later. But for now, he sounds so fucking content when he’s musing, “Better cum fast before they give you more than overtime, pretty girl.” Before planting a deceivingly chaste peck on your lips, “Though, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to havin’ a cute lil’ housewife to spoil all day either.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - QUIET TIME!

“Oh, Kuna–”

“Now that’s music to my ears.” Sukuna smirks darkly, lips searing in a trail right down your arched spine. Two inhumanly large hands massage down your back, pulling you against his sculpted front. “So much better to hear you say m’name than complain about some fuckin’ eugh-” His tone trembles in distaste, “-office drama.”

Scoffing, “No need to be so mean, Kuna. You really should’ve heard what Mrs. Smith down at-”

That little tangent earns you a sharp smack! to the fat of your bare ass, cupping the little tremors with a chuckle. He hums with a mocking lilt in his baritone voice, “You’re testing my patience~” Sukuna goes back to kneading at the stressed knots in your body. “Shut up and let me massage you, woman.”

And oh you should’ve learned your lesson - should’ve taken this rare, sweet little moment you’d gotten from your rough boyfriend. Should’ve done anything other than huff out, “Ugh, if only you’d heard what she said, ruined my whole-”

“Lift your hips.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden interruption, “Wh-what?”

“Lift your hips goddammit.”

It’s all you can do to mindlessly head his gruffed out words, legs stuttering and shaky when you get up on all fours. A gasp rips from your throat when Sukuna shuffles into the gap between your pliant body and the silken bedsheets. Not stopping until his hot breath was puffing against your sopping slit, your eyes mere inches away from his massive erection. Throbbing thickly and outlined with precum through his boxers. 

Your mouth waters, “K-Kuna what-”

“So it really takes this to get me back on your mind, huh, brat?” he’s cutting you off with another branding smack on your ass - this time, the very rounded tips of his thick fingers just grazing against your dripping folds. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ about some fuckin’ Mrs. Smith even when I’m right here.”

“Are you jealous?” you muse, brows turning upwards in confusion. “Because I can assure you-”

Before you can run your mouth again, Sukuna’s cutting you off with one hand reaching down to wrap around your throat. The other pulls your shaky hips down to sit on his face. 

“How’s this for jealous?” He grunts, an obscene slurping noise pouring into your hazy bedroom, eyes rolling to the back of his head at this messy kiss with your needy cunt. “Gonna make you forget about those shitty people. Just focus on me.”

You’re managing to wrangle your greedy gaze over your shoulder to spy his lewdly wet smirk, glistening down with a glossed cover of your slick. They’re so pretty, so kiss-bruised in your favorite shade of pink when they wrap around your throbbing cunt to give a harsh suck. “What? Got a problem, woman?”

You wine softly in protest, your lower lip jutting out in a pout that makes his clothed cock just coat down his fat tip with syrupy precum. Opening your mouth to retort and-

In all of two seconds, Sukuna’s hand snug around your throat drops down to tug on his boxers. Tall, angry erection hitting your parted lips with a soft thwack! It doesn’t stay there for long - no, because you feel that familiar pressure back on your throat again, and his achy cock being bullied down, down, down your throat. 

“Actually, don’t answer that.” he’s letting out a strained groan, sanity dancing away with every clench of your tight throat around his glistening shaft. Holding you still with the hand on your throat, Sukuna’s powerful thigh muscles strain when he’s fucking up into your heavenly mouth slow, sultry. Spitting to coat him in all your sweet saliva, “Consider this quiet time, just shut up and take my cock.”

Your eyes are watering, Sukuna’s girth rubbing against every part of your plushy mouth. Swirling a pool of salty precum on your tongue. You can’t do anything but keen brokenly around that warm weight when long, thick fingers are spreading your puffy folds to wrangle his long tongue in deeper. Textures of his tastebuds grazing over and over against your spongy entrance - your clit. 

“Hngh- mmpf-” you’re jutting your hips traitorously. Dragging your slobbering pussy up and down his thorough lips, giving longing, drunken licks up from your weepy base to your hot clit. “Kuna-”

He breaks away with a sinful smack! Your sensitive bud being tugged along with snapping strings of delicate precum and slick.

“Mhm, that’s what I like-” he’s slurring out words mixing together with need. Free hand coming down to toy your clit between two rolling fingers. And you could tell how much he liked this, fat shaft twitching animalistically inside your mouth. Nudging his leaking head at the back of your throat, it’s only with how long you’ve been with Sukuna that you manage not to gag. “-to have you shut up on my cock this way. That pretty mouth is better used for something other than rememberin’ some shitty people when you’re with me. They can fuck right off with the disrespect towards my woman.”

It’s all you can do to keep your jaw slacking further and further with every dragged-out smack of Sukuna’s heavy balls against your face. His hips using you like some glorified cocksleeve, ruthless in his pace. Molding your mouth to the shape of him while he does the very same with yours.

“F-fuuuck-” you manage to gasp out through the drooling edges of your lips. “It feels so- ngh–” Moans getting lost when Sukuna flicks your throbbing clit slowly, nudging with the very tip of his dark fingernails. “You’re being so-”

“So loud.” he finishes your own sentence for you. Grinning a grin that sends shivers up your spine, right to where he was stuffing your mouth shut with all long inches of his cock. Murmuring dangerously around your sloppy hole, “Interrupt quiet time again and you don’t get to cum, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Unmistakably depraved.

“Fuuuuck, sweetheart.” Gojo’s whispering, over and over. As if he can’t - won’t - manage to articulate anything else right now. The honeyed words wrenching out of him with each sticky crash of his shaft down your sloppy slit in this firm mating press. “Do you know how hngh- long I’ve missed this sweet cunt?”

You don’t have to answer, and the echoing smack! of his too-sensitive balls against the curve of your ass is enough of one for him. Making his eyes gleam with such a feral glint, traveling straight to where he was pressing in bullying little grinds past your clamping walls. 

It’s been so long - too long - about a whole week since your pussy-whipped boyfriend was able to have his fill of you.

A soft pad of his thumb rolls in a  languid circle over your needy clit. Sending white-hot shockwaves that have you jolting the balls of your feet to greedily swallow up even more throbbing inches of him. 

“Fuck, forgot how tight you s-squeeze me when I do that.” Gojo eyes dance to the back of his head with every bottom-out hit against your clingy mess of a cunt. Crashing so messily onto every velvety inch of your cunt. It only takes a few drags of your slobbering walls down his length for your dear boyfriend to run his mouth, “Forgot allll about this because of some- hngh- some mournng for a fucking fictional character-”

“My favorite character, Toru!” you exclaim, through furrowed brows. Both of you are shocked at the fact that you’re still managing to speak in coherent sentences - just means he hasn’t fucked you good enough yet, he muses with his syrupy, pussydrunk mind. “He was my- my favorite and he died and-”

You’re immediately being shut up by two sweet lips planting on your own, immediately moving to suck on your tongue so filthily. “Well, I’m your favorite boyfriend-” Your only, but semantics. Gojo whines - whines, “Shouldn’t I- hngh- be more important?”

As if to help you make your decision, he’s burrowing his cock in such needy thrusts. And Gojo can’t help but crane his neck to bite down on your frantically racing pulse, feeling himself salivate with how well you’re milking each and every single vexing ram of his hips. Just spearing the hotly saturated tip into your spongy g-spots, so fucking big that every stroke feels like a brush against your throat, an indent into the plush walls of your pussy, wrapping and molded around his girth. 

Another bite to your neck at your silence - sharp canines just shy of drawing blood. And you swear Gojo’s eyes spark with an unnatural lightning blue when he devours you with a greedy stare, “Answer me, sweetheart.”

“You a-are.” Is all you can gasp out, but that’s not enough for the great Gojo Satoru. You’re instantly earning a rosy pout and a loaded smack! right on the bullseye of your glistening clit, faintly you think you hear the crackle of jujutsu. Thighs burning at the sheer stretch of being folded down, down, down until your knees knocked against your tits. “You’re more- hah! Fuck fuck fuck don’t– you’re more important!”

This seems to soothe your jealous boyfriend a bit, but it still doesn’t stop him from placing such brutal thrusts on your poor, ravaged pussy. Bruising. Sloppy. 

You’re whining so brokenly, “Fuck, right there- feels too good- hngh!”

“Mhm, exactly what I thought.” Another explosive slap to your sensitive nub, humming with power, and Gojo throws his head back at how much it makes you gush so wetly around his thick hilt. “Now, was that- ngh- was that so hard?” Spitting out little profanities into your lips, as if the man he was jealous over wasn’t a few pixels, “The f-fucker- Had to wait a whole week before I got to comfort my sad girl? I’d kill him myself.”

You can’t even formulate a response to that - not even if you wanted to. Because with increasingly sloppy drags of his cock against your walls, Gojo only grows more and more heated. 

“Fuck- makin’ my girl so upset. Gonna fuck all thoughts outta him for ya.” Babbling out little curses a mile a minute, swift pace bruising your spring cervix, your g-spot. A thin trickle of drool trails messily in-between your clashing kisses, only growing every time he’s ramming into your gripping cunt. “Gonna make you cum- make you mine.” Difficult, even with how you were clinging onto his every rough, angled thrust, and you don’t think Gojo even realizes the possessive little spanks he’s repeatedly leaving on your puffy clit. “Won’t you cum like a good girl f’me, sweetheart?”

He’s moaning at the sloppy way you listen to his ragged plea, letting out such pretty moans into the heady air when you fall back into your high. Toes curling, jolts of needy pleasure running down your spine, such a mess. 

It makes Gojo falter in his tempo, it makes the sharp bones on his toned hips slam into you even harder, stuttering and rutting forwards like some animal in heat that can’t bear to do anything but be buried well inside you. It makes him cum. 

“Oh- fuck, Toru s’in so deep.” You mewl, too cockdrunk to say anything else. To feel anything but the slow, sultry filling of your quivering cunt. Rope after rope of his hot cum painting the mess of your branded walls inside, and each time he’s fucking his cum even deeper you feel a lewd whimper of his name leave you. Vision tinging with need, with the feeling of being so overfilled you could barely breathe. “Oh- oh my god I feel it coming-”

Your words hitch in your throat when Gojo - cock still angry and twitching with faint wisps of trickling cum - plugs a slender finger into your bulging cunt. Stopping the overflow, the grins, “Hope you’re on the pill, my girl, because we’re not done until you forget.”

A/N. Ouu y’all should’ve seen the way I was CACKLING writing Toji’s ending.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: suggestive, edgy, mdni

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Unfortunately for you, your big brother's friend sukuna can be surprisingly light on his feet for someone so large. It seems that startling the living hell out of you is his new favorite pasttime. And he's around all the time now. He shows up unannounced and lets himself in. When you ask Toji why he has a key, he just laughs and says, "He doesn't. He wants in. He gets in."

Okay? That's cryptic and annoying, but you'd rather feign indifference than ask questions. Why overcomplicate things?

Mostly, he just sneaks up behind you and shouts, "Hey, brat!" In his stupid, booming voice as he claps all four of his large hands down on your shoulders. You count it as a victory when you detect his smokey scent first and actually manage not to jump out of your skin. Although you still break out in goosebumps at his touch, he doesn't seem to notice, judging by the satisfying look of dissappointment on his face. Your satisfaction is short-lived, however.

The sound of the two men crashing through the front door in the wee hours of the next morning startles you awake. You flick the bedside lamp on just in time to see sukuna crash through your bedroom door. Of course, you scream and clutch the pink duvet to your bare chest. "Oops," he says, with a shit-eating grin. "Wrong room." Toji drags him out with some half-assed muttered apology about drinking too much. You're not so sure that's a pertinent excuse. The smug look he shoots you before the door slams shut seems pretty much par for the course, at this point.

Sadly, that was not the end of early morning encounters with the monster. Now he has you caged in against the counter, nearly breaking your back in an effort to lean away from him. Evidently, he had seen fit to creep up behind you and you between the kitchen counter and his mountain range of a body. And you wee only trying to steam milk for your latte. What the fuck is his problem, anyway? Can't a girl make her morning coffee in peace? Your protests remain lodged in your throat, however, along with your racing heart.

He's so large and so close you have no choice but to look at him, which, to your horror, still renders you temporarily speechless. Being so close to him reminds you a little of the first time you ever saw a tiger at the zoo. The animal was so unlike anything you had ever seen before, so deadly and beautiful, that you could hardly believe it was real. Could hardly believe that it was roaring and pacing close enough that you could reach out and sink your fingers into its thick coat if not for the bars. The bars kept you safe, then. What is keeping you safe, now?

It is unsettling, the way his upper set of eyes remain locked on yours while the lower set look down at the hand scalded by your spilt coffee. "What's the matter brat? Hurt yourself?" He mocks as you clutch the injured hand to your chest. You hardly notice that one of his hands has left the counter, but somehow you don't flinch when he lifts it to your cheek to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. "Did I scare you?"

The gentle gesture alongside his mocking words is so disconcerting that you remain a quivering-lipped mute as seconds crawl by at a snails pace. You wonder if the action was subconscious on his part. Seems the only viable explanation.

You don't find your voice again until Toji's breaks whatever hypnosis the monster has you under. "Let's go," he says, and, just like that, Sukuna pulls away and you are finally able to pull air into your lungs again. "Gonna be gone for a couple of days-" Toji begins, addressing you.

"Please tell me you're taking it with you," you interject, stabbing an index finger in Sukuna's direction.

"Yeah," he says. And sukuna gives you one last smug, spider-eyed glare before he disappears through the door.

You're so relieved that it doesn't occur to you how quickly a couple of days can pass. Or that, when they do, your brother might not be the first to return. Relieved, not only to be free of Sukuna's bullying for a time, but also because what you feel is not truly fear. It's more like awe, if you really had to put a name to it. But you make a point not to think about it too much, or at all if you can help it.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

taglist ‹ age in your bio to be added ›

@orikixx ; @scorpiosugar ; @just-lilita ; @shesabeeler

[honeyandruin]

Torque and Tension - Mechanic!Joel Miller x Reader

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Pairing: mechanic!Joel Miller x Reader (also dbf!Joel)

Summary: Your dad’s best friend is a mechanic. You’ve been finding excuses to bring your car in—he’s been finding excuses to keep you close. One late night in the garage, the tension snaps.

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. Age gap (dad’s best friend). Praise kink (“good girl,” “you were made for this”). Sex in the garage (including over the hood of a car). Joel being big, sweaty, and losing control. Guilt, denial, and emotional restraint. Soft, intimate shower aftermath.

Word count: 6.7k

____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°

You really did have a reason this time.

The check engine light had been blinking for two days—flickering on and off like it couldn’t make up its mind, like it wasn’t sure whether to ruin your week yet. By the third morning, your car started making a sound you could only describe as “anxiety in metal form.”

So you drove to the only place in town you trusted.

And that’s the problem.

Because Joel Miller owns the shop. Joel Miller has been fixing cars since before you were born. Joel Miller is your best friend’s father.

And Joel Miller is under your car with his shirt rucked up to his ribs and your ability to think clearly lodged somewhere between your thighs.

You shift on your feet beside the garage lift, arms crossed tightly against your chest. The fan in the corner of the bay blows hot air in lazy circles, mixing with the burnt tang of rubber and the sharp, dry bite of old oil. It smells like heat and metal and him—soap and skin and sweat, overlaid with that cologne he probably applies without thinking. That kind of clean, masculine scent that never fades. Just clings.

He’s flat on his back beneath the undercarriage of your car, a socket wrench clutched in one thick, stained hand, the other braced against the metal frame as he mutters something under his breath.

You can see a bead of sweat roll from the edge of his hairline, down the side of his temple. His shirt’s damp at the neck. There’s a streak of grease running from the side of his palm all the way up his forearm.

You’ve never been so jealous of a car in your life.

Joel’s voice cuts through the thick air, deep and rough like gravel dragged over concrete.

"How long’d you let it rattle like that?"

You blink. “Uh… not long. Just since yesterday.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, scooting further underneath with a scrape of denim against concrete. “This belt’s dry as hell. It’s been slippin’ for at least a week.”

You scowl down at his legs—long and solid, boots planted wide, knees slightly bent.

“I didn’t know it was a big deal.”

“It’s always a big deal when a car sounds like it’s tryin’ to cough up a lung.”

You bite your tongue.

Not because he’s wrong.

Because it shouldn’t do that to you when he gets short with you. It shouldn’t make your chest tighten and your face heat. You shouldn’t like the way he throws the full weight of his attention behind a reprimand, like your stupidity is a personal affront.

You glance toward the open bay door, sunlight slanting through the wide space, picking up dust and sawed-off shadows. No one else is here. Not Kenny. Not Zack. Not your friend. Just Joel. Just you. Just the lazy whir of the fan and the rhythmic click-click-click of the ratchet in his hands.

You hear him grunt.

Then he slides out from beneath the car, slow, like a movie scene you’re not allowed to be watching.

The first thing you see is his stomach.

Exposed skin.

Not toned. Not soft. Just… real. Solid. Covered in a sheen of sweat that catches the light.

You look up fast. Too fast.

But he notices.

His brows twitch just slightly as he sits up, shirt still bunched halfway up his chest, hands braced behind him as he stretches his back.

You pretend to be deeply invested in a smudge on your shoe.

Joel wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and pulls the rag from his back pocket, scrubbing at his forearms in slow, rough strokes. You swear you hear the fabric drag over his skin.

“You’re lucky,” he says, low. “Could’ve been worse. Belt’s dry but not cracked. I’ll grease it, retighten the pulley.”

You nod, because your mouth is dry and your throat is tight.

“Thanks,” you say. It comes out softer than you mean.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. Just grabs another rag from the workbench and scrubs at his arms in hard, focused strokes. You watch a streak of black fade from his wrist to his elbow, leaving behind red, raw skin.

He doesn’t look at you.

“You can sit,” he says, voice low. Almost gruff. “Be a bit.”

You hesitate, then take the bench near the wall.

He drops back under the car without another word.

And you sit in the heat, listening to the hum of the fan and the click-click of his wrench, pretending you’re not watching every flex of his arm, every shift of his shoulders, every slow drag of breath that smells like grease and soap and skin.

You hadn’t expected to leave your car overnight. When Joel told you it might take a few extra hours, you’d figured you’d linger around the garage, kill time scrolling your phone or walking the nearby strip until it was done. But then the sky started to dim and he said he wanted to run diagnostics before letting you take it back out—"just to be sure," he’d said, voice unreadable—and you knew it wasn’t a request.

Your dad offered to pick you up without hesitation. “No sense in waiting around that late by yourself,” he’d said over the phone. “Besides, I haven’t seen Joel in a while.”

You hadn’t thought much of it until your dad pulled into the lot, familiar truck rumbling low and slow into the driveway, just as the last of the sun dipped behind the trees. Joel stepped out of the garage as the headlights flicked off. And then, in an instant, you weren’t standing next to a man who barely looked you in the eye anymore. You were standing next to someone your father trusted.

Your stomach turned.

“Been a while,” Joel said with an ease that didn’t match the way he spoke to you. “You still tryin’ to squeeze another hundred thousand outta that Ford?”

Your dad laughed like it was an old joke. “Still runs, doesn’t it? And you’re still the only bastard I trust to keep it that way.”

They clapped hands and exchanged a look that made your chest tighten. There was history between them—respect, camaraderie, the kind of bond built in shared years and broken engines. It was a good thing. Normal.

But you couldn’t ignore the twist in your gut. Couldn’t stop the guilt from blooming beneath your ribs as you remembered how your eyes had lingered too long on Joel’s exposed skin earlier. How you’d sat on the bench with your legs crossed too tight, pretending not to watch the flex of his arms, the drip of sweat at his temple, the dark smear of grease along his collarbone.

You didn’t say much on the ride home. Just stared out the window, jaw tight, heart louder than the radio.

–

You return to the garage the next morning just after opening. Your dad dropped you off with a request to “give Joel my best” and a promise he’d see you later that night at home. The air is still heavy with late-summer humidity, thick enough to cling to your clothes as you step across the gravel lot. One of the bay doors is rolled halfway up, casting a slanted beam of sunlight across the concrete floor. You spot your car immediately—hood popped, turned sideways in the center bay—and Joel standing beside it, already elbow-deep in the engine.

He doesn’t glance up when you enter. Doesn’t greet you. Just wipes his hand slowly down the length of a clean rag and gestures toward the car with a small tilt of his chin.

“Found something else.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Timing’s off. Slight knock. You’d never hear it unless you knew what to listen for, but it’ll wear out the internals if it keeps runnin’ like that.”

You step closer, the scent of motor oil and dust growing stronger as you cross into the shadow of the open bay.

“I didn’t hear anything,” you say.

Joel finally looks up. His expression is unreadable, jaw set, brow faintly furrowed. “That’s ‘cause you weren’t listenin’.”

There’s no malice in his tone—just honesty. Matter-of-fact. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

He turns away before you can respond and grabs a slim metal tool from the bench. His movements are deliberate and calm, but his silence feels thick, pressing in at the edges. There’s something different about him this morning—focused, yes, but quieter. Like something unspoken is coiled beneath his skin, just waiting for the wrong word to shake it loose.

“You’re not careful with it,” he says, his back still turned.

You blink, startled by the bluntness. “Excuse me?”

“You drive it too hard. Push it when it’s not ready. Ignore the sound of it strugglin’. It’s not invincible, you know.”

The words are soft but direct. No raised voice. No frustration. Just a quiet kind of judgment that lands harder than it should.

You cross your arms, the heat creeping into your chest. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“I’m not givin’ one.”

He sets the tool down with a soft clink and turns toward you. The sunlight hits the edge of his face, casting a sharp line down his cheekbone, the smear of grease on his temple darker now in the angled light.

“I’m offerin’ to teach you,” he says.

You falter, unsure what to say to that. There’s no sarcasm in his voice. No teasing. He just watches you, steady and still, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next.

“I don’t know how to do any of this,” you admit quietly.

Joel nods once.

“Then come here.”

You step forward slowly, each footfall echoing faintly across the garage floor. The closer you get, the harder your heart pounds. By the time you reach his side, your hands feel clammy and your breath sits too high in your chest.

He points to a specific piece tucked within the open frame—metal and rubber and coiled tension that means nothing to you by name, but everything to the way the car moves.

“This is the tensioner,” he says. “Keeps the belt in place. If it’s too loose, it slips. If it’s too tight, it pulls too hard. Either way, it’ll eat through the engine.”

You nod, pretending you understand. You don’t. Not really.

“Here.” He reaches for a wrench—clean, heavy—and offers it to you. You curl your fingers around the handle. It’s warm from his hand. Solid.

But he doesn’t step back.

Instead, he shifts in behind you, one arm sliding carefully around your waist to reach for your hand on the tool. His chest brushes your back, and you freeze.

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t lean.

He just breathes.

“Hold it like this,” he says, voice low near your ear, almost a whisper. “Let it lock. Then turn.”

His hand stays over yours as you move, guiding you through the motion. His palm is rough, callused, the press of his fingers steady and firm. You feel every ridge, every tendon. The heat of his body behind yours makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t move away.

You stare down at the engine, willing your pulse to slow, willing your knees not to shake.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You’ll feel the pull when it’s right.”

And you do, but not from the belt.

From him.

Then, slowly, Joel pulls his hand back. Steps away. The space between you widens, but the air doesn’t clear.

He clears his throat and wipes his hands again.

“Good,” he says.

The word hangs there. Unfinished. Weighted.

You stand still for a long time.

Neither of you speaks.

—

You don’t hear the bell at first.

Your shop is too warm, too quiet. The kind of stillness that settles when you’re alone with routine—focused not by calm, but by the familiar rhythm of your hands. You’re stripping peony stems at the prep table near the back, thumbs slick with sap, the faint cut of green staining the pads of your fingers. The water’s cold against your skin where it splashed your forearms earlier. You’ve been too busy to wipe it off.

The scent in the room is thick and clinging. Wet leaves. Rosewater. A sharper, bitter green where eucalyptus hangs to dry in bundles from the rafters. Everything around you feels alive—stems reaching, petals opening—but there’s no sound besides the slow rustle of your hands moving, and the steady beat of your heart, louder than it should be.

Until the bell above the front door rings.

You glance up, mildly surprised. The morning rush is long over. No one usually comes in at this hour except the mailman, and he never—

It’s Joel.

Your hand stills.

He stands framed in the doorway, backlit by sunlight, boots planted solid on the threshold like he’s deciding whether to come all the way in. He’s in the same navy work shirt as yesterday—buttons undone at the collar, sleeves rolled halfway to the elbow, the edges of his white undershirt clinging faintly to his chest. There’s a smudge of something dark near his wrist. Oil, probably. Or maybe grease. His hair’s a little mussed, like he’s already run a hand through it more than once.

You don’t say anything. Not at first.

Neither does he.

Eventually, Joel steps forward, the door closing behind him with a quiet click. His boots are loud on the wood floor, the sound somehow more invasive in the softness of the shop.

You go back to cutting stems, or at least pretending to. He stops a few feet away, just close enough to fill the air with that familiar scent—soap, sweat, whatever cologne he wears that clings too deep into his skin to be store-bought.

He doesn’t browse. Doesn’t look around. Just stands there watching you work, like he has every right to.

“I tried calling earlier,” he says after a pause.

Your hand doesn’t slow. “I saw.”

“You didn’t answer.”

You reach for another stem. “You didn’t leave a message.” You glance up, “I figured you’d call back if it mattered.”

Joel’s expression doesn’t give much away. But his hands are in his back pockets, and you’ve seen him long enough to know that means he doesn’t trust them right now.

“What do you need?” You ask, voice calm. Cool, even.

His eyes flick to the flowers. Then to your hands.

“Just checkin’ in on the car.”

You don’t smile, but something shifts behind your ribs. That same pressure you’ve been carrying since the garage. Since you left his space and came back to your own, only to realize neither really feels neutral anymore.

“It’s running fine,” you say simply.

Joel nods once. Slow. His gaze lingers for a second longer before dropping.

There’s a bucket of hydrangeas on the floor to your left—half-submerged in murky water, their stems a tangled mess. You nudge it toward him with your foot.

“If you’re going to stand there, you might as well do something useful.”

He raises an eyebrow but crouches down anyway. Lifts one of the dripping stems with care he probably doesn’t even realize he’s showing. He holds it up awkwardly.

You reach for it.

The water rolls off in a slow line down your wrist.

“Clean the end. Diagonal cut,” you murmur, barely glancing up. “About an inch off.”

Joel watches you for a second, then steps closer. The flower still rests in his hand, suspended between you. You reach for the shears, grip light but steady.

He doesn’t move away.

Not even when your fingers brush his.

Not even when the cut lands too close to the base of his thumb.

The scent of the flowers is heady here. Sweet. Almost cloying. But it’s his breath you feel. His eyes you sense. The tension in your own body has nothing to do with the work and everything to do with the silence stretching taut between your bodies.

Joel looks down at your hands—your bare forearms, your stained fingertips. The soft pull of your mouth as you focus. He doesn’t speak again.

He doesn’t need to.

The weight of his gaze says enough. Too much.

You drop the stem into a clean vase and step back before you can do anything stupid. Before either of you says something that can’t be unsaid.

You drop the stem into a clean vase and step back before you can do anything stupid. Before either of you says something that can’t be unsaid.

But Joel doesn’t move.

He stands there longer than necessary, eyes fixed somewhere near your shoulder. He’s quiet in a way that makes your skin itch—like he’s weighing something in real time, trying to decide whether or not to let instinct win.

Then, slowly, his hand lifts.

You don’t flinch.

He reaches just past your ear, fingers brushing the edge of your hair as he pulls something free—a small, green leaf caught near the base of your braid. He holds it between his fingers for a second too long. Doesn’t look at it.

Doesn’t look at you, either.

Then his eyes flick down to your chin, and his brows pinch—just a little. Like he notices something out of place.

“Hold still,” he mutters.

You do.

He lifts his thumb, presses it gently to the corner of your jaw—light, dry, careful. He wipes away something—sap, maybe. Or dirt. You don’t know. You can’t think with his hand on your face.

The pad of his thumb drags over the soft line of your skin. Not a caress. Not quite.

But close enough.

Too close.

You feel your pulse jump in your throat, sharp and sudden. His touch is too warm. His breath too steady. You feel him before you see him—the weight of his stare, the quiet fall of his focus as he lingers there, not quite pulling away.

Then Joel blinks.

And the moment shatters.

He steps back like he’s burned.

“Shit,” he mutters. Not loud. Not angry. Just… resigned.

His hand drops to his side. He glances toward the door, jaw tightening.

“I shouldn’t—” He stops himself. Shakes his head. “I need to go.”

You don’t say anything.

You couldn’t if you tried.

He turns and walks out without another word.

The bell chimes once behind him, sharp and bright against the silence he leaves in his wake.

And you stay there, heart pounding, cheek still warm, wondering how much longer either of you is going to keep pretending.

—

The garage lights are off when you pull up in your dads car, except for one dim bulb still glowing behind the open bay.

The rest of the lot is dark. Quiet. The kind of quiet that settles when the world has moved on for the day—when businesses are closed, sidewalks are empty, and the only sound left is the cooling tick of your engine as you park.

Your heart is already pounding.

You told yourself you were coming for your wallet. That you thought maybe you left it in the center console after your dad dropped off your keys that morning. It’s a stupid excuse—thin and see-through—but it’s all you could come up with when you hit call on his number.

He didn’t answer.

But the door was unlocked.

You step into the bay before you talk yourself out of it, the soft echo of your boots on concrete announcing you before you speak.

He doesn’t turn right away.

Joel is bent under the hood of your car—again. Elbows braced, shirt clinging to his back with sweat. There’s music playing somewhere in the background—something low and twangy on a half-broken radio, the notes floating around like smoke.

You see him pause. Hear the click of the ratchet stop.

Then he exhales and straightens slowly, his movements tight. He glances at you just once before turning toward the utility sink near the corner of the bay.

You watch as he pumps soap into his palms, head down, shoulders tense. The water runs loud for a moment—harsh and quick—while he scrubs his hands under the stream. He doesn’t rush, but he doesn’t linger either. When he shuts the tap, he wipes his hands off on the worn towel beside it and finally turns back to face you.

His shirt is still damp. His hair curls behind his ears. And even from where you stand, you can still smell the oil on his skin. It clings to him like heat—faint and bitter and unmistakably Joel.

“I left you a message,” he says, voice low and rough. “Heard from your dad you’re driving upstate this weekend. Figured I’d check the plugs. Run a final scan.”

You nod, like you’re grateful. Like you’re not dizzy from the way he’s looking at you now.

“Wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” you manage. “I thought I left my wallet.”

Joel tilts his head slightly.

“Didn’t think you were comin’ back tonight.”

Your stomach flips.

“I thought I left my—”

“I know what you said.”

He says it quiet. No edge, no push. Just a statement. Heavy with something he won’t name.

You don’t move.

The silence stretches.

He tosses the rag onto the bench without taking his eyes off you.

“Find it?” He asks.

“What?”

“Your wallet.”

You swallow. You haven’t even taken one step towards your car, “No.”

Joel takes a step forward after closing the hood of your car.

Just one.

The lighting is bad. Harsh overhead, buzzing faintly. It casts long shadows across the concrete and catches on the sweat at his collarbone, the dark smudge near his temple. His fingers are still streaked with oil.

You don’t know if you want to touch them or fall to your knees.

He doesn’t get closer, but the air between you tightens. Pulls taut like a cable ready to snap.

“You need to stop,” he says suddenly. Voice quiet. Hoarse.

Your breath catches.

“Stop what?”

Joel shakes his head once. Slow. “Comin’ around like this. Lookin’ at me like that.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

His tone isn’t cruel. It isn’t even angry.

It’s worse.

It’s regretful. Raw. Like he’s already halfway through losing this fight and trying to pretend he isn’t.

You force a step forward.

Maybe two.

The scent of the shop rises up—rubber, fuel, sweat. And underneath it, faint but familiar, him.

He watches you like he’s daring you to keep going.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

That lands hard.

You stop walking. Swallow.

He’s still standing perfectly still, jaw tight, chest rising a little faster now. His fingers flex at his sides like they want to grab something. Hold it. Break it.

You want to say something sharp. Deflect. But nothing comes.

You meet his gaze, and the silence between you stretches tight, drawn so thin it could tear with a whisper. Neither of you speaks. Neither of you breathes. And then—almost imperceptibly—he shifts.

Joel moves first.

Not abruptly. Not dramatically. Just one slow, deliberate step forward, and then another, like he’s already made up his mind and his body is only now catching up. There’s no hesitation in the way he closes the distance—only weight. Only heat.

Like this was always going to happen.

Then his hands are in your hair and your back hits the side of the car hard enough to knock the breath out of you.

His mouth finds yours before you can gasp—hot, rough, desperate. All teeth and tongue and punishment. Like he’s mad at himself. Like you’re a sin he can’t stop touching.

Your fingers claw at the front of his shirt, yanking him closer. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it whole, one hand cupping your jaw, the other anchoring low on your hip. His thigh wedges between yours, hard and hot, pinning you in place.

“You have any fuckin’ idea,” he growls into your mouth, “how hard I’ve been tryin’ to be good?”

You shake your head, dazed, drunk on him already.

He kisses you again—filthy, possessive, not asking.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he mutters against your throat, licking a stripe up the skin before biting down gently. “And I sure as hell ain’t supposed to be doin’ this.”

“Then stop,” you whisper.

He growls.

“Too late.”

He lifts you effortlessly—hands under your thighs—and sets you down on the edge of the workbench with a low grunt. Tools rattle somewhere behind you, but neither of you notices.

Joel grabs your face with one hand, his thumb stroking roughly along your cheek as he stares down at you, breathing hard.

“You want this?” He asks.

You nod.

He shakes his head.

“Say it.”

“I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

The rest comes undone fast.

Joel surges forward like he’s been waiting years for permission—like the second those words leave your mouth, there’s no universe where he doesn’t ruin you for anyone else.

His mouth crashes into yours again—open, messy, all heat and breath and hunger. It isn’t gentle. It isn’t precise. It’s needy. The kind of kiss that tastes like restraint finally giving out. You moan against his lips and it only spurs him on, his hands already sliding down the backs of your thighs, gripping hard like he doesn’t trust himself to let go.

He lifts you without warning, big hands digging under your legs, your back arching as he sets you on the edge of the workbench with a grunt. The cool metal bites into the backs of your legs, a stark contrast to the heat rolling off him in waves. Tools clatter somewhere behind you from the movement, but neither of you registers the sound.

All you can feel is him.

His fingers spread wide over your skin, anchoring you, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind.

And when he leans back just enough to look at you—forehead pressed to yours, sweat slicking his brow, eyes gone dark and hungry—you forget how to breathe.

“You want this?” He asks again, his voice wrecked. Like maybe he just needs to hear it one more time to believe he hasn’t dreamed this.

You nod. Your voice barely comes out. “Yes.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Say it.”

And God, you want to be good for him. You want to give him everything.

“I want you,” you whisper, breathless, shaky.

His eyes flutter shut for half a second—like it hurts to hear. Like he’s been waiting for this and dreading it at the same time.

And then he drops to his knees.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t speak. Just spreads you open with both hands, and drags your skirt up so fast the fabric scrapes your skin. His breath hitches when he sees what’s waiting for him—slick, swollen, glistening under the dim light.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs. “No fuckin’ panties…”

You flush, your heart hammering in your chest.

“I didn’t plan on—”

“You didn’t plan on gettin’ fucked in my garage?” His voice is strained, but he’s already leaning in. “Coulda fooled me, sweetheart.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot. Open. Devastating.

He moans into your pussy like he’s starving—like he needs it to breathe. His tongue drags through your folds, slow and deep, and your head snaps back against the wall with a loud, broken gasp.

Everything goes hot.

The pressure of his palms on your thighs, the humid air clinging to your skin, the obscene sound of his mouth working between your legs—it’s all too much, too fast, and not nearly enough.

“Fuck,” he mutters into you. “This—this is what I’ve been thinkin’ about. Every night. Every time you walked through my shop like you didn’t know what you were doin’ to me.”

His tongue flicks your clit and your legs jerk.

He groans, low and filthy, like he’s grateful for your reaction. Like he needs it.

“You’re so sweet, baby,” he whispers, lips dragging across the sensitive skin there. “So soft. So wet for me. Fuck—you were made for this. Made to sit right here and let me taste you.”

You whimper. You don’t care how loud. You grind against his mouth because you can’t not, and he lets you. Encourages it. Holds you down with one arm across your stomach while he devours you like he’s trying to bury something in the act.

Your body burns. Your toes curl. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you pull, hard.

He groans and pushes a thick finger inside you.

You nearly scream.

“Jesus—Joel—”

“That’s it,” he breathes, pumping it slowly, curling it just right. “Fuck, baby. You’re squeezin’ me so tight. So fuckin’ good for me.”

His mouth finds your clit again and you shatter.

The orgasm hits like a truck—fast, hard, all-consuming. Your whole body locks up, your thighs clench around his face, and you cry out, loud and wild and unfiltered.

He moans against you while you fall apart, keeps licking like he can’t get enough, doesn’t stop until you’re trembling and panting and trying to push him away.

When he finally stands, he’s breathing hard. His beard is soaked with you. His lips are pink and swollen and glistening.

And he looks completely fucked.

“You okay?” He asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, unable to speak, your whole body still buzzing.

His hands go to his belt. His eyes never leave yours.

“You want me to fuck you now, baby?”

You nod again.

“Tell me,” he breathes.

“I want you inside me.”

He growls—actually growls—and frees himself with shaking hands. He fumbles with a condom, cursing under his breath, and when he rolls it on, you see how thick he is. How long. Your mouth goes dry.

He steps between your thighs and drags the head of his cock through your soaked folds.

“Shit,” he groans. “You feel that, darlin’? That’s how bad your pussy wants me. You’re so fuckin’ ready.”

You whimper again and he presses in—slowly, gently, watching your face.

Your mouth drops open. Your head falls back.

You’ve never felt so full.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, hips shaking. “Takin’ me so good. So fuckin’ right—Jesus, you were made for me.”

He doesn’t move for a moment. Just holds you there, bottomed out, letting you feel all of him.

Then he starts to move.

He fucks you slow at first, like he’s trying to make it last.

His hips rock into yours in long, deep thrusts that make your breath catch, your thighs tremble, your body arch. His hands are everywhere—cupping your jaw, sliding under your shirt, gripping your waist so tight you know you’ll feel the shape of his fingers tomorrow. The smell of oil and sweat still clings to him, thick in the air, mixing with the sound of skin meeting skin and the ragged, breathless groans spilling from his throat every time he sinks back into you.

“That feel good?” He grits against your ear, voice shaking with restraint. “Feel how tight you are, squeezin’ my cock like you don’t wanna let me go.”

You nod, gasping, already wrecked—and he kisses your shoulder, your neck, your mouth like he can’t pick where he wants to be.

But after a few more strokes, his rhythm stutters. His breath catches. And you feel it—the need, the desperation building behind every thrust.

Joel pulls out suddenly with a sharp, choked sound, and you gasp at the loss.

“Up,” he pants, grabbing your hand. “Come on—c’mere. Over here.”

You stumble down from the workbench, legs shaky, knees weak, and let him guide you across the bay—until the cool metal of your car’s hood hits the backs of your thighs.

He turns you gently, presses your palms flat against the surface, and says, low and breathless, “Bend for me.”

You do.

And then he’s behind you again—hot, heavy, hands greedy as he spreads you open, tilts your hips just right.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters when he slides back in. “That’s it. That’s the fuckin’ angle, baby.”

You cry out—louder this time. The stretch hits deeper now, every inch filling you so perfectly, so thoroughly it feels like he’s reaching parts of you no one else ever has. Your cheek presses to the hood, fogging the metal with your breath as he starts to thrust harder, rougher, the slick drag of his cock making your thighs tremble beneath you.

Joel groans behind you—long and low and needy—and his hand comes down on your ass in a firm, claiming grip.

“Goddamn, look at that,” he breathes. “Look at me, baby. Look at how pretty you’re takin’ it.”

You lift your head, barely, just enough to glance toward the windowed wall of the garage—and catch his reflection in the glass. His eyes are on you. Or more specifically, on the spot where his cock disappears inside you again and again, glistening and perfect and obscene.

“You see that?” He pants. “You see how good you look like this? Bent over your car with my cock buried deep in your tight little cunt?”

Your breath stutters. He presses deeper, and you feel your muscles start to tighten again, pressure coiling low and fast in your belly.

“Joel,” you whimper.

His hand slides up your back, slow and hot, until it curls around the base of your neck. He leans forward—chest against your back, mouth at your ear.

“You’re bein’ so good for me, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Takin’ every inch like you were made for it. You feel me right here?”

He presses a palm against your lower stomach and thrusts once, deep.

You cry out.

“Incredible,” he groans. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good. My good girl.”

That wrecks you.

You come with a sob, body locking up, cunt pulsing around him so hard he nearly drops his head to your shoulder and curses into your skin.

“Shit—fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he pants. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me—shit—gonna make me come—”

His rhythm breaks, thrusts getting sloppy, desperate.

And then he groans, deep and raw and wounded, as he spills into the condom with a final, shuddering thrust.

For a moment, all you can hear is the hum of the lights above, the soft click of cooling metal beneath you, and his panting breath as he leans against your back—sweat-slicked, trembling, completely undone.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, finally. “What the fuck are we doin’?”

You don’t answer.

You just feel his hand slide around your waist again, holding you close.

Because you both know—this isn’t the end.

Not even close.

—

The silence after is loud.

Joel doesn’t say anything when he pulls out. Just exhales, rough and uneven, and rests his forehead between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to remember how to breathe. His hands stay on your hips—one tight, one shaking—until your legs nearly give out beneath you.

Then he moves.

He tucks himself away, peels the condom off, and tosses it in the shop bin without looking at you. The air in the garage is cooler now. Your skin sticky with sweat, your heartbeat still trying to find its rhythm.

You’re about to speak—ask what happens now, what the hell that was—when his voice cuts through the quiet.

“C’mon.”

Just that.

He slides a hand beneath your shirt again—gentler now, fingers warm on your spine—and guides you toward the side stairwell, one that leads to the apartment above the shop. You follow him barefoot, legs unsteady, your skin still flushed and sore in the best kind of way.

The upstairs is small. Just a kitchen that opens into a living space, dimly lit, with a narrow hallway beyond it. Joel doesn’t pause. He just leads you straight to the bathroom, flicks on the light, and turns on the shower.

You stand there while steam begins to fog the mirror. Joel doesn’t look at you as he moves. Just grabs two towels, sets them beside the sink, and pulls his shirt off over his head. It’s only when he reaches for the hem of yours that his eyes finally meet yours again.

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t have to.

His hands are slow this time—soft, careful—as he undresses you, like he’s afraid you’ll flinch. When you don’t, he finishes pulling off what’s left of your clothes, then his own, and steps into the shower behind you.

The water hits first. Hot. Heavy. You lean into it instinctively, and he follows—arms bracketing you, one hand on the wall above your head, the other sliding gently up your side like he can’t help himself.

He doesn’t touch you like he’s trying to start something again.

He touches you like he’s still stunned you let him.

His fingers find your hair, work through it slowly. You close your eyes as he massages shampoo into your scalp with firm, steady hands, lathering without a word. When the soap rinses clean, he switches to your shoulders, down your arms, the curve of your spine, the backs of your thighs.

He scrubs the sweat and oil from your skin in reverent silence. Not a word spoken between you. Only the sound of water hitting tile, the gentle scrape of his calloused hands moving with surprising tenderness.

Eventually, you turn to face him.

He looks exhausted. Damp curls sticking to his forehead, chest still rising and falling like he hasn’t come all the way down yet. His eyes trace your face like he’s trying to memorize it.

Then he lifts one hand—just one—and wipes the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. His hand lingers.

And before either of you can think better of it, he leans in—slow, hesitant—and presses his lips to yours.

It’s not like before.

It’s soft. Careful. The kind of kiss that feels like an apology wrapped in something warm. His mouth moves gently over yours, no hunger, no heat—just something quiet and aching, like he’s trying to say all the things he never will.

When he pulls back, your fingers find his face.

You touch his jaw first—just a ghost of contact—and then cradle his cheek in your palm. The coarse stubble, the heat of his skin, the way his breath catches when you do it—it’s too much and not enough all at once.

He leans into your touch.

Like it hurts to be seen that way. Like it’s been so long since someone’s touched him with anything other than need.

And for a moment, the garage, the rules, the guilt—all of it—just falls away.

It’s only him. Only you.

And the silence in between.

“I shouldn’t’ve let that happen,” he murmurs.

You don’t reply.

Not because you disagree—but because it’s already too late.

Later, in the quiet of his apartment, you find yourself standing in front of his dresser while he digs through the bottom drawer.

“Here,” he says, tossing something soft your way.

You catch it.

It’s an old garage tee—black, worn thin, with a faded logo over the left breast: Miller Automotive. It smells like him. Like grease, pine soap, and something warmer. Something that makes your stomach twist.

You pull it on without a word. It hangs long on you, brushing your thighs, the sleeves swallowing your hands. Joel watches the whole thing from where he stands by the door, his expression unreadable.

“Bed’s this way.”

He nods toward the back room.

You follow.

The sheets are clean. The room is dim. When you climb in, he doesn’t hesitate. Just clicks off the bedside lamp and settles in behind you, one hand flat on the mattress between you like a line he doesn’t trust himself to cross again.

But he stays close.

So close you can feel his breath on your neck.

So close his voice, when it finally comes again, is barely more than a whisper.

“Shouldn’t’ve happened,” he says again, quieter now. “But I don’t think I could stop it even if we tried.”

You don’t say anything.

Just lay there in his shirt, still damp from the shower, the scent of him pressed into your skin, your body warm from where he’d touched it—held it—like something he wasn’t ready to give up.

Eventually, you fall asleep to the sound of him breathing beside you.

And the feeling of something unfinished still hanging in the air.

____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°• ____ ____ •°• ⚙ •°

Here’s another one shot, you freaky little fiends. I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, requests—whatever, send me a message and I’ll try my best to make it happen💚

[verstappenverse]

In Every City, It’s Still You

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After weeks of hiding your fears that Max cheats on the road, your confession leaves him heartbroken that you think so little of his love. (Requested)

2.2k words / Masterlist

Max's texts come in at 2:13 a.m.

Landed. In the hotel now. I miss you.

Try to sleep.

Talk tomorrow. Love you.

You stare at your phone for a while, the bluish light casting sharp shadows over your face in the dark room. The words are sweet, comforting even, but they don’t settle the unease coiling low in your stomach. Your thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating.

You type, Miss you too. Sleep well, and hit send. But it feels... hollow.

It’s not him. Not really. Max hasn’t changed, he still texts you every time he lands, still calls you baby in that low, tired voice that makes your heart ache. But something around him has shifted, and you feel it all the way from home. The messages feel like a thread stretched too thin, too tight, trembling, like it might snap if you pull just a little harder.

Because it isn’t the distance anymore. It’s everything else.

It’s the way girls throw themselves at him in the paddock every day, effortlessly pretty, sun-kissed, always laughing too loudly when he’s around. The influencers in the hospitality suites who watch him like they already belong to him, cameras flashing like they have something to prove. The blonde in Canada who sat on the pit wall like it was her throne, perfectly poised and knowing exactly where the lenses were. The brunette in Imola who wore Max's number on her cheek like it meant something personal.

And you were... here. Alone in bed, scrolling through tagged photos with a growing ache in your chest and a nauseating swirl of insecurity you couldn't quite explain.

You know Max loves you. He told you. He shows you. But some nights, like tonight, you can’t stop the slow, creeping doubt. The fear that love isn’t always enough when you aren’t there. When someone prettier or bolder or more his world is.

You turn your phone face-down and blink hard into the ceiling, trying not to cry, because it isn’t him.

It’s you. Spiralling.

And you hate that you can’t stop.

It isn’t like Max has ever given you a reason to doubt him. He doesn’t flirt. He isn’t sneaky. He never makes you feel small or uncertain. He makes time for you, even when he’s exhausted and halfway across the world. He calls when he says he will. He texts when he’s landed. He checks in between meetings, between media, between practice sessions.

But even the most reassuring routines begin to feel fragile when you spend your nights alone, scrolling through social media feeds that turn love into a ticking time bomb.

On Twitter or TikTok it’s like cheating wasn’t just a possibility, it was a guarantee. People talk like it’s an open secret. Like all of them do it. Like staying faithful is a joke, not the norm.

And you hate how easily those posts get under your skin.

One comment in particular has lodged itself somewhere deep in your brain, rotting quietly.

You think any of them are faithful on the road? They’ve got girls in every city babes. You’re just the one they come home to.

You remember reading it in bed, the words hitting harder than you ever wanted to admit. You’d stared at it for too long, re-reading it like it was some kind of warning meant specifically for you.

Maybe it isn’t about Max. Maybe it’s just a bitter stranger talking from experience. But what if it wasn’t?

What if Max is different without you, surrounded by constant temptation and girls who don’t hesitate?

What if all the love you give to each other at home isn’t enough to hold his attention in Singapore, or Brazil, or Vegas?

What if you’re stupid for thinking you’re the exception?

The thought makes your stomach twist, hot and cold at the same time. You hate yourself for even questioning him, but the doubt creeps in anyway, quiet and venomous. Because love isn’t always louder than fear. And lately, fear has found a voice you can’t ignore.

It comes out on a random Wednesday.

Max has a few days off and is finally back in Monaco with you, curled up on the couch, wearing sweatpants and eating cereal out of the box like he’s a college student and not a multiple world champion.

You’re quiet, distracted, picking at the hem of your sleep shorts while some Netflix show runs in the background.

“Babe?” he says, nudging your leg with his knee. “You okay?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’ve been weird since I got back from Canada.”

“Have I?”

Max sits up a little straighter, the playfulness gone. “Don’t do that.”

You swallow, staring at the bowl in your hands. You don’t meant to say it, but maybe you need to.

“I just…” you start, voice quieter than you expected. “I sometimes wonder what really happens when you're away.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

You feel your heart begin to race. There was no easy way to explain it, no version of this that wouldn’t hurt him. But keeping it inside had only made it worse. You take a shaky breath and force yourself to look at him, to see the confusion on his face.

“Okay… just don’t take this the wrong way,” you say, voice trembling. “You’re surrounded by beautiful girls. All the time. At afterparties, on boats, in clubs. They throw themselves at you. And I know you say you love me, I do, I hear you, but…”

You pause, eyes searching his. “Max, people like you… you have options.”

Silence.

You keep going, even though your throat feels like it’s closing. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m not. I just, I’ve seen what people say online. About how no driver, no athlete stays loyal. That it’s just how it is. That they all cheat. That it comes with the territory.”

You glance up again, and what you see in Max’s eyes feels like a punch to the stomach. Hurt. Pure, disbelieving hurt.

He stares at you like you’d just slapped him.

“You think I cheat on you?” he asks, voice low, almost stunned.

You flinch. “I don’t know. I think… I think maybe you could. One day. And I wouldn’t even know.”

He stands up so fast the phone on his lap clatters to the floor.

“Jesus Christ, how could I not take that the wrong way?” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. “You really think that little of me? You really think I’m capable of looking you in the eye and lying to you like that? Of touching someone else and then coming home to you like nothing happened?”

Your heart drops. “No, Max, that’s not—”

“You think I’m out there fucking around in every city I go to?” His accent thickens, voice rising with disbelief. “That I land and what? Just start looking for a warm body?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You didn’t have to,” he snaps, pacing now. “You just implied that for all this time what, you’ve been sitting here imagining me cheating on you and not telling me?”

Your eyes sting. “I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to seem insecure.”

“You’d rather just assume I’m a liar?”

“No, Max, fuck—no. It’s not like that. It’s not even about you, it’s... God, it’s not even logical, okay?” You were scrambling now, words tumbling faster than your brain could sort them. “It’s just there’s this stigma, okay? That athletes are cheaters. That they all are. And I guess some part of me thought that was just… part of the deal.”

Max stares at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “So because other people fuck up their relationships, I’m guilty by association?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“You are, though,” he snaps, stepping back like your words burn. “You’re saying you don’t think I’ve done anything, yet, but you’ve already decided I probably will.”

“I’m saying I’ve seen it happen!” you cry. “To people who swore they’d never do it. Who looked just as in love as we are.”

Max stares at you for a long time, chest rising and falling.

Then, quietly, “You think I’d put you through that?”

Tears well up in your eyes. “No. But I’m scared that you could. That one day I won’t be enough.”

“You think I’d just wake up one day and decide you weren’t enough?” he asks, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “That I’d throw us away for what, something easy? Something empty?”

“I don’t want to think that,” you whisper. “But it’s like this constant voice in the back of my head saying, don’t get too comfortable. Saying people like me don’t keep people like you.”

Max looks like he wants to yell or be sick. His fists are clenched, jaw tight, frustration radiating off him.

Then, just as suddenly, his face crumples.

He sits back down.

And says, more softly than you expected, “I love you.”

You sniffle. “I know.”

“Clearly you don’t.” His voice cracks ever so slightly, a barely-there fracture that makes your heart squeeze. He swallows hard, throat bobbing, like the words were caught on something sharp on their way out. He looks down for a second, just a flick of his eyes, then back at you.

“I love you,” he says again, more deliberately this time. Slower. Like he wants you to feel every syllable. “I love you.”

His hands ran over his thighs before curling into loose fists again.

“Like… when I’m away, I go to bed early because I miss you,” he says, voice soft but firm. “And I mean physically miss you. Like my chest fucking aches and everything feels too quiet and I stare at the ceiling hoping you’ll call even though I know you’re asleep.”

You blink, stunned by the rawness in his tone.

“I check my phone like an idiot,” he goes on, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. “Every five minutes. Just to see if you sent a stupid meme or said goodnight again. And if you didn’t, I reread the last thing you said. Because it makes me feel closer to you.”

You feel your eyes start to burn again, but he isn’t finished.

“When I come home and you’re here? It’s like—” He breaks off, searching for the right words, his brows knitting together. “It’s like I can breathe again. Like I stop being whatever version of me the rest of the world expects and I just… exist. As me. As yours.”

He let’s out a breath, slower this time. Measured.

“I don’t care what people say. I don’t care what some idiot online thinks is ‘normal’ for a driver or a man or anyone in this life. I don’t care what the stereotype is. I don’t need a club full of models or some yacht party to feel important.”

His gaze locks onto yours, eyes fierce but tender.

“I don’t want options. I want you. You’re it for me. You always have been. And I need you to know that. Not just hear it, not just nod and say okay know it. Because I don’t have a backup plan. I don’t want one.”

He exhales, like saying all of it left him exposed in the best and worst way.

You wipe at your cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice hoarse. “Do you have any idea what it does to me to think you’ve been carrying that around? That you’ve been hurting because you’re afraid I’ll leave or stray or whatever the fuck people think drivers do?”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair to you. I know that.”

He exhales slowly, nodding. “No. It’s not. But I get it. I do.”

You look up.

“I’ve seen what fame does to people,” he says. “I’ve seen guys ruin good things for a pretty face and some attention. And I hate that you’ve had to wonder if I would do that to you.”

You feel like the smallest person alive. “Max, I’m so sorry.”

He reaches for your hand.

“I need you to trust me,” he says, fingers tightening around yours. “Not the version of me that strangers make up. Me. The guy who texts you at 2 a.m. because I can’t fall asleep without hearing from you. The guy who thinks about you twenty-four seven even when I’ve got a million other things to focus on. The guy who looks at other girls and doesn't feel a damn thing and only thinks, ‘none of them are you’.

You let out a shaky breath.

“I do trust you, I’m just terrified of losing you and—” you whisper, “I just let the noise get in my head.”

He pulls you into his chest.

“Next time it gets loud in there,” he murmurs against your hair, “you come to me. Let me be louder.”

You nod, arms wrapping around him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I love you so much.”

Max presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re mine. You hear me? I don’t want anyone else. Never have. Never will.”

You let the truth of that settle into your bones like warmth.

Maybe people will always talk. Maybe they’ll always be stories and rumours. Maybe they’ll always be stereotypes and assumptions and endless temptations.

But you aren’t dating a stereotype.

You’re dating Max.

And Max? He only ever wants you.

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[tedmustache]

Hi, may I request Jack Abbot x fem!reader with them almost getting caught going at it while at work by different coworkers and no one knows they're together, but the one that does catch them is Whitaker or Robby and Jack is like "I'm helping her find something." Pls and thank you! 🥰😁

a/n: I loved this idea! Hope you like it :)

Adrenaline

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: In the nonstop chaos of The Pitt, two ER doctors find something dangerously steady in each other. Between late shifts, locked doors, and close calls, they navigate a secret that’s as thrilling as it is fragile—because in a place where nothing stays quiet for long, hiding how you feel might be the riskiest move of all.

Warnings: innuendos

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

It started in the quiet in-between moments, those fractured seconds where the world narrowed to the heat of a shared laugh in the break room, the electric brush of fingers over a patient’s chart, the way his thumb would linger on your wrist when passing a syringe.  

You told yourself it was nothing. 

But then came the late shifts, the ones that left your bones aching and your lungs raw with the scent of antiseptic. Nights when the ER’s fluorescent lights flickered like dying stars, and the only thing that didn’t feel heavy was him. 

Jack, with his stupid smirk and the way he could make you forget the blood on your scrubs with a single glance. That was the danger.  

You were ease in chaos. And chaos was all you had.  

No one suspected. Not even Perlah and Princess, who had a sixth sense for gossip.

But then again, you were both professionals.  

The first close call happened in radiology, wedged between filing cabinets and the ghostly glow of old MRIs. You were supposed to be pulling images for a pelvic fracture. Instead, you were pressed against cold metal, Jack’s mouth tracing your jawline, his hands mapping the bare skin beneath your scrub top like he was memorizing it.  

"Someone’s going to walk in," you breathed, half-laughing, half-terrified.  

"Then we’ll be quick," he murmured against your pulse. "Five minutes. Ten, tops."  

You shoved him back, but your fingers curled into his sleeves. "You’re the worst."  

"You love it."  

And you almost said something reckless—something true—when—  

Knock. Knock.  

"Anyone in there? I need Walker scans!"  

Dana

Jack moved like a soldier under fire. Smooth, practiced, already spinning a lie as he straightened your scrub with one hand. He cracked the door, all lazy charm and raised brows. "Just grabbing them. They were misfiled behind expired head CTs. Classic."  

Dana’s eyes narrowed. "Why’s the door locked?"  

"Security protocol."  

"That’s not a thing."  

"It is now, check your email"  

She scoffed but let it go. The moment the footsteps faded, you sagged against the cabinet, heart hammering.  

"Security protocol?" you whispered, biting back a laugh.  

Jack’s grin was pure mischief. "Looked convincing, didn't it?"  

[...]

The end of the charade came a week later, in the hushed glow of the imaging room. The ER had been a warzone all shift. Gunshot wounds, a code blue, a toddler with a bead lodged so far up her nose you’d almost laughed from sheer exhaustion. You and Jack moved in sync, though, a single organism with four hands, finishing each other’s orders without speaking.  

And then, between one breath and the next, he cornered you under the hum of the machines.  

"Missed you today," he murmured into your temple, voice rough with fatigue.  

"You handed me a scalpel an hour ago."  

"Yeah." His lips grazed your cheekbone. "Missed you while doing it."  

This time, you kissed him first—slow, deep, a silent confession in the dark.  

Cue the door swinging open.  

"Jack, do you—oh."  

Robby.  

The three of you froze. Jack shifted instinctively, blocking you with his body (pointless, but sweet). Robby blinked, processing, then slowly backed out.  

"I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see anything."  

Jack cleared his throat. "She was looking for something."  

A beat. Then, from the hallway:  

"Under your scrubs?"  

"Very thorough search," you called back, deadpan, before collapsing into silent laughter against Jack’s chest. He just pressed a kiss to your hair, like getting caught was nothing. Like you were everything.  

[...]

Later, in the ambulance bay, the city exhaled around you—streetlights bleeding into rain-slick pavement, the distant wail of sirens a reminder that the world kept turning. You sipped terrible coffee, shoulders touching.  

"So," you said. "Robby knows."  

Jack shrugged. "Yeah. Probably."  

"You’re okay with that?"  

He turned, eyes dark and sure. "I already have what I want." A thumb brushed your knuckles. "Let them talk. They don’t get to know what this is unless we say so."  

You nudged him. "And if someone else walks in on us?"  

Jack’s smirk was a promise. "Then I’ll say I’m helping you find something."  

"Yeah? What exactly am I looking for?"  

His voice dropped, stripped bare of jokes.  

"Me."  

And this time, in the quiet, no one interrupted. 

[miabebe]

Too Many Beds (Choi Seungcheol)

Reverse Trope Series Installment 1

Choi Seungcheol may be your parent's best friend's son, your next door neighbour for 20 odd years and the one face you saw every damn time, every damn where but that didn't mean the two of you wanted anything to do with each other. But a business trip - one room, three nights, and seven beds - might just be what it takes to change it all....

Pairing - Choi Seungcheol x afab! Reader

Word Count- 13k (don't ask me how I thought I could do this in 5k)

Genre - Rivals to lovers? Frenemies to lovers? Lovers to lovers? Idk man, these two are idiots, that's all. Oh and smut.

Warnings - one mention of blood cause of intense make out wew, other smut warnings under the cut!

Smut warnings - oral (m and f receiving), fingering, brief face fucking, thick dick cheol lol, slight choking, allusions to a breeding kink, unprotected sex (these two are digustingly in love, extremely horny and highly irresponsible, please don't be like them), creampie, mention of the word slut like once, and I'm hoping that's all?

“Absolutely not.”

“No way in hell.”

Seungcheol glared at you as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I’m not sharing a room with him.”

“I refuse to even breathe in her vicinity.”

“Then maybe I should do mankind a service by being around you more.”

“The only way you can help mankind is by shutting your mouth.” Seungcheol leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You’re not pretty enough for all the stupidity that comes out of it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Rich coming from you. If I had a face like yours, I’d sue my parents.”

“Aw, fifth graders can insult better than you, sweetheart.”

“That was a fact, darling.”

“Ah” The two of you turned to the receptionist, finally remembering her presence as her eyes flickered between you and Seungcheol. “So, the two of you are dating?”

Looking at her incredulously and with unadulterated disgust, the two of you immediately took a step back.

“No!”

“No!”

“I’d rather stub my pinky toe on furniture everyday than date her-”

“And I’d rather choke on my own spit everyday than date him-”

“Oh baby, I knew you were a desperate one. I can give you something better to choke on-”

“Honey, are you sure? I heard you can stack fruit loops on that skinny thing-”

“Enough!” The old woman behind the counter got to her feet, putting her hands on her hips, the never-ending squabbling finally getting to her. “If either of you say another word, I will personally put you both in the tiniest broom closet I can find and trust me, the ones in this lodge are devastatingly small.”

You immediately shut up, dreading that idea more than anything. Seungcheol too became uncharacteristically and thankfully, quiet.

“Now, as far as your room is concerned, your company booked only one room, number-” She glanced at the paper in her hand and pulled out a pair of keys from the drawer. “- 68. If you can bear each other for 4 nights, well and good, get moving. If not, then take your things and get out of here. Good luck finding another lodge in this miserable weather.”

And as though on cue, a bright light, followed by a loud thunder flooded the room, taking all three of its inhabitants aback.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Seungcheol visibly gulp, well aware of his fear of thunder. Seungcheol too heard the way you sniffled, knowing that your rhinitis would only get worse with the humidity rising outside.

Sighing with the realization that there was no way out of this, both of you reached for the keys at the same time, making the old woman snatch it faster than the damn lightning to avoid yet another fight from breaking out. Ringing for the bellboy, she handed him the keys before he took your suitcase and Seungcheol’s bag in each hand, leading the way to your despair of the night.

Seungcheol followed quietly behind you, hands tucked in his pocket, his large headphones perched on his head as he swayed to the music, blatantly ignoring you. You were thankful for that. Since you were little children, you had always craved moments where you could pretend like this man didn’t exist. Why wouldn’t you? Everything about him was a pain in your ass.

You first met Seungcheol when you were five. Your fathers were college mates turned business partners and coincidentally, your mothers were best friends since high school. Naturally, everyone expected the children of both families to be just as close as their parents but alas, even at the age of five, you could not bear him for more than five minutes. He was so aggressive and unruly, always messing up your dolls, always pulling your hair, never giving you a second of peace when he was around. Albeit that behaviour got milder over the years but there were other things now.

Like the fact that your father always preferred to have a boy, a son who could be his heir, someone like Seungcheol. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you but a different side of him came out every time Seungcheol was around, a side not even you could bring out. He would laugh louder, his eyes would shine more, he would seem so carefree. Seungcheol too never missed the chance to rub that on your face, constantly sneering and claiming that your father would be happier if he was a part of the family.

Over the years, your displeasure and annoyance at Seungcheol only grew into a deep dislike. As though it wasn’t enough that the two of you did your entire schooling together (yes, all twelve years of it), he was always present anywhere and everywhere you went - the debate club, the swim team, the dance academy, the cafes, the libraries, the movies - there was no place you were free of him. Ever since you were young, you had longed to escape to a place far away from home just to be carefree and explore and reinvent yourself without the constant looming of a figment of your past. You had hoped that at least after school you’d have the chance to go away from him but as your luck would have it, the two of you were accepted into the same business school, were interning in the same company, were working on the same project, and had come out of town for the same three-day conference together. It was one thing to have to bear this man’s presence all day, now you had to do it all night as well, thanks to your cheapskate company.

As you got in the lift Seungcheol held the doors open for you before settling in the corner opposite yours, keeping as much distance in between as possible. The bell boy looked at both of you confused.

“I thought the two of you are dating?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes, and fished out your phone, scrolling through it instead.

Seungcheol glanced at you before scoffing at the absurd idea of dating you. He wasn’t foreign to that doubt though – people often wondered if they were together and Seungcheol wondered what on earth they saw between them that even resembled a speck of liking or even tolerance for one another.

Seungcheol had honestly not met anyone as stuck up as you. He never understood why his parents constantly considered you as the ideal role model for their son - ‘Look Cheol, she joined debate, you should too’, ‘She got selected in the swim team, you should try Cheol.’, ‘What do you think about dancing Cheol? She’s really good at it.’. Seungcheol was sick of being dragged into everything you were in, only to always be second. He hated debates, he would rather play football than swim, and though he liked to dance, ever since he joined the academy with you, even dancing was not giving him any solace.

Yet he gave his best all the time. He tried and tried and tried but he was always second to you who was evidently a natural at everything. For example, back in the school days, Seungcheol would almost get the same grades as you but at the cost of sacrificing nights of sleep and putting hours and hours into teaching himself. Meanwhile, you would breeze through the notes a day before the test, get a full 8-hour sleep and still score higher than him. As if that wasn’t enough, you’d invite him home, offering to “tutor” him only to constantly berate him about his ignorance, drop snide comments about how you were better, subtly challenge him in a battle that the both of you were well aware he could not win.

No wonder you had no friends while Seungcheol was as popular as could be - who would even want to be friends with you when you were always so cold and condescending towards anything that moved or breathed. If your parents weren’t joined at the hip, forcing Seungcheol to be a constant presence in your life, he wondered who would ever even talk to you? You should have been thankful for him, that he was the one human presence in your life who was always there despite it all, yet you treated him like he was beneath you. He had hoped that at least after graduating the two of you could part ways but the universe apparently loved playing cosmic jokes, putting the two of you together yet again, at the same workplace. And completely up in each other’s space for the next few days as well.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t ever shared a room before - whenever your parents would meet up at each other’s house to drink and talk all night, the two of you had no choice but to crash in the same room, sharing the same bed even but thank God it was usually queen size, allowing the both of you to take two opposite ends, not even your breaths mingling. It had been years since that though…..Seungcheol felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He had no idea how he was to spend tonight in this room. Or the next few ones.

Neither did you.

As all three of you stood before the door and the bellboy fumbled with the keys, you glanced at Seungcheol. He looked unbothered as one could be. Perhaps you were overthinking this whole thing. It was a matter of four nights, surely the two of you could at least try to be courteous right?

“What in the...?”

Seungcheol’s voice rang in the empty corridor and you leaned to see what had him so shocked. Your own jaw dropped in a strange mixture of surprise, confusion, and relief.

Room 68 was no average hotel room. It was as big as the entire lobby, 7 heavily pillowed and blanketed single beds aligned from one end to the other almost military barrack style, only small bedside tables putting space between them.

“Room 68 is uh our bachelorette party suite.” The bellboy clarified. “For, you know, those big groups of girls who are hell bent on partying all night together?” He looked away like he was recalling a horrifying memory. “Since it’s holiday season, the lodge is booked out, this was the only room we had left. Is... is it not good?”

Seungcheol looked at you and for the first time in nearly 25 years, the two of you could finally agree on something.

“No.” You stepped in. “It’s perfect.”

It had been years since you had seen Seungcheol half-naked.

Well, you frequently saw him during swim practice in those tight speedo shorts of his, ass all plump and taut but you were not talking about that. You were referring to the sight before you right now, him with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his wet hair falling into his eyes as he searched for something in his bag frantically – most likely his aftershave. You knew he must have cleaned up given the conference was starting tomorrow and also that his cheeks were burning because you couldn’t smell the subtle cinnamon spice aftershave that usually followed in his routine.

Seungcheol strangely felt a pair of eyes on him as he rummaged through his things and suddenly remembered he was not alone in the room. He quickly turned, looking for you, finding you curled up in your bed, writing in what he guessed was your journal, unbothered by his presence. You were wearing that cute nightgown with little tomatoes drawn all over it which Seungcheol found funny given how much you hated tomatoes with all your heart and soul. Realising he had been looking for too long, Seungcheol gulped, quickly grabbing the aftershave he finally found and rushed back into the bathroom.

You flinched as you heard the door of the bathroom slam shut, looking up from your journal. Shaking your head exasperated, you returned to your writing. Seungcheol always handled things around him roughly like he was just not built to be gentle - slamming doors hard, breaking at least one coffee mug a month, causing rips in most of his clothes when he would gym because he was so big…. And muscular…. And built…..You bit the back of your pen thinking about how good he looked in his gym wear but if you were being honest, he looked best in a suit.

He’s going to be wearing one tomorrow.

You snapped out of your thoughts realizing you were entering dangerous waters and turned your attention back to your writing. Seungcheol made that process slightly harder as he walked out, furiously rubbing his towel against the back of his head, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey sweats.

As he sat down on his bed, he looked at you sitting six beds across, all the way in the other end of the room, right by the window. The moment the two of you entered the room, he took bed 1, the one against the wall and you took bed 7, the one against the opposite wall, putting the maximum possible distance between the two of you. He let you use the bathroom first, not because he knew you preferred using it when it is dry but because he thought this was the best time for him to call his parents and wish them goodnight….. even though it was still 7:30.

He showered after you did but even now, despite being so far from you, he could still smell your bodywash, the fragrance of lilies, the mildest kind because strong fragrances irritated your sensitive nose. Throwing his towel on the chair he kicked his legs off the floor and lied on the bed, turning to the wall, hearing the faint annoyed click of a tongue. Seungcheol knew exactly what triggered it - you hated it when he tossed damp towels like that. But honestly, he couldn't care less right now, not when there were more important things to deal with tomorrow, not when he was so tired already.

You shut your journal, irritated by his behaviour remembering exactly why being in the same vicinity as this man infuriated you. Flipping the lights off and pulling the covers over your shivering body, you realigned your thoughts towards your goal - Tomorrow’s conference was crucial. You had to look your best and do your best so clocking in 8 hours of sleep was the priority, Choi Seungcheol's character development be damned.

But as you lied down turning towards the window, lightning flashed across the sky, a loud thunder following. You turned to see Seungcheol and his back was facing you, the outline of his figure moving up and down rhythmically like he was already in a deep sleep. Slightly relieved yet still unconvinced, you turned towards him before the sleep and tiredness took you away.

Seungcheol simply stared at the wall all night.

Seungcheol most definitely did not sleep all night.

You could tell by the fact that one, he was up without you waking him and two, he was not there in the room right now. That meant he was out for a run which in turn meant his face must have been all swollen which definitely meant he didn’t get enough sleep. You did notice though that his bedding had shifted from bed 1 to bed 2 and guessed it was because of the coldness of the wall - Seungcheol had the habit of tossing and turning at night and there was nothing he hated more than his bare skin accidentally brushing the cold walls. Considering you were still five beds away from him, you ignored it as you went to wash up and prepare for the day.

When he saw the time on his watch as he finished his last lap, Seungcheol realised he was way behind schedule and that you probably were already at breakfast, sitting with a dozen snide remarks, waiting for him. True enough, as he quickly showered, dressed, and headed down to the buffet, you were there already, going through the proposal, the plate beside you nearly empty. Quickly grabbing a piece of toast and stuffing it in his mouth he walked over, putting on his suit jacket in a hurry. As you saw him approach, you shut your laptop, looking at him top to down in an ensemble that fit him all too well. Seungcheol’s eyes wandered over the pretty way you did your hair, and the plunging neckline of your blouse, a sliver of your pink bra peeking from underneath the fabric-

Both of you cleared your throats and looked away.

“We should leave, the cab should be here in-” He glanced at his watch. “-should have been here ten minutes ago, fuck.”

“It’ll be here in ten.” You pushed a cup of coffee towards him, looking at him pointedly to take a seat. Seungcheol glanced at it then back at you.

“You changed the time on my watch.” He huffed annoyed. “Again.”

“Glad to know you are still capable of basic comprehension.”

“You vile woman.” Seungcheol gritted between his teeth, sitting down. “I showered so fast I thought I was going to pass out.”

“But you didn’t.” You shrugged. “And learn to be grateful Seungcheol, you’re only ever on time when I meddle, so say thanks to me.”

“I’d rather die before I thank you.” He took a sip of the coffee before the extreme bitterness hit his tongue, making him spit it out right back into the cup. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“You did say you’d rather die.”

“Fuck you.”

“I know ten minutes is more than enough for you but personally, I prefer longer.”

Every single time. Every single time you flashed him that sweet, mocking smile and every single time it pushed his buttons like no other. One day he swore to put you in your place but right now he was too low on energy for that.

Well aware that you loved strawberries more than anything, he grabbed the last one on your plate and walked off to the taxi stand, ignoring the way you whined behind him.

“Oh, real mature of you Choi Seungcheol!”

You knew in your stress about perfecting the proposal early in the morning you had forgotten something important and the moment you stepped into the room that night, you knew exactly what that was.

To close the windows.

Thanks to the pouring rain, the water had drenched your entire bed, not to forget, your bag full of your clothes which was conveniently placed right on the mattress, soaking nearly every piece of clothing you owned. Thank God the laundry in the lodge said they would handle it for you so you still had an outfit for tomorrow’s conference but there were still two major concerns - one, what to wear tonight and two, where to sleep tonight.

You solved the first problem (almost) by grabbing your umbrella and heading to the nearest clothing store as instructed by the receptionist only to find out it sold barely any ‘cloth’ at all. It was an adult shop, filled majorly with lingerie of all kinds which were aiming to cover as little as possible. Groaning inwardly, knowing you didn’t have a phone on you to go any further in this weather, you grabbed the most decent nightgown you could find and rushed back.

A hot shower, a change of clothes and a quick meal later you decided to deal with your second problem, moving your things from bed 7 to 6, not too displeased considering there were still three beds between the two of you. You glanced at Seungcheol’s empty bed and then at the time - it was well past 10. Sighing, you settled under the covers pulling out your journal to write but got lost in your thoughts instead.

You were pretty proud of what you presented today - people praised you, congratulated you for a well drafted proposal and even went so far as to offer you jobs in their company. Yet you were not satisfied. Somehow, the one thing constantly running in your mind was the swarm of women who had flocked around Seungcheol the moment the conference was done, ‘mindlessly’ touching his arms, ‘casually’ brushing their chests against his, ‘genuinely’ laughing too hard at whatever bullshit came out of his mouth.

This was not new to you, Choi Seungcheol being the centre of attention wherever he went. He enjoyed it, basked in it, and chose to make a show of it whenever he got a chance. It was all so fake and superficial; you could not bear to stand it. That’s why even though everyone decided to go out for dinner and drinks tonight, yes, all twenty-seven of them, you politely said goodbye citing a headache and took a cab back. You were not interested in casual conversation and definitely not interested in seeing Seungcheol’s pathetic flirting.

Just as you begin to relish his absence and the beautiful silence that came with it, a loud knocking on the door and his voice screaming your name ended your perfect night. Grumbling, you opened the door to a fully drenched Seungcheol looking absolutely frazzled.

“What the hell-”

He stopped when his eyes fell on you dressed in a white floor length satin gown, the material seductively clinging to the curves of your body, your leg slightly visible between the slit. You crossed your arms to cover yourself up, feeling conscious under his gaze as he gulped audibly.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He met your eyes, a slight worry flashing behind the anger. “You just disappeared without letting me know-”

“I told you I was leaving.” You walked into the room rolling your eyes. “Maybe if you could see something beyond all that pathetic fangirling you’d have heard.”

“Fangirling?” He looked genuinely confused, following you in as he stripped off his jacket. You tried your best to not stare at the way his pecs were so perfectly outlined under the wet shirt sticking to his body but Seungcheol caught you peering, his features lighting up with amusement.

“Would you look at that?” He smirked. “Someone is jealous.”

“Please.” You scoffed. “I wouldn’t be jealous even if we were the last people on Earth.”

“Obviously, if we were the last people, who would you even be jealous of?”

You sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“I actually don't, sweetheart. If a little action is all you want, you can just ask for it you know?”

“Funny coming from a guy who kissed me just because another man was talking to me.”

The first tea break of the conference had led to an introduction that was surprising to you considering people did not really tend to approach you on their own. It was even more shocking that this man chose to speak to you in the lunch break as well, completely unprompted. He was sweet, not egging you too much with conversation, simply limiting it to work and the conference and then Choi Seungcheol appeared out of nowhere, snaking an arm around your waist, uninvited. Before you could glare at him and send him away, he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, excused himself and led you away from there, only to abandon you the very next second without an explanation.

“You call that a kiss?” Seungcheol scoffed. “You were so swept off your feet, you were this close to spilling details on our quotation for the project. That was actually me shutting you up.”

“Oh yeah?” You raised an eyebrow. “If you really wanted to shut me up, then you should have kissed me on the mouth.”

Seungcheol stared at you wordlessly.

As you began to walk away, he pulled you by the elbow, putting you against the wall, trapping you between his hands on either side.

“Is that how?” He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne taking over your senses. “Because there is nothing I’d love to do more than shut you up.” He cocked his head with a small smile. “And maybe also show you what a kiss really is.”

You tried not to gulp the phantom lump in your throat, cheeks suddenly hot under his gaze. Somehow, as though it had a mind of its own, your hand traced his exposed collar bone, trailing down his chest slowly, eyes following. Seungcheol held his breath under your touch. You stopped your tracks at his hard pecs, right above his heart beating just as fast as yours and looked up at him.

And then twisted his nipple.

Shrieking in pain, Seungcheol stumbled back, clutching his chest.

“What the hell mate?”

You walked towards your bed, grabbing your matching satin night robe and slipping it on. “It's ridiculous that you even think you of all people could show me a real kiss.”

“You forget sweetheart, I was your first one.”

You turned to Seungcheol as he brought up a memory you had actually done a great job forgetting. It was during your senior year - your parents had forced you to accompany Seungcheol to a house party so you could “get more involved in the social scene” instead of holing yourself up in your room all the time. It was a classic game of truth or dare and the worst dare of your life - to kiss Seungcheol for a minute.

Now the last thing you wanted to hear was him teasing you every day about how you were too scared to kiss him so you held him by the collar and pulled yourself into his lap straddling him, your mouth meeting his in a frenzy. If you were being honest, something about that kiss served as your sexual awakening - maybe it was the way he moaned into your mouth, or his hands gripped your ass, or hands entangled in his soft hair or your chest pressed up against his. Whatever it was, there was a video of it that your classmates took circulating somewhere out there, timed around five and a half minutes as opposed to the one minute it was supposed to be.

“Don’t take too much pride in yourself Cheol.” You sat on the bed, leaning back on your hands planted in the mattress. “Only I know how many other guys I had to kiss after that to know what kissing truly is.”

Seungcheol felt his jaw tighten.

Something in you had changed in junior year. Yes, you were still the same antisocial, inhospitable, unapproachable person you always were but somehow every other day, he found you in a new location with a new guy's tongue shoved down your throat. They were not boyfriends, Seungcheol knew that much, and it was the fact that they weren't that made his blood boil with anger.

“You shouldn’t take pride in yourself either sweetheart.” He looked at you with a strange mixture of anger and pity. “There's nothing to feel accomplished about not forming a single real bond in your life.”

The moment the words left his mouth Seungcheol regretted it, knowing he had hit a soft spot. It was too late now; the damage was done - pain was flashing in your eyes.

You looked at the insensitive man before you and laughed at him sadly, mirroring his hurtful words.

“No real bond? I’m afraid you filled that void Seungcheol. Hate forms really strong bonds too.”

And with that you turned away from him, tucking yourself under the sheets, turning off the lights on your side of the room. Grabbing his towel and a change of clothes, Seungcheol locked himself up in the bathroom, your words piercing his heart like no other. Over the years yes, the two of you argued and fought and annoyed each other and couldn’t stand one another but hate? He didn’t ever think that’s what you felt for him. Perhaps he deserved it - he had after all crossed a line with that comment.

He knew you had always struggled around people. He knew that even though you detested taking his help for anything, in every social setting, you would always choose to hide behind him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to interact, you just couldn’t. You were a sick child since birth, constantly brought down by various illnesses that often confined you to your room - you didn’t go out to play with the other children, you didn’t join the kids on their trips to the ice cream shop, you didn’t go late night camping with your classmates, you didn’t do a lot of what kids your age did.

And when you were old enough, when you were healthy enough to step out into the world, you didn’t know how to anymore. Hence you continued to stay in your own shell, closing yourself off from everyone, wary of any and all interactions. Seungcheol knew all this, that’s why when he couldn't lay his eyes on you in the crowd of the conference, the panic he felt was like no other. He never thought he would ever feel his heart stop but Seungcheol felt it twice today - once when he lost you and the other when you said that. I’m afraid you filled that void Seungcheol. Hate forms really strong bonds too.

You stared out of the window, mildly annoyed by all the light falling in your face, Seungcheol’s words ringing in your ears. It might have sounded harsh but he was right. You never formed real bonds with anyone, you could never bring yourself to. Having spent years all by yourself, you didn’t know what it was like to let another person into a space that was entirely yours. That’s why, though you engaged in all sorts of flings and hookups, you never let it go beyond that - you never let yourself lose your heart to someone, walking away from them before they could walk away from you.

In that sense, Seungcheol was indeed the realest bond you had - just a constantly present, mildly irritating, oddly comforting white noise in your life. It was easy with him - you never had to think in his presence, you never had to wonder whether anything would drive him away, never had to worry about keeping him by your side unconditionally - he was always there. Somehow what you felt for Seungcheol was liberating in a way you hadn’t even realized. Hate could hardly define that; you were unnecessarily harsh earlier.

Seungcheol stepped out of the bathroom, eyes falling on your unmoving figure which he just realized was on bed 6 instead of 7. Noticing the damp sheets and piecing it together, he didn’t think too much of it as he switched off the lights and crawled into his bed.

Hearing the sounds of him shuffling, you turned towards him.

“Are you not going for the dinner?”

“It’s too late now. I would have eaten there if I didn’t have to run back here to check up on you.”

“You could have just called me.”

“I did.” He turned to you, looking at just your silhouette in the darkness. “A few hundred times.”

You checked your phone immediately and it wasn’t a hundred times but there were some fifty odd calls from him and two dozen messages.

“I put my phone on silent during the conference and forgot to take it off.” You mumbled, just a little guilty that he was missing out on a gathering because of you. “Did you at least eat?”

“I’m not hungry, thanks to all the Americanos you kept feeding me all day.”

“If not for that, you would have been snoring in the conference barely an hour after it began.” You turned to lie on your back, facing the ceiling. “And I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d just obediently drank that double shot espresso in the morning.”

Seungcheol remembered you sliding the coffee cup to him and smiled to himself in the dark.

“Then maybe you should also listen to me and stop munching on those strawberries every chance you get, especially when you know they flare your allergies.”

You remembered Seungcheol gobbling up the last berry and smiled to yourself in the dark.

“Goodnight, you obnoxious prick.”

“Goodnight, you insufferable fiend."

When you woke up in the morning, two things had changed - one, Seungcheol had moved from bed 2 to bed 3 in the middle of the night and two, his shirt was gone, discarded somewhere in the mess on the floor. He was lying sprawled on his bare stomach, his back covered in a thin sheet of sweat, his tattoo shining as the light hit it. Ignoring the sight before you with much difficulty, you shook him awake.

“Get up Cheol, we’re going to be late.”

He groaned, rolling over, eyes slowly blinking open, falling on you first thing in the morning. Even though you were dressed in the sultriest thing he had ever seen on you, Seungcheol controlled himself and tore his eyes away.

“The radiator is right across the other bed; I was literally burning all night.” He mumbled, stretching awake, justifying his move.

You turned towards it noticing how it was in fact between bed two and three, closer to three than two to be honest. Considering Seungcheol was still drenched in sweat, his move in the middle of the night was actually quite pointless, but you chose not to say anything about it. Quickly washing up, the two of you rushed for breakfast, skimming over the presentation notes one last time. Today, neither of you noticed but Seungcheol drank the coffee and you didn’t eat the strawberries.

Day two went by in a flash much like day one. Only this time, you didn’t talk to the gentleman from yesterday, choosing to sit quietly by Seungcheol in the break and he didn’t leave your side either, regardless of all the ladies calling him to join them. In the evening, as the team headed to the city’s best karaoke bar, inviting you and Seungcheol again, Seungcheol brushed them off claiming the two of you had a little more work to do on the proposal. To his surprise, you shot him down, agreeing to join everyone, looking at him with a small smile.

“Don’t be such a killjoy darling.”

Seungcheol knew you were compensating for last night so he followed, well aware that you would most likely want to leave the moment the singing started. Well, he was almost right - you actually wanted to leave the moment you stepped foot into the room, turning to him with pleading eyes. Seungcheol turned you by your shoulder, laughing as he led you in.

“Don’t be such a killjoy sweetheart.”

You sat patiently as the beers poured in and people around you fought for the photobooth props. Seungcheol was sitting right beside you, his thigh a comforting weight against yours, laughing with everyone. As the night progressed, you had downed a beer or two, a slight buzz taking over, not noticing the way Seungcheol had his arm around you now or that you were warmly cuddled against his torso. Soon, one by one, everyone settled on the couches, tired from all the screaming, resorting to chatter instead and deciding on an old-fashioned game of truth or dare. Seungcheol smirked at you and you turned his face away with a soft push.

“So Seungcheol,” The man beside him spoke. “Truth or dare?”

“Neither actually. We should leave now.” He stood, pulling you up, stumbling slightly. “I’ve had too much to drink and it's late, Y/n needs to sleep.”

“Didn’t realize wacky wallflower here also had the bedtime of a toddler.” One of Seungcheol’s many fangirls piqued, jealousy stark on her face. “We can book her a cab, why don’t you stay a little longer, Cheolie?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused at the nickname, and at her jealousy but Seungcheol did not find anything about her words even remotely funny.

“No thanks, I go where she goes.”

“I thought you guys weren’t dating? Then why-”

“That doesn’t change what I said.” His voice dropped an octave. “I go where she goes.”

“Cheol.” You placed a hand on his chest, sensing his anger rising. “It’s fine, let’s stay for a few rounds, yeah?”

Seungcheol looked at you frowning as you sat down, pulling him with you. The girl you already disliked but quite vehemently hate now, spun the bottle with a giggle.

“We don’t have to stay.” Seungcheol whispered as the guy beside you excitedly asked the one across him a question. “You stayed long enough, you need sleep-”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not.” He spoke between gritted teeth. “Just looking at that foul woman makes me mad. I already said I wasn’t interested in her, she had no reason to be a bitch.”

“Well then don’t you want to put the bitch in her place Cheol?”

You looked at him with big doe eyes which terrified Seungcheol even more. What on Earth were you up to?

“Y/n, you get to ask Yuri!”

You looked at the bottle to see it pointing between you and your little conquest of the night. Hook.

“Truth or dare?” Line.

“Dare.” And Sinker.

“Okay Yuri, then I dare you to not take your eyes off.”

You pulled Seungcheol by the collar, smashing your lips on his, swallowing his audible moan. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you closer, up against his body, teeth roughly tugging your lower lip. Hand sliding up his neck and across his jaw, you entangled your fingers in his hair, drawing him even closer denying even air the right to come between the two of you. Yes, it was all a show for Yuri or whatever her name was, but at a point, she stomped her foot and got up, running out of the room. Perhaps the two of you should have stopped then or at least when you were running out of breath. But you only broke apart when someone dropped a beer bottle, smashing the glass loudly on the floor. Seungcheol and you looked at it, faces flushed, lips swollen. A low whistle echoed in the room.

“We-” Seungcheol cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back. “We should get going.”

“Y-yeah.” You agreed, getting up and grabbing your things as Seungcheol smoothened his hair with his hand, muttering a small goodbye to everyone. As the two of you stepped out of the room, you found Yuri crying at the entrance, her friend trying her best to console her. Not sparing her another glance, you walked away, Seungcheol following you close behind. As the cold air hit you when you reached the taxi stand, you felt a painful sting on your lower lip, making you hiss. Hand cupping your face, Seungcheol wiped the trickle of blood with his thumb.

“Guess you desperately did need a real kiss huh?”

“Shut up.” You smacked his hand away. “I had to help the poor girl get over her pathetic taste in men.”

“By getting a taste of me?” Seungcheol smirked as you rolled your eyes. Before you could say anything, his stomach let out a loud growl making you laugh and look around, spotting a burger joint.

“Let’s get you a taste of that big boy.”

“Sometimes I wonder-” You stared out of the window at the large clouds rolling in. “-considering our parents are best friends and we are not, do you think our children would be good friends or enemies?”

“Wow, children.” Seungcheol munched on his burger furiously. “I never thought that far.”

“Then think about it now.”

“I don’t know.” He hummed. He hated thinking when he was tipsy. “Siblings tend to have a love-hate relationship.”

“I was talking about our children Seungcheol.”

“So was I.”

“No, I mean, my own children and your own children.”

“Yeah, same thing.”

You looked at him exasperatedly.

“Let’s be honest here Y/n. Who else out there can put up with us for long enough to start a family?”

“We can barely put up with each other-”

“But we have, for almost 25 years.” He slurped on his drink. “There’s a reason why you have never been in a relationship and I have never been in one that lasts. Because whatever it is we share, it’s you and I, till the end.”

“Till the end.” You muttered, reaching for his burger, taking a bite from it. Judging by your expression, Seungcheol could tell you liked his better, like you always do. That’s why he made sure to get it without the tomatoes he usually loved and settled to eat your meal instead. He was just about to ask why exactly you were so lost in thought when a loud thunder boomed across the sky sending a shiver running down Seungcheol’s spine.

Shoving the last of the burger down your throat quickly washing it down with some soda, you began gathering your things.

“We should go before the rain starts.”

Seungcheol nodded, finishing up his meal as you threw the trash in the nearby can. As the two of you left, muttering your thank yous to the waitresses, you laced your fingers with Seungcheol’s, gripping him tight as another lightning flashed across the sky. Thank God it wasn’t too hard to flag down a cab because the moment the two of you sat inside, rain began pouring like there was no tomorrow. As you glanced at the obscurity outside the window, Seungcheol stared at his hand, the one that you hadn’t left in all this time.

There were times when he used to stay over in your room, unable to sleep due to all the thundering while you dozed away oblivious to his presence. Those days, you’d turn around, reaching for his hand, holding it in your sleep. Seungcheol now wondered if that might have been a conscious effort to comfort him.

Perhaps not he thought as you began to nonchalantly hum his favourite song. He wondered if you knew he loved that piece because of how beautiful you looked when you danced to it. He wondered if you knew that the reason he was always around you was to make sure you were alright. He wondered if you knew he always carried an extra inhaler for you, that he had written a long list of your allergies in order from ‘can handle’ to ‘keep away from at all times’, that he was constantly alert about everything you ate, smelt and touched. He wondered if you knew, deep down how much he cared about you…..but sleep dragged him away before he could wonder anymore.

Sensing Seungcheol had fallen asleep, you stopped humming, turning to him, smiling at his half open mouth. Scooting closer, you slowly pulled his head to rest against your shoulder, and he groaned softly, nuzzling into it. The driver looked at the two of you through the rear-view mirror, making your cheeks go red as you looked away.

“Is your boyfriend afraid of thunderstorms?”

You nodded, ignoring the title. “Since he was a child. I don’t think he’s been sleeping too well the last few days.”

“The forecast shows it’s going to be worse today.” The driver sighed. “Look out for him.”

You nodded again. You did look out for him. In your own ways you always did - you always challenged him knowing that was what pushed him to do better. You always made sure to wake him up or at least meddle with his clocks so he was always on time. You always made sure he ate and slept enough, knowing how it threw him off whenever he was deprived of either. Even now you were humming his favourite song knowing it calmed him down. You wondered if Seungcheol knew, that deep down you really cared about him…..perhaps more than anything.

When the taxi reached the lodge, you softly shook him awake after paying, dragging his sleepy self through the lobby. The receptionist's eyes followed the two of you, stumbling away hand in hand, mouth curling into a small smile as you disappeared. You only let his hand go when you reached the room and that’s what jolted him awake.

The silence that descended the room today was different. It wasn’t because the two of you were too tired to say anything to each other, rather neither of you knew what exactly to say given there was so much to. So instead, you resorted to washing up and filling in your journal for the day while Seungcheol worked on a few changes in the proposal for the final pitch tomorrow. Just as he shut the laptop and you shut your diary, the two of you looked at each other before quickly looking away, settling in your own beds, for the night.

You were almost ready to drift off to sleep, before the driver’s words rang in your mind - the forecast shows it’s going to be worse today. Without thinking much, you moved your things from bed 6 to bed 5, muttering that the light from the streetlamps was falling in your face there. Seungcheol did not point out that you could just close the curtains instead and curled up in his own bed, glad you were closer to him now.

He looked at you across the one bed that was in between and suddenly you felt too far, like the distance was too much.

You looked at him as his eyes fluttered shut, thunder rumbling across the sky, wondering if he could hear you across all this space, humming louder than usual, lulling the two of you to sleep.

When you woke up, Seungcheol was surprisingly awake and fully dressed, trying to knot his tie unsuccessfully in front of the mirror, expression focused with a small pout. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you stared at his reflection, eyes skimming over the beautiful features of his face which you never really consciously admired - his thick hair, thicker eyebrows, plump, pillowy lips, his jawline sharp and chiselled. He was indeed handsome, in a way you really liked….a lot.

You wondered why you always looked at him like he was the bane of your existence. Was it because it was easier to bury the unresolved tension under pointless banter? Or did you wantonly show him your worst side, hoping it wouldn’t scare him away, hoping he would stay despite every flaw, every shortcoming. What did it mean if in 25 years, he didn’t leave even once?

Seungcheol groaned, annoyed at his futile attempts, eyes finally meeting yours in the mirror. You slid off your bed, walking up to him as he turned to you. Yawning, you took his tie in your hands, tying it for him. Seungcheol’s eyes drifted over the features of your face as he held his breath.

He could get used to this, the sight of waking up to a sleepy you, your hair all over the place, your eyes slightly droopy, nose red. God you were so beautiful - he knew that, but why didn’t he ever think about it? Why did he choose to fight every remote thought about you with irritating banter? Was he scared that the tension would remain unresolved? And what did it mean if you were still here, right by his side, helping him out in everything big and small, always making sure he was going the right way and doing the right thing, every single day for the last 25 years?

You pushed the knot up to his neck, smoothening the material, patting his chest with a proud smile. Seungcheol gulped as you walked away to wash up, trying to get his breath under control.

When the two of you came down for breakfast, you pointedly avoided the receptionist's gaze. There was no time to deal with more thoughts.

The rest of the day went like that, thoughtlessly. It was a little awkward at the conference considering the little show you two put up last night, so the moment it ended for good in the evening, you bid everyone goodbye, citing you had an early flight and had to leave soon. It was true though, you did have to travel in the wee hours of the morning, but leaving from the conference so soon also meant having to spend longer with Seungcheol, all alone. He agreed with you though, stating his social battery was at an all-time low and that he just wanted to go back.

Today the two of you were somehow sitting on two ends of the car backseat, bodies pressing against the door, in complete contrast to last night. It was a silent ride, a silent walk to the room and a silent session of packing up. Suddenly there were very conscious efforts to not brush hands, or accidentally walk into each other or catch the other person randomly staring, lost in thought. It was only when you were finally done that you asked Seungcheol if he wanted to order dinner. He agreed, leading to a very small and very efficient discussion about what dishes to eat and then silence descended upon the room again. While waiting for the food to arrive, Seungcheol muttered that he was going for a quick run, leaving you alone with the thoughts you could no longer stop from plaguing your mind.

Something had changed over the last 3 days. It wasn’t you or Seungcheol - he was still throwing his damp towels on dry clothes and you were still meddling with his clocks. No, the two of you hadn’t changed. Neither did the arguing, neither did the banter, neither did the subtle flirting, neither did the silent support. No…. nothing had changed. It was all the same. It was all the exact same except now, you were finally willing to acknowledge something you hadn’t even admitted to yourself since the age of five, that-

“I’m in love with him.” You whispered, smiling to yourself.

Seungcheol on the other hand thought running around the lodge would mean those thoughts wouldn’t run in his mind anymore. He was wrong - even though you were not there, like always you were on his mind, in his every thought, in his every breath. Seungcheol didn’t know of a life without you. He also knew that you would be there with him for the rest of his life but for the first time in 25 years, he finally found himself owning up to it - that he truly wanted you be a part of his future, that he could not bear to think of one without you in it, that-

“I’m in love with her.” He whispered, smiling to himself.

By the time Seungcheol had returned, dinner had arrived. Between each bite you searched for the right words to say, noticing that Seungcheol was trying the same. Somehow, neither of you could bring yourself to say anything.

You couldn’t peacefully finish up your journal and Seungcheol couldn’t take a relaxing shower, both muttering under your breaths, practicing long speeches, determined to confess everything before sleeping tonight.

But when all was done for the night, both of you laid down on your respective beds, staring at the ceiling, unable to talk, unable to sleep.

Seungcheol turned his head as you did towards him, making his heart clench a little.

Sighing, he grabbed his pillow and put it on bed 4, lying down, facing you.

You looked at him blinking slowly.

Seungcheol held his breath.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your duvet and joined him on the fourth bed, throwing it over the two of you, lying down, facing him.

Seungcheol slid his hand over your waist, pulling you closer.

You gripped the material of his shirt, snuggling into the warmth of his neck.

Nothing was said that night.

Nothing had to be said as the two of you drifted off to sleep.

It was the harsh morning sun and the annoying chirping of the birds that woke you up.

You stared out of the window surprised at the bright light given the last few days were as gloomy as it could be. Seungcheol’s soft breaths tickled your shoulder as his arms held you tight, your back against his chest. Smiling you wiggled in his grip turning towards him, taking in how much more stunning he looked in the morning light-

Morning?

“Cheol.”

He hummed softly.

“Cheol!”

“What?”

“It’s bright outside.”

“That’s how mornings are Y/n.”

“Oh thank you for enlightening me.” You rolled your eyes. “Might I return the favour by reminding you that we had a flight at 5am?”

Seungcheol’s eyes flew open.

He quickly grabbed his phone from the nightstand, 11am flashing on the screen.

“Fuck.” He muttered, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck fuck fuck, I can’t believe we missed the flight!”

You took the phone from him and scrolled through the app. “The next flight out is tomorrow morning, same time, 5am.”

“But the company hasn’t paid for the room tonight, where will we stay?” Seungcheol groaned. “How could you not wake me up?”

You frowned at him. “And why is it my job to?”

“Because, you don’t like it when I put alarms on my phone.”

“Uh no, I don’t like it when you continue to sleep through the dozen alarms you put on your phone.”

“Whatever your reasons are, I think its been established that you are the one who's supposed to wake us both up.”

“Yeah well thanks to you I forgot to set an alarm.”

“Thanks to me?” He looked at you bewildered. “What did I do?”

“Who asked you to..” You pointed at everything around with the wave of a hand, the two of you only just registering the situation you were in.

“You were the one who came to my bed.” Seungcheol shrugged. “This is on you because you were desperate.”

“Says the one who’s boner poking into my back woke me up.”

Seungcheol gawked at you, stuttering. “M-morning wood is a scientific phenomenon, okay? I can’t help it-”

“I could have.” You muttered, slipping out of the bed.

Seungcheol pulled you back under him, half hovering over you.

“Oh yeah?” He bit his lower lip with a small smile. “How exactly?”

You hummed, “I happen to know some good meditation techniques-”, running a finger down his abdomen, tracing a random design.

Seungcheol grabbed your hand and pinned it to the mattress by your face, leaning close.

“Think of a better way, baby.”

The nickname sent a delightful chill down your spine as you slightly squirmed under him, smiling.

“How about I get you some ice-”

“That’s not what I want right now.”

“Then what do you want right now?”

His eyes ran along the features of your face.

“I want to kiss you.” He whispered. “So bad.”

“And what are you waiting for?”

Seungcheol groaned, immediately pressing his lips onto yours, needy and ravenous, like he had been waiting eons for this. Well, so had you.

Pushing him off you and onto his back, you straddled his hips, kissing him again, rolling your tongue over his. Seungcheol moaned into your mouth, one hand wrapping around your waist, the other holding you by the nape of your neck, taking back control. When you ran your hand over his thick pecs, he pulled away with a dreamy sigh, planting a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your throat.

“Strip for me.”

Sitting up immediately, you lifted your hips a little letting Seungcheol push the material of your nightdress up your thighs and you pulled it over your head, tossing it somewhere. In the ten seconds it took you to do that, Seungcheol was a changed man. The old him wanted to take his time unravelling you slowly, pushing you to the edge but the new Seungcheol felt the animal in him come alive with a throbbing, insatiable desire. It became exponentially worse when you pulled your hair up, tying it with the hair tie on your wrist, baring your neck, perfect breasts, soft stomach….unable to reign it in anymore, Seungcheol lunged forward, hungrily sucking a tit into his mouth, making you lose your balance over him a little, grabbing his bicep half laughing.

“Huh, I really thought you were more of an ass guy.”

Seungcheol let go with a wet pop, looking up at you from between his thick lashes. Oh wasn’t that a sight.

“For you, I’m an everything guy.” His hands gripped your ass hard. “Your derriere does take the cake though.”

You laughed, “Who even uses that word?”

“I don’t know, I have no idea what is coming out of my mouth right now.” He confessed, his tongue running up the gap between your boobs, the sweet and salty taste of your skin driving him insane. “I just know what I want in it.”

“Yeah?” You sighed, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him back with a harsh grip, before he latched onto your other tit. “I have better things to put in it.”

Seungcheol grinned like he couldn’t wait, flashing his canines, biting his lower lip.

God he was going to be the end of you.

But you’ll beat him to it.

Palms planted behind you, you slid yourself back off his thighs and sat between his legs, lifting your own up for him. Seungcheol’s eyes darkened in an instant and the moment he saw the wet spot in the middle of your pink panties, he could not hold himself back anymore. With a swift movement he was up on his knees before you, hooking his fingers in the elastic by your waist and slowly dragging your underwear along your legs. Like a man starving he crumpled it in his hand, breathing it deeply, eyes fluttering shut like he was intoxicated by your scent.

“I’m going to be borrowing this, for whenever you’re not there.”

“Pervert.” You whispered as he tucked it in the back pocket of his tracks. “But I’m never not going to be there. I’m afraid you’re stuck for life now.”

Seungcheol fisted the material at the back of his neck and pulled it over his head, flinging it somewhere before he put his hands between your knees and spread your legs apart, groaning at the sight before him. You were quite literally hiding his paradise between your legs.

“Trust me,” He reached for a pillow behind him, throwing it to you. “I want to be stuck here.”

The moment you tucked it under your head lying back, Seungcheol wasted no time in crawling between your legs, tossing them over his shoulder, descending on your sex. You felt your back arch off the mattress as he devoured, his tongue, mouth, lips all showing you stars in daytime.

“Fuck Cheol.” You whimpered as his tongue slipped into your hole, his moan sending a wild vibration against it. Bringing your hands to his head, your fingers gripped his hair, pushing your hips up against him “Give me more.”

Seungcheol smirked, pressing your hips down, continuing his ministrations in a way that made your toes curl. Damn he knew what he was doing. For a split second you wondered how he knew so much and an ugly jealousy began coursing through you but it was lost almost immediately, when he began to suck on your clit.

“Cheol….” You moaned, the sudden stimulation too intense for you, a tightness growing deep inside. “F-fuck that’s good.”

Seungcheol knew he was good. Not because he was experienced, not exactly - more because he was desperate to taste every inch of you. If he thought the taste of your arousal was heavenly, the moment your legs trembled and your breaths got harsher and you came against his mouth, Seungcheol knew he’d cast aside the heavens for it. This wasn’t enough.

This was probably the fastest orgasm you ever had, waves of the buzz washing over as your jaw fell slack. You rode it out against his mouth, tense shivers running down your body as his nose grazed your clit before falling limp into the softness of the bed, chest heaving.

Seungcheol was so noisily devoted to making you fall apart on his tongue, he wasn't sure if you didn't moan his name or if he was too entranced to hear it. Either way, he had to go again, keeping in mind to put his eyes on you this time. When he looked up at you, your face was flushed, lips curled into a blissful smile and Seungcheol thought he fell more in love with you, if that was even possible.

“We're gonna have to talk about why you're so good at that.” You half laughed, trying to sit up. Seungcheol pushed you back down, throwing another pillow at you, humming.

“How good was I exactly?”

“Nice try big boy,” You stacked the pillow over the previous one, leaning back against it. “I'm not going to feed your ego.”

“I'll feed myself then.” He smirked before licking a long strip between your folds making you tremble with over stimulation.

“Cheol not yet-”

“If I don't hear you I'm not going to stop.”

And he descended upon you like a mad man again, making you gasp in surprise. You did not think he'd go through with it.

“Cheol I really can't-”

but Seungcheol did not stop.

When he didn’t listen, you reached to pull him off you but Seungcheol was quicker as he grabbed both your wrists in a flash and held them against your heaving chest, continuing to eat the life out of you.

“Seungcheol please.” You couldn’t even squirm if you tried to, held down hard by his brute strength. “I really can’t-”

He looked up, his mouth wet with his spit and your arousal as he licked his lips. Fuck you really loved this man.

“Do you actually want me to stop?”

He was taunting you but there's a slight concern laced in his voice.

You shook your head slowly.

“I thought so.” He chuckled before continuing his act of wolfing down on you.

Your second orgasm began to rush in with an unreal speed and you don't know how Seungcheol could read your body so well already but the little bitch backed out before you could cum again.

“Cheol…”

You whined, frustrated at the feeling ebbing away, desperately clenching to hold on to it.

“I said I wanted to hear you.”

You glared at him, not used to him having the upper hand. He knew he's got you under control when he finally loosened his bruising grip on your thigh to sit up and you opened your mouth on your own accord to let him slip his fingers into them.

“What a pretty little girl.” He sighed as you sucked on his digits. “My pretty girl.”

“Yes yours.” You moaned, as he pulled them out of your mouth and pushed them into his, wetting them more as you practically panted below him.

“I'll do what you want, just put them in me Cheol.”

“You're quite demanding baby.” He leaned over you looking amused. “I hope you deliver as well as you talk.”

“I'll suck the life out of your dick after this I swear, just let me cum again.”

Enticed by the idea, Seungcheol captured your mouth in another one of his messy kisses, his fingers slowly slipping into your heat. You gasped into his mouth, surprised by how thick his fingers were. Oh his dick would probably make you pass out and god were you ready for it.

“Say my name baby.” Seungcheol pressed his forehead against yours, still holding your wrists between both your bodies with his other hand. “Tell me who's making you feel so good.”

“You.” You moaned as he pumped his fingers, slowly stretching you open, your arousal dripping down between your thighs. “Fuck Cheol, faster.”

He obeyed, picking up the pace as you babbled a string of curses, legs squeezing his hand desperate to feel more. Seungcheol sucked on your neck, enjoying the way you were crumbling apart for him. How was he ever going to be away from you after this?

“Oh god yes.” You sighed, as his fingers curled hitting the spot, eyes rolling back. Seungcheol looked at you in awe.

“I apologise if I ever told you that it was annoying when you rolled your eyes.” He continued to push you over. “That was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

“Yes yes yes.” You chanted not hearing him, too lost in your own pleasure building. Pleased with himself, Seungcheol finally put his thumb over your clit and that was all it took for you to cum all over his fingers with yet another silent scream.

Seungcheol let your hands go and sat back on his heels, admiring his artwork. Your chest heaved erratically like you had forgotten how to breathe, squeezing your tits, hands desperate to claw something. Hair sticking to your forehead, sweat running down your neck next to the bruises he marked, you were a vision to behold.

Seungcheol sucked his fingers clean, relishing the taste of you yet again. You stared at him wide eyed, curious.

“Have you never tasted yourself?”

You shook your head.

“Oh sweetheart.”

Seungcheol pushed his tracks down just a bit, enough to pull his dick out. It's not the longest you've seen but God was it thick, a stark vein running down the length which looked painfully hard. The thought of having him fill your mouth and choking around it literally made you drool.

He pumped it a few times before hooking his hands under your thighs and pulling you towards him with unsurprising ease. You scrambled to raise yourself up on your elbows, watching as he ran it up and down your slit, gathering your release on it.

“Come taste.”

You blinked at the man holding out his dick to you like it was a treat, like he expected you to crawl to him, stunned at just how cocky he had gotten in 20 minutes. Hell no.

You shook your head, tilting it in challenge.

“Come fuck my mouth.”

If Choi Seungcheol had a fatal flaw it was how much he desired control but right now, there was nothing he desired and craved more than you.

Moving over not so gracefully he aligned himself by your mouth, knees planted on either sides of your waist, looming over you.

You immediately wrapped your lips around his tip, humming at the weight on your tongue as he pushed your hair off your face softly.

“I know baby, you taste fucking divine.”

Giving him a half nod, running your tongue over his slit before hollowing your cheeks around him. The mix of your and his arousal indeed tasted….right, like they belonged together.

You tried to take in more of him but you might have underestimated his girth and overestimated your ability. Pulling back with a pop, you licked your lips.

“You're too thick.” Mumbling you tried to push him off you, onto his back. “Let me move over-”

“Oh no no.” Seungcheol clicked his tongue, grabbing the back of you neck, forcing you to look up at him. “It can't be that bad, someone claimed they could stack fruit loops on it.”

You rolled your eyes realising he was a bit too proud of himself. “I still can. I just don't have the cereal to prove it.”

“I'll buy some on the way back and when we go home that's the first thing you're going to do.” He wiped the spit leaking around the corner of your mouth with his free hand. “And if you don't manage to prove your point, that's grounds for punishment.”

You grinned at him.

“Oh you like that.” He hummed, guiding your head back to his cock. “We'll see how much of it you can take baby.”

A lot apparently.

Seungcheol should have known. You were like him - you didn't like to be challenged. That's why the moment he thrusted himself into your mouth, you held onto the back of his thighs with both hands, pushing it in a lot more than Seungcheol had thought you were capable of. Throwing his head back with a satisfied moan, he began moving his hips ever so little, slowly fucking your face, but you had other ideas, taking him as far back as you could, your throat constricting around his dick.

“Alright that's it.” Seungcheol pulled you off him, staring at your confused face. Somehow you had no gag reflex and Seungcheol suddenly had the endurance of a teenager. “Want to actually fuck you.”

He muttered drawing back, kicking off the remaining of his clothes and sitting up, trying to hide his breathlessness.

“Aw Cheol, was I right again?” You laughed, getting up and clambering onto his lap. “Is ten minutes really enough for you?”

“You'll see.” He pulled you into a deep kiss before abruptly breaking away, leaving you confused yet again. “Or not.”

“What?”

“I just realised… I don't have a condom.”

You waited for him to tell you he was kidding but he looked serious.

“Cheol….” He looked at you apologetically. “Ugh Choi Seungcheol, why not?!”

“One, don't call me that and two, I don't know, maybe because this was a work trip and the conference dress code didn't mention dick envelopes.”

You sighed annoyed. “I just always thought you'd carry one on you, xl sized.” You shot his overconfidence down before it even grew on him. “you know, for your head.”

“Oh because I'm a dick?” He rolled his eyes at the comment you had used on him too many times already. “Well, wouldn't that make you a little slut? Since you’ve been in love with me for so many years.”

“Who said I was in love with you?”

Seungcheol looked at you with the biggest, fucking cutest eyes. “Are you not?”

You smiled, surprisingly shy despite all that transpired so far. Honestly, you didn't have to answer that question. What you felt for each other was clear as day.

Putting a finger on his mouth, you whispered. “Less talking, more fucking please.”

Seungcheol groaned. “What do you want me to do? Go buy them now?”

“No…” You hated the thought of him leaving.

“Or…. I could pull out?”

“The last thing I trust in this world is your timing.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Besides, don't you want to be inside me when you cum? Squeezing you tight? Milking you dry?”

“Kinky.” Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, secretly delighted. “And shoot me if I ever say no to that, but you're not on birth control are you?”

“No…” You drawled. “But I can get plan b?”

“Baby, you realize how reckless this is-”

“I know.”

“-we've barely just-”

“I'm aware.”

“-plus your health-”

“Choi Seungcheol.” You pushed him back into the bed, annoyed. “Are you gonna fuck me or not? Because if you don't then I'm gonna do it myself and all you get is to watch-”

Seungcheol, tucked his arm under his head, looking like he liked that idea a little too much.

“-while I cum taking someone else's name.”

His eyes darkened as his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you down to his eye level, “Try me sweetheart.”

“You know how I feel about challenges.”

“And you know how I feel about sharing what’s mine.”

“Then fuck me like I’m yours.”

Seungcheol smiled, dropping a soft kiss on your mouth, much in contrast to what followed. “Remember, you asked for this.”

One arm wrapped around your waist, he flipped you over, putting you below him once again, the hunger in his eyes burning a lot more now. As he shifted to push your legs apart, hand leaving your neck, a soft whine left you and Seungcheol caught it immediately.

“You’re into that too?” Seungcheol smirked as you frowned at him, annoyed.

“Apparently. I just found out as well.”

“I wonder what else you’re into.”

“You can wonder all you want, after you put that dick into me.”

Seungcheol clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I don’t like how you think I’d listen.”

Yet before you could talk back, he slid his cock along your folds, the tip slightly dipping into your hole, pulling out the most exquisite moan from you.

“Now that’s something I’d listen to.” He pushed himself a little further, your hands immediately coming to grip his biceps, gasping again at just how big he was. Seungcheol had been dying to listen to you sound like this and god was it so worth it.

You attempted to relax, adjusting around his girth as he eased himself in, but gave up even trying to maintain the facade of composure when he bottomed out, pressing all the way in.

“Fuck yes Cheol.”

He hissed softly, feeling your soft walls flutter around him. He had never fucked anyone raw and after this, how was he expected to just not spend his whole life buried in you?

“Please, move.” You begged, and he folded immediately, his hips slowly picking up pace as he kissed you along your neck.

“We should have done this years ago.” He groaned, wrapping your legs around his hips, pounding faster, harder. “We should have been doing this for years now.”

You nodded half listening, half submerged in your pleasure, nails running down his back. “Let’s just never get out of this bed.”

Seungcheol chuckled, absolutely agreeing with that idea, snapping his hips faster, delighted by the way you were reacting under him.

He wanted to flip you around and take you from the back, mark your ass with the red prints of his hand. He wanted you sitting on him, fucking yourself on his dick while he watched, your head thrown back in pleasure. He wanted to eat you out till you cried, fuck your throat and make you swallow, pull every moan and every whine and ever chant of his name out of you. God he wanted so much but Seungcheol wasn't capable of any of those right now - he had been hard for almost an hour now and your grip around him was like a vice.

“Seungcheol more.” You whined, despite him already railing into you like there was no tomorrow. He still listened though, sliding his hand down between your bodies and finding you clit, well aware that you would probably go unbelievably tight the moment he touched it, rendering him absolutely helpless. Sure enough, you keened, clamping down on him hard the moment he began rubbing circles, a string of curses leaving your mouth.

“Cum for me.” He whispered, hips rutting against yours harshly, holding his own release back desperately. “Cum all over me.”

And you did, the pleasure washing over you in waves, legs tightening around him before they finally went slack, exhausted. Seungcheol pulled them off him, gripping your thighs instead, shifting from an erratic rhythm to quick, deep strokes as he finally came inside you, collapsing on top.

He was careful enough not to crush you under his weight, holding himself up a little so you could regain your breath, watching your eyes flutter tiredly.

“We need to get you cleaned up.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, glancing at your mixed arousals dripping out of you. “I don’t know how long the statute of limitations for ejaculate is….”

For the first time in your life, Choi Seungcheol had managed to turn you dumb, as you nodded mindlessly, not having registered the stupidity that just came out of him.

He chuckled, rolling off you, but you dragged him back by the wrist, wrapping your arms around him.

“Hold me.”

And as though the universe hated you, a sharp knock on the door made you two jump apart. Seungcheol still proceeded to hold you but the knocking only repeated, louder this time. He huffed annoyed, sliding off the bed, grabbing his shirt from the floor and threw it on. Opening the door just a little, half hiding behind it, lower half specifically, he peaked out but his plan was foiled when the receptionist pushed the door fully open and came barging in, throwing her hands around.

“Check out time was 12! You’re late-”

She froze as Seuncheol quickly covered himself with a towel from nearby and you scrambled in a hurry, hiding under the sheets, squirming in embarrassment.

The old woman slowly, still shocked to the core, muttered an apology and walked out of the room as Seungcheol smacked his head against the wall, regretting not wearing his pants.

“You…” She cleared her throat from the other side of the door. “You have till 2. Get it together and get out of my lodge.” She then walked away, the sound of her footsteps fading, before they suddenly got louder again. “I would also like to add that I knew this was going to happen from the moment you two stepped foot in here!”

You covered your face trying not to pass out from the embarrassment as Seungcheol locked the door laughing.

"Why does she sound so happy?"

“I cannot believe she saw us." You groaned. "Who walks in like that-”

“Who cares?” Seungcheol walked over to you. “I cannot believe we still have two more hours.”

“You’re not even ready to go again.” You looked pointedly at the softened dick in his hand that he was pumping lazily. “Besides, we're going to have to book the room again, for tonight.”

“2 hours isn’t enough for you? Oh baby-”

“Our flight is at 5am tomorrow you idiot, we still need a place for the night.”

“Right.” Seungcheol recalled, “I forgot we had to go… that this had to come to an end.”

“Nothing’s ending.” You clarified, putting a rest to his worries. “Didn’t you say, you and I, till the end?”

Seungcheol nodded as you held your hand out to him. He walked over taking it, dropping a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“Say.” And you knew an unholy thought was brewing in that head of his. “We have all this time and there are seven beds here.”

“I don’t care how many there are.” You laughed, pulling him into the softness of the sheets. “I only want one to share with you.”

A/n - this was supposed to be out a few hours ago but tumblr was being a bitch to me. Im adding the tags in the comments! Reblogs with tags, comments and asks are much appreciated, thank you for reading :)

[peoniesnro]

Perfect Partner | Sequel 1

Synopsis - You wake up in an unfamiliar apartment, next to your so-called AI boyfreind Jeongguk, only to realize you're trapped.

Paring- Jeon Jungkook × Reader

Genre- Yandere | Dark Romance

Warnings- Since you all told me that I can totally tag this under yandere, I'm going to do that. (Kidnapping/ Obsessive Love/ Jeon is delusional (He's a psychopath)/ Jeon is a sweet asshole/ Possesiveness/ Betrayal/ Infidelity/ Soft manipulation/ Toxic behaviours/ Reader is broken.) No smut for this part but it's going to be there in the future.

Word count- 9K

a/n- My initial plan was to write just a part two, but it ended up being too long. So, I decided to break it into a few chapters. This is the first sequel, and I'll write a prequel next to give you insight into what happened in the past. After that, I'll release another sequel to continue the story from here. (Hope you won't mind) And thank you sososossoooooo much for the love you've shown for Perfect Partner. (I love you all ❤️)

DON'T BLAME ME

This is the sequel, read the first part here -

Perfect Partner

Next part

Prequel

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stir awake slowly. Eyes remaining closed as your senses begin to return. And the first thing you become aware of is the way your head pounds violently. It throbs as though your skull might split open. A soft whimper escapes your lips. 

Why are you in so much pain? 

What the hell happened that you’re feeling such a severe headache? 

You scrunch your face in a futile attempt to ease the pain. Another soft groan escapes you. And you make the grave mistake of opening your eyes. You open your eyes slowly and sensually. Feeling how heavy your eyelids are. But a sharp pain shoots across your head the moment a faint white light reaches your vision. This time as if a spear impaled your skull. Right between your eyes. That’s where the pain starts and shortly after your entire head is in an unbearable agony. 

You whimper loudly before closing your eyes back. Mentally cursing yourself for trying to open them in the first place. Try to turn into your side in hope the pain would subside when a sudden voice reaches you. Making you freeze. 

“Oh, you’re awake?” 

A voice that is deep and baritone. Groggy and husky. Soothing and warm. Then you feel some movements. It all happens fast. The voice and the feeling of the mattress dipping next to you. You shoot your eyes open disregarding the pain. It’s a reflex. A strange sensation washes over you. A fear. Fear that’s so intense it numbs you. You don’t try to move or turn your head. Or you don’t get a chance to do so. Just as you open your eyes back, you’re met with someone. Blurry. Hazy. 

“How are you feeling pretty?” 

Pretty?

Your sight finally clears. Your eyes zero on a face. 

Pretty………….

Hi pretty!

A voice rings in your head. Repeatedly. One word. 

Pretty. 

Fragments of memories start to flash in front of your eyes. Voices. Images. A man. An AI. Perfect Partner. Gifts. Hoseok. Fear. You can practically feel the same fear. Terror. Daebi’s birthday. Your apartment. Your phone- destroyed. A fight with a stupid AI character. 

Stupid AI character!

Jeongguk. A sharp yet shaky breath lodges inside your lung, painfully. Jeongguk. Your perfect partner. An AI character who you’ve been so smitten over until you weren’t. Jeongguk. A perfectly coded program that knew exactly how to make you feel good. Jeongguk. That godly man with a tattooed hand and piercings. 

Jeongguk….

Jeongguk…

Jeongguk…

Tattoos.

Piercings.

You blink at the brown eyes peering at you. A thin layer of sweat coats your entire body. The familiar yet excruciating fear engulfing you whole. Your eyes naturally wander over the strange face that keeps staring at you with wide eyes, faster than lightning. Brown eyes. Chiseled nose. Pink lips. 

A Lip ring.

Your breath hitches in a bad way. You look back at his eyes. Eyebrows. One brow is pierced. 

Piercings.

Jeongguk.

It’s ridiculous how your brain takes that much time to realize everything. To recover everything. To identify the person in front of your eyes who’s so close to you that you can feel his breath. Like a sudden slap everything registers inside your mind. And when it does, a loud alarm goes on inside your brain. Your sight turns blurry again as the terror makes your breath catch in your throat. Still you manage to let out a tangled scream as your flight or fight reflexes finally activate. You try to sit abruptly as a flash, hands coming to push away the person who is hovering over you. You really don’t have a plan. All you know is the urge to run away. Get away from this person who couldn’t be here in theory. He’s supposed to be a programmed character. 

Yet he is here. And all you can do is try your best to run away. That’s your plan, which quickly turns into a failure when you’re pushed back into the bed before you could even sit back properly. 

“Don’t- don’t move so fast.” His voice reaches to you as if it's coming from a distance. “You’ll get sick if you-” You try your utmost best. You thrash in his hold. Twisting your hands. Kicking your legs. “- Fucking stay still (___), you’ll worsen your headache.” He pins you down into the mattress. Gets on top of you in one quick movement. Holds your both wrists pinned above your head. His legs tangled with yours so you could no longer even move them let alone kick.

No. Oh God no! This isn’t happening.

Your tangled screams turn into muffled sobs. You absolutely hate how tears start to roll down your cheeks instantly. You’re showing weakness. And your body is growing weak alongside your mind. Yet still you try to move at least. It doesn’t work. The guy is ten times stronger than you. You can smell him. Something lavender. You can feel him. His breath. His weight. Everywhere. You feel sick. 

“Please don’t.” You manage to croak out, finally. “Do-don’t. Let-let me..” Your own voice is unrecognisable to even you. Desperate. Pathetic. Helpless. 

“Shh.. it’s okay princess. Calm down baby. Calm down.” His voice makes your skin prickle. Your muffled sobs turn into a wail. Despite how much you don’t like it, you start bawling like a child. 

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Let me go. Don’t-” You try to move one more time. Fail, yet again. “Don’t touch me.” Your body starts to shake. You watch how his eyes widen through your blurry gaze. “Le-let me go. Do-don’t touch please-” You feel his grip loosen. He takes a minute. Then abruptly gets off you. Sit back on his heels. 

“Okay. Okay. Fuck. I’m not touching you. Don’t move too fast-”

You don’t give a fuck about what he says. The moment his hands and body are not on you, you jump into action again. This time you manage to sit back properly. Manage to get down from the bed you’ve been on. Manage to stand on your feet. Only just for a split second, however. Just as you stand up, your legs give up completely. Everything starts to go dark.Your body fails you entirely as you feel the way you start to sway to your left. You’d hit the ground any second now. But the impact never comes. 

“Told you baby. You’re making it worse.” 

You’re wrapped up in a pair of strong hands. 

…………………………….

You lay in the silk comforters. Head propped up on two pillows. Soaked in your own sweat. Head violently pounding. Spinning. You’ve thrown up three times by now. Still you feel nauseous. There’s a metallic bitter taste lingering on your tongue. Your fingers feel numb. So do your legs. Everything feels like a nightmare to you. Nothing makes sense but you know it’s real. You woke up next to your AI character. Each and everything that happened to you was real. Your AI Jeongguk was real. And you’ve been kidnapped. He kidnapped you and now you’re a prisoner here. 

The nausea intensifies tenfold at the realization. You’re trapped here. And you’re too weak to even consider running away. You tried and now look at you. Completely bedridden. It’s humiliating how your captor had to hold your hair back while you threw your guts out. Ridiculous how your captor was the one who carried you to the bed when you couldn’t make two steps without falling down. 

Fresh tears start to roll down through your cheeks. You’re completely helpless and at his mercy. You want to be able to do something. To fight. Escape. What have you done in your previous life that you’re in this kind of situation? You twist the silk bed sheet around your fingers. Having no other way of unleashing your emotions. Anger. Despair. Fear. Sorrow. 

The sudden sound of the door opening snaps you out of your melancholy. You instantly recoil in your spot. Back pressing into the mattress as you idly try to make yourself hidden from his view. Even closing your eyes shut as if it would help you to hide your shaking figure. Creating a false sense of protectiveness around you. It’s scary. Him. His place. Even his presence. It doesn’t matter how tidy and spotless this room is. How handsome he looks. How good he and this room smell. Nothing is enough to shake your fear away. You recoil even more as you hear his footsteps growing closer to you. Almost cover your face in the comforter when you feel his presence right next to you. Standing near the bed. 

“Baby!” His voice is soothing. Warm and soft. Like the caress of a lover. If only that’s the case. You squeeze your eyes shut. Not wanting to look at your abductor. You hear him heave a heavy sigh. “C’mon, you need to eat something.” He mumbles. You keep your eyes closed. “Princess, you’re sick, and you need to eat something.” He repeats. And you feel your stomach churn.

Princess?

He acts like he cares about you with his whole heart and soul. Sick. He’s fucking sick. 

Among all the emotions you’re feeling, you sense how anger rears its head above the rest.. You’re still very scared but you can't help but feel mad. What can go wrong anymore, anyway. You’ve already trapped here. So, you tilt your head to your side. Keep your eyes closed. 

“Okay,” Jeongguk lets out an almost inaudible chuckle before you can hear him placing something on the nightstand. You guess it’s the food. Then you can feel him sitting next to you on the edge of the bed. Then silence. For a second, all you can feel is his presence. Then a sharp gasp leaves your mouth when you feel a rough hand on your face. Cups your cheeks. You open your eyes solely due to the fear at the same time Jeongguk turns your head toward him. Just like earlier, you’re met with his face so close to you. Instead of brown, glinting, innocent doe eyes, however, this time you’re peering into a pair of dark eyes that are shadowed by a dangerous dark cloud. Threatening and warning. 

“You’re such a brat princess. I knew you were. Don’t be stubborn now,hm? You need energy. You need food,” Your breath hitch at his dangerous voice. Eyes starting to prick with new tears. Jeongguk’s features soften at that. “Look baby, I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll never hurt you. Won’t do anything to you.” He withdraws his hand. You immediately let out a breath of relief. Ignore the way his face tightens for a minute at that. But he fixes it immediately. “I won’t even touch you. See,” Shows his hands to you while he says that. “But,” Of course, there’s a but. “You need to be a good girl. Can’t have you die under my protection now, can we? That’s not why I brought you here. All I want is the best for you baby. So, don’t be stubborn now, will you? Just let me feed you.” He takes a tray from the nightstand, which is what he probably placed there earlier. “Let’s clean you up then and you’ll have a good sleep. Come morning, you’ll be all fine.” Gives you a soft and reassuring smile. His lip ring glistnes under the dim lighting of the room. “C’mon, sit up. Want me to help you?” Questions. 

You just dumbly stare at him. How sweet he appears. How caring. And he always was. When you thought he was just a mere programme. Before he started controlling every movement of your life. Scared the shit out of you and ended up kidnapping you. Lied to you about a whole lot of things. Hell, your entire life is a lie. This sweet man in front of you is a lie. That smile is a facade. He’s a dangerous predator and you’re his prey. One wrong movement, he’ll break your neck. And you don’t want that. Despite everything, dying in his hands is the last thing you want. 

You shake your head. You absolutely don’t want his hands on you. Even if it’s just to help you. You’ll use the last ounce of your strength to do things alone. So, you sit up with a great effort. He rushes to fix the pillow into a much more comfortable angle to you. You say nothing when he starts to feed you. 

You’ll find a way out of here. Even though you have no idea where you are. You don’t even know what day it is or the time. There’s not a clock in here. You don’t know how long it has been since you were here. Missing from the outside world. Yet, you’ll figure it out. To do that, however, you’ll need your strength back. You convince yourself that’s the only reason why you’re greedily opening your mouth every time he brings the spoon near it. Nothing else. Not because the soup tastes heavenly and you’re starving. You don’t want his food. It’s just that you need strength. 

……………………….

You didn’t want to comply with any of his requests. Or commands, you’ll say since none of them sounds like requests. He demanded that you eat. You did. He demanded that you bathe. You did. He demanded that you sleep. So, you did. Now when you’re awake, still lying on his comfy bed, he’s demanding you take some pills. You don’t want to do it. You don’t know what those pills are. And the longer you resist the harder his expression is turning.

He was beaming when you opened your eyes to find him sitting at the corner desk, staring at his computer. He seemed genuinely thrilled to see you awake again. But with every minute you refused to take the pills, his smile slowly faded. Replaced with a scowl and now he’s glaring down at you. You don’t like that look. A shiver runs through your spine. 

“Now, what did I tell you princess?” He asks softly but you can hear the hidden warning. 

“I-I’m f-fine. I- don’t w-want medicine.” You meekly try one more time. Jeongguk’s whole face turns grim. You don’t know what he’ll do. Panic floods your mind. You gulp harshly. You hate how you feel scared of this man. Paranoid. He hasn’t done anything except kidnapping you. Not yet anyway. He promised not to touch you and he hadn’t. He cooked for you, made sure you were clean, comfy, and warm. All of which are good things. But here you are afraid of him as if he’s the satan when he looks like an angel.

You raise a shaky weak arm up to take the pills in your hand. It’s not like he would drug you. You don’t know how he brought you here. Only things you can remember are the fear and your apartment. And his voice. The rest is dark. Maybe he drugged you then. Maybe hit you hard across your head. Or maybe it’s simply chloroform. But now though he has no reason to drug you again. You’re too weak anyway. And he himself told you that he doesn't want to cause any harm. You gulp down the pills in one go. Hoping it wouldn’t actually kill you. Look at Jeongguk expectantly. His expression doesn’t change a bit. But he simply nods and turns around to walk away. And your tongue betrays you before you can process it. His name leaves past your lips even without your knowledge. 

“Jeongguk.” You mutter weakly. He halts. Turns around to face you. His expression is unreadable. You don’t know why you stopped him. So, you try to rake your brain for a good excuse when he saves you from the trouble. 

“JungKook.” He states. 

“Huh?” You blink at his face when finally his face softens. “It’s Jungkook pretty. My real name, it’s Jeon Jungkook.” He explains. 

Oh!

Of course, he lied. Not that you care anyway. Why would you? You just nod in acceptance. 

“Why?” You decide to ignore his disclosure. The question comes easily into your mouth. And Jeongguk- or now Jungkook looks genuinely surprised. You expect him to ask you to clarify the question. He doesn’t. 

“Because I love you baby. I don’t want you to hurt anymore. Wanted to protect you. You’re safe here with me. Besides, you gave me no other option. You were becoming too stubborn and you lied to me. When I did my best, you lied to me baby.” Jungkook peers down at your figure on his bed. You feel new tears forming in your eyes again. You’re too tired. You can’t cry anymore. But you can’t help it either. Jungkook is talking about kidnapping you as if it’s such a normal thing. He reasons with you about how fair that is. He tells you that he did it because he loves you. He’s insane—completely and utterly insane.

“I didn’t want to scare you and bring you here this way. I had a plan. And you ruined it because you had to lie to me and go after your shitty friends and ex again. I had to do something before you hurt yourself again. I’m sorry I scared you baby,” He smiles softly again. You bite the inside of your cheeks to prevent yourself from crying. “But that’s okay now. You’re safe and I’ll make sure of it.” He turns around again. Leaves the room. 

A fresh sob erupts from your throat. 

You’re trapped with a psychopath. 

…………………………..

It had taken a week. An entire week for you to recover from whatever agonizing sickness you went through. You couldn’t even move alone without Jungkook’s help, let alone thinking about running away. Yet you plotted your escape anyway. While you were resting on the bed for twenty four hours, you planned every miniscule detail of your grand escape. Until you end up with no plan on the seventh day where you are finally able to walk without his help. It’s not that your plans are stupid. No. Simply that each and every plan you come with requires a moment where Jungkook isn’t home. And after a close examination of a week, you realized that the chances of such a moment is likely zero. 

The guy is always home. Every damn minute. You had waited until he’d finally go to work. He didn’t. Your best guess was that he works from home. That explains the amount of time he’s spending hunched over his computer. It’s surprising to you, how a complete computer nerd has that kind of body. Then you waited until he left the place for groceries or something. That didn’t happen either. And that makes all your plans futile. 

Scary. The prospect of not being able to run away almost drains you out of your will to live. But you’re still hopeful. The opportunity might arrive anytime. Especially since you’ve gained your strength back again. 

And you believe with your whole heart that people must be looking for you already. Daebi surely must have visited you the next day as she promised. You wonder if she has suspected anything right away. Maybe not. But still she must’ve tried to call you. You were friends for almost more than six years now. She knows you like the back of her hand. She would definitely know something is wrong. You guess she already did. Besides she knew you were paranoid about someone being in your place. Daebi is a smart woman and she must’ve picked up on the clues fast. You believe she has already paid a visit to the police station. You can imagine the ruckus she’s causing there. Demanding them to find you soon. See, you have hope. You know they’d come find you eventually. But still you won’t sit here prettily until that happens. You’ll try your utmost best to escape. 

Besides, on the bright side, Jungkook hasn’t tried to harm you in any way. He has stuck to his promise and never even laid a finger on you. Except for the times he had to help you move around. And you didn’t protest at those times either since despite your strong will, your body didn’t comply with your mind. Other than that, the man has respected your wishes and your privacy fully. He hasn’t even slept in the same room as you. Somehow, you have managed to realise that it’s his room. But he has given it to you. You have no idea where he spent nights. Not that you care anyway. You really didn’t talk with him. He did. You listened. Or you didn’t do that either. Simply, you allowed him to ramble sometime while he fed you or helped you around. And as long as everything keeps happening in the same way, you can wait patiently until a perfect moment arises for you. 

Yes. That moment will come and you will be out of here even before you know.  

You give yourself a firm nod. Partially in determination and partially to brace yourself to do what you’re about to do. You place your hand slowly on the doorknob. This is the first time you’re about to step outside of this room. It’s not that you really want to do that. But firstly, you’re sick of looking at the same four walls for a straight week. Secondly, you need to have a better idea about the place you live in to be able to successfully escape. You haven’t seen Jungkook since this morning but you know he’s somewhere under the same roof as you. 

You open the door slowly and quietly. Half expecting to stumble into a hidden trap or have something jump out at you. Nothing like that happens. You open the door completely and are met with a short hallway. Across from it you can see a living room. The entire place is eerily quiet. No sounds of anything except a distant buzz that you assume is a refrigerator. You slowly take a step forward. Then another. Still being very cautious of any sudden attacks. And make it to the living room without any hitch. His bedroom has looked lavish. You won’t lie. It’s comfortable and large. Even his bathroom is lavish. But now as you’re standing in his living room, you know certainly he’s rich. You don't know what his job is but for one thing, he must be earning six figures while working from home. Impressive. Perfect. Like how he portrayed himself in front of you. The Perfect Partner. 

You let out a small breath. Taking in your surroundings. Minimalistic black and white interior. Comfy couch. State-of-the-art television. Everything looks lavish. You dart your eyes over every nook and corner, stopping in every detail until you spot what you’ve been looking for. The main door. Right across from you. You gape at the wooden barrier that keeps you hidden in this place. Isn’t it funny how it’s just a door and all you have to do is twist the knob? Aren’t you going to be free then? The temptation coils around your body like a serpent. Tightening painfully with every passing second. What would happen if you just started running toward that door? Just open it and break into a run for all that you are worth. 

“I won’t even think about it, if I was you, pretty.” The sudden voice that comes from nowhere startles you so much that a yelp escapes your mouth. You whip around to find Jungkook casually standing behind you. How long has he been there? How come you didn’t hear anything? “It’s stupid and it could hurt you. You’re not even wearing proper clothes are you?” He adds while you stare at him with wide eyes. 

“I-I-”

“It’s fine. I hope you’re not that stupid baby. You won’t break my trust again, will you?” Jungkook takes a slow step forward. You take one backward. He stops. “Will you?” Asks again. You shake your head almost instantly. Why the hell are you so afraid of this man? Well, you should be. Look where you are. “Good,” He smiles. That damn smile that makes his lip ring glistnes. That horrible smile that makes you shiver. Sweet. Sweet like venom. “I’ve been preparing you breakfast, wanna join me in the kitchen since now you can walk alone perfectly?” Raises his eyebrow in question. You take a moment. You don’t want to be near him. But you have to find a moment. An opportunity. You’ll not find it by scooping yourself inside his room. After a second of hesitation you nod. 

………………………….

Days roll painfully slowly by you. Days spent patiently waiting for an opportunity that hasn’t arrived until now. Jungkook doesn’t leave his apartment just like you knew. He’s always there. He fascinates you at this point, truly. It’s like he possesses some secret powers to be able to do that. You’re wondering how he never faces any emergencies that require him to leave the place. Maybe that’s how unfortunate you are. Not getting the slightest of a chance to escape your luxury prison. And with every passing day, the light of your hope is growing duller and duller. You’re terrified of never getting a chance out of here. So you are afraid of anyone else never finding you ever again. It’s been more than two weeks since you've been here, but not a single person came ringing his bell saying they're here to check for a missing person. 

The only people who rang his bell were the delivery men bringing his orders. Jungkook always made sure you’re out of their sight each time that happened. You don’t know why you obediently complied with him every time. Jungkook hasn’t done anything harmful to you until now. His promise is still going. Yet you find yourself terrified of him. All it takes is a scowl or straight face from him, you’re following his orders around like a little pet. You hate it. You hate yourself for being afraid of him. But for some reason you are. He may not have done any harm to you yet. That, however, doesn’t mean he’s incapable of that. There are millions of dangerous ‘what if’s  going inside your brain every time you try to be a little rebellious. Which is the same reason why you’re reluctant to try on a new plan. 

If Jungkook never leaves his place, that leaves you with only one option. Trying to escape while he’s still around. Extremely dangerous. If you succeed, then it’s fine. But if you don’t then that would be the end of you. You know for a fact that then Jungkook no longer would pretend to be the sweet boy he is. All starry eyes while he looks at you or the shy smiles. Sweet nicknames he uses for you or the innocent flirtings. They’d all drown under his anger and maybe he’ll break his promise then. Or he’d simply kill you. And for the record, you know you’re not a match for his strength if it ever comes to fighting him down. He’d definitely surrender you even before you properly start fighting. That leaves you hopeless. Helpless. Even the thought makes a lump form in your throat. 

You swallow that lump as you focus on the man in front of you. Just happily fumbling around his kitchen like an innocent kitten. He truly does look like a bunny sometimes. Normal. Capable of deceiving anyone. Oh, how sick he makes you feel. Only if you could just hit him with something and run away. Maybe you can try. Can you? Are you capable of doing that? None of these would be a problem if he can just leave the place for a minute. Maybe he doesn’t trust you to leave you alone. Hell, he doesn’t even leave you to yourself when he showers. He made sure you’re locked inside a room while he used the guest bathroom. Not the room you slept in. And that room has a lock you’re incapable of finding how to unleash. He's a genius. 

Smart motherfucker!

Well, then maybe you should play this smart. Pretend to like him. He surely acts like he’s so whipped for you. Maybe you can take advantage of that. 

You perk up instantly. Now watching him with a newfound interest. He is in a white t-shirt and black slacks. His tattooed hand on display. His raven hair tousled after the shower he just had. Jungkook raises his head from the pot he’s been stirring. Probably sensing your stares. He gives you a soft smile. You try to reciprocate it but fail. You have no idea how you’re ever going to pretend to like him when your stomach churns whenever he’s too close to you. 

He’s god damn handsome and that’s a given. Not even God himself would be able to argue. Jungkook is a piece of art. But still, he was the same person who put you through hell and now keeps you trapped here. And that makes him disgusting. You hate him. Completely. But you can’t let him know that. Right? You need to earn his trust. Then maybe he’ll leave you alone to yourself sometimes. Maybe he would trust you enough to not lock you in a room while he showers. So, you bite back the disgust you feel when he walks to you with a spoon in his hand. 

He is making Sundubu Jjigae. Just because you said you wanted that for dinner when he asked. That’s the first thing that comes to your mouth. He brings the spoon to your mouth. You open your mouth without any reluctance. The rich broth invades your taste buds, almost making you hum in delight. You catch yourself just in time. He’s a very good cook, as you’ve come to know by now. See, he’d be a Perfect Partner if it wasn’t for the fact he's a psychopath. 

You give him a nod in approval. “It’s good.” Mumble softly. You still don’t talk with him much. If you’re going to pretend to like him. Then that’d take so much work. Jungkook pouts. 

“Good? That’s it? C’mon I need a perfect princess.” He walks back to the stove. “Should I throw it away and start over?” He looks at you. Eyes glinting. Yours go wide instantly. You straighten up in your stool. Head already shaking. 

“No. No. I- I mean, it’s good. No- uh- it’s perfect Gu-” You shut your mouth immediately. Catching yourself. He’s not the Jeongguk you knew. And even if he is, you're not going to call him by nicknames. You feel nauseous. So much for pretending to like him. Jungkook’s face clouds by something grim for a minute before he smiles. 

“Yeah?” Questions. 

“Yes.” You confirm. 

……………………………

You gaze out of the floor to ceiling windows of Jungkook’s living room. The night city bustles beneath you. According to your best guess, you’re at least fifteen floors high in this apartment building. That leaves you to imagine the ruckus it would cause you to reach the lobby if you manage to actually escape. 

No, you shouldn’t think that way.

There’s no ifs. You’re going to escape and you’ll overcome every challenge as well. You shake your head to brush off any negative thoughts. You can always look at the bright side. At least he hasn’t taken you away from the country and your familiar city. That thought alone makes you feel a little at ease. There’s still hope. You let out a heavy sigh. Jungkook is playing a video game on his expensive TV behind you. You turn your head to take a brief glance at him. Just to make sure he’s still there. He sometimes walks around in the grace of a black panther. It always gives you heart attacks. 

You look back at the outside again. Trying to imagine yourself walking among the thousands of people down there. Living a normal, busy life. Not someone’s personal amusement. You try to imagine freedom. The night air in your skin. You feel suffocated. Oh, how you wish to go outside just for a second. You’re really getting tired of this place. All you want is a one-

Your trail of thoughts get interrupted when you suddenly catch the reflection of Jungkook standing up through the window. You tense up like a bowstring, knowing very well he’d come to you. Just like you knew he lazily stalks toward you. Stands behind you. Closely. So closely that you can feel his breath on your neck. You force yourself to stay still.

If you want to pretend you like him, then you need to start somewhere. 

“What is it, princess?” He mumbles sweetly. Eyes trailing past you to look at what you’ve been looking at. You almost shake your head to say it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter how bad you need to start somewhere, you don’t wish to engage in conversation with him much. It’s like a reflex. How you’re ready to run away from him. But you bite back the urge. You inhale deeply.

“Ca-can we g-go outside?” You blurt out before you can back out again. Jungkook’s eyes flicker to your reflection. Your eyes meet. “I- I mean with you of course. I- I feel like I’m getting cabin fever.” You breathe out. Jungkook says nothing. Just watches you intently. This is the most you’ve talked with him. He looks a bit surprised as well. He takes his sweet time. For a minute, it seems like he would say yes. Even a tiny bubble of hope builds inside you when it just pops out at his next words. 

“I’m sorry, pretty, but no.” 

You can’t help it. You absolutely can’t help how a sudden flash of anger washes through you. Weeks of frustration get to you all at once. You turn around to face him at light speed. 

“Why not?” You grit your teeth.

“Because it’s not safe yet.” He answers calmly. If he notices the way your mood swings, he doesn’t show it. A strained laughter escapes you.

“When will it be safe then?” You question again. He doesn’t answer. And his silence makes you lose your patience. “You fucking can’t keep me trapped here forever Jungkook. You fucking can’t do this to me. You-” You feel your eyes prick with tears. “You fucking can’t treat to me like I’m your pet. I’m a person and- and why are you doing this to me?” You swear that you didn’t plan on crying. But the tears start to roll down as your voice cracks. Interrupted by petty sobs. “Why me?” You muffle your cries with your palm. Jungkook takes a tentative step back. Eyes wide. 

“No, what?” Then he takes that step forward again. His hands grab you tightly by your shoulders. “Why would you ever think you’re trapped here (___), I already told you, I won’t do anything to harm you.” He squeezes your shoulders. In your overwhelmed state you just allow him. “I- oh, gosh princess, you’re not a prisoner here. What’s mine is yours. Consider this your home. You’re not trapped and you’re not a pet. Don’t twist things. You know I love you and I’d do anything for you.” One of his hands leaves your shoulder just to cup your face. Softly. He lifts your face upward to look at him. “Do you understand me baby? You’re not trapped.” 

You blink your tears back. He’s so fucking sick. Look at the things he’s talking about. And you know showing him you’re weak isn’t going to be any help to you. You bring a shaky hand to place on his chest. Push him away weakly. He gets the hint. His hands fall limp beside him. 

“Then why can’t I go outside? You brought me here without my consent Jungkook, that’s fucking kidnapping. And-” You inhale a shaky breath. You’re still very much afraid of him. But you’ll talk to him while you can. Before your fear will make you go back into your shell again. “You say you love me? After all the shit you put me through? Guess what Jungkook-” You feel the anger burning through you. “You don’t love me, you’re just sick and I fucking hate you!” You shout through the top of your lungs. 

And it all happens so fast. The hurt slash across Jungkook’s eyes before they darkened with a dangerous gloom. Your words echo through the apartment before everything falls into a deadly silent state. 

Then even before you know it, your back hits the glass behind you with a loud thud. Jungkook’s hand cupping your cheek so damn tight this time that an involuntary whimper leaves you. He turns your head so you’re looking dead in the eye with him. His body pressing against yours, completely caging you between him and the window. 

“Take that back.” He growls. Is so close to you that you’re practically sharing one breath. His breath tingles your face. “Take that fucking back (___).” He shakes your face. His grip is too tight. You don’t know why you’re crying now. Is it because of the tight grip or the fear? Your body instantly turns limp. Useless. “You don’t mean it. You don’t hate me. Take it back.” Jungkook’s dangerous grumble turns into a shaky, breathless whimper. “Please.” You look at the hurt in his eyes with teary eyes. Your heart beating in your throat and your entire body trembling. You had thought he hit you or something. But now when the situation makes sense to your brain, you’re desperately trying to calm down. Not to die from a heart attack. “Take that back baby, please.” He pleads again. His tight grip on you, however, is a stark contrast to his pleading words. 

“I-” You don’t know what you should say. You’ve ruined your plan even before you start it. You’ve said you hate him. Now your chances to gain his trust will be zero. There’s no reason to pretend anyway. You brace yourself to keep talking. Disagree with him. Consequences be damned. “You wouldn’t do this to me if you loved me, Jungkook.” Despite your best efforts, your voice comes out shaky. “If you really care, you would let me go.” You’re trying to persuade him. There’s a slim chance that it’d work. “I need to live a normal life. I-” Your words get cut off when Jungkook suddenly chuckles. He rests his forehead against you. 

“Yeah? And let you go after your shitty ex again. And watch him break your heart all over again?” His grip finally loosens. He starts caressing your cheek with his thumb, instead. Surprisingly, you find yourself a little bit less disgusted. “No thanks baby. I won’t go through that hell again.” He breathes out. You close your eyes shut when you feel that breath on your lips. “It’s funny, actually. How you never saw what you have. We’re not that different. We both always wanted what hurts us the most. You never saw how I always loved you. Then you ask me why I did it? I did it because you won’t see it any other way. I just love you so much I’ll do it all over again, if I have to. I won’t just accept the defeat this time and watch you go after some loser just to get your heart broken again baby. No. Not again.” 

You shoot open your eyes. 

What did he say? 

Again?

Always loved you?

What does he mean, again? How long has he been knowing you? A new fear makes you shiver. A sense that there’s more to this than meets the eye engulfs you. You want to question him about that. But something tells you that you will not like the answers. So, you keep quiet when he finally withdraws from you. He wipes your tears away. 

“I’m sorry it had to be like this princess, but I have no other options.” He steps away from you completely. “If you hate me, then I won’t mind. You’ll learn to love me one day too. Until then let’s see how things go.” He turns around. Then stops. “When the time is right, I’ll take you out. A date maybe.” 

……………………..

You stopped trying to do anything again. No more requests. No trying to pretend because you know you suck at that. Just cautiously watching him. Letting days pass by. With no opportunity to do anything except to keep yourself as far away from Jeon Jungkook as possible. Until today. This very moment. 

You perk up as a knock comes on the door. It’s just another lazy but alarming day of watching him cook for you. Jungkook stops chopping cabbage. He already knew the delivery was coming. You eye him wearily as he washes his hands, gives you a soft smile and leaves the kitchen. Even these kinds of short moments give you solace. You almost drop your head into your palms when you suddenly notice it. The sleek black device on the kitchen counter. Jungkook’s phone. You straighten up immediately. 

Among your many plans, trying to call someone always has been a first. Only that you never got a chance. You haven’t found any device that you can use for communication except for his phone. And obviously he keeps it with himself. Every damn time. Even when he showers. Today, however, is an exception it seems. You eye the phone on the kitchen island. Your heart beats in your throat. 

He has forgotten it for sure. He doesn't allow chances for you to try anything funny. Hell, at this rate you’re sure you won’t even get a chance to escape even if he leaves you alone in this apartment. You know he’d lock you inside that damn room with that smart locking system. Jungkook controls that shit with his mobile. You know he has installed that lock in that specific room just to keep you inside. All the other rooms and doors are normal. You’ve seen it. Even the main door is normal. You know it requires a password to enter but you can freely walk out. Like a normal door would. 

Maybe this would be the only chance you get. You can call someone. Or text someone. Jungkook has just gone to open the door for another delivery. But it’ll take some time. If you hurry- it’s just enough time. You lick your dry lips. Your head is pounding with indecision. 

Oh, you have to at least try.

You need to do something. Being a prisoner here forever isn’t an option. 

Time is ticking and you’re losing your precious opportunity. 

You slide down from the stool as you slowly make it toward the phone. Your ears are ringing. Cold beads of sweat start to appear on your forehead. Your breathing comes out as shallow pants. You stand still before the phone. 

There it is. Just a lifeless device. It won’t start screaming when you grab it. All you have to do is just call someone quickly. You throw a nervous glance to the doorway. He isn’t here yet. But he would be any minute. 

You need to fucking hurry!

You grab the phone at almost light speed. Throwing caution to the wind, you press the power button, revealing the lock screen. You swipe the screen. In a blind hope that it wouldn’t be password protected. A disappointed sigh leaves you when the screen changes for password input. Of course, who were you kidding? He has a smart locking system and you thought he wouldn’t add a password for his device? How stupid can you be?

A low curse slips through your lips as your brain starts to run a mile a minute. Swirling around different possibilities as to what could be his password. You’re at a loss. You know nothing about him. Almost three weeks with him yet you never even bothered to know anything about him beyond his name. You don’t know his birthday. Age. You don’t know about his family. Anything that could lead you up to a possible guess. You groan as you force your brain to come up with something. 

His age? Do you know that? Have you ever knew it? You wander through your memory lane. Maybe you could find a hint if you think about your time with him before this. When you thought he was just an AI. His bio. He obviously lied to you about his name but what about his age. He had that on there. It takes you a split second to remember it. You can clearly remember he was older than you. And you think you can recall his age as well. 

Yes, that’s it.

The combination requires four numbers and you guess it’s the year. You do a quick calculation in your mind. 

1997

You enter the numbers with trembling fingers, praying to god that it’d be the right one. 

Password incorrect!

You clutch the phone tightly. Almost enough to crack it with your bare hands. Your blood roars inside your ears. Drowning all the other sounds. You glance at the doorway again. He isn’t here again. One more time. One more chance. Even tears start to prick at your eyes as you torture your mind for something. Something that he likes. Sure, you must’ve seen something. Anything. You live with him for fucks sake. 

Something that’s valuable to him. 

Something he lov-

Your eyes go wide. It sure can’t be right? You know something very precious to him. 

You!

You let out a breathy exhale as you frantically start to enter your birth year into the keypad. You’re 99.9% positive that this wouldn’t work. 

It does. The moment you type the last digit the phone unlocks. 

Wow! He really is crazy. That familiar fear tugs at your guts. You have no time to dwell on that, however. There’s more pressing matters at hand. You open the phone application frantically. You can call the police. You can call one of your friends. The best option is to call the police. But you feel hesitant. What if they don’t trust you? You don’t know where this mistrust about the law comes from. In the end, you opt on dialing one of your friends. And without a doubt it’s going to be Daebi. Not that you remember other people’s numbers anyway. 

You dial on Daebi’s number. Your fingers are shaking and your breath is getting caught in your throat every now and then. Same chant or prayer going through your mind. 

Please don’t let him come now. Please don’t.

You enter the final number and mindlessly hit the dial button. It takes a millisecond for the screen to change into the calling page. Then it does. 

D

A capital ‘D’ pops up on the screen. A saved number. You squint your eyes in annoyance. Did you get the number wrong? You have no time for this. You hang up the call immediately before dialing it again. Wait. The same ‘D’ pops up again. This number is saved on this phone. 

No. That can’t be.

How and why would Jungkook has Daebi’s number on his phone. Maybe you have jumbled your memory and this isn’t her number. You feel a shiver run through your spine. This can’t be. You should try again. You hang up the call once more. Start entering it over again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The voice booms through the kitchen. You jump on your spot before the phone slips through your fingers at the unexpected sound. You hear a faint clank as your wide eyes turn to Jungkook. Standing at the doorway. Some grocery bags in his hand. He assesses you for a minute before storming toward you. That dark cloud envelopes him whole as you watch him drop all the bags on the counter. Rounds the table to reach you. You just stand there rooted to the floor by fear. “What the fuck were you doing (___),” He shouts. Bends down and grabs his phone, which is still unlocked. “Who the hell did you contact?” He barks. Frantically going through his call history. 

A beat passes.

You watch how his expression instantly calms down. 

That can’t be.

He gives you a sympathetic look. 

That isn’t Daebi’s number.

Jungkook sighs. “You shouldn’t do dumb things pretty. It always ends up hurting you.” Clutches his phone tightly. “I already told you that I’m trying to protect you. But you’re still trying to betray me? You’re still trying to be that ungrateful bitch? You think your stupid friends give a fuck about you?” He takes a step toward you. His jaw clenched. You stay still. Your head spinning and your mind wandering between his words and all the possibilities as to how he has Daebi’s number. It can’t be her number. It isn’t. “How stupid you are baby. How fucking stupid are you? You could’ve called anyone, the police, someone else, but you decided to call your bitch of a best friend.” A throaty laugh escapes him. You tremble visibly. Well, you fucked up and maybe you won’t get any chance to know what’s actually happening. Jungkook would kill you before that. 

Still, though, you stay rooted in place as he closes the remaining few inches between you. Not because you’re not afraid anymore. But because it’s all too much for you to give a reaction. The only thing you’re capable of doing is gasping when he suddenly grabs your wrist. 

“I really didn’t want to harm you princess. When I say I’ll never cause you any harm, I meant it. But since you’re a stubborn bitch, maybe a little heartbreak and some truth will do you good.”

That’s all he says before turning around and starting to walk away. Dragging you with him. You protest weakly but without a doubt he wins. 

…………………….

You sit in his gaming chair. Slightly trembling and staring blankly at his computer screen. You actually don’t give a shit about what he has to show you. Something inside you is telling you that whatever this is, it isn’t going to be good. Yet, despite your protest Jungkook leans forward over your shoulder and clicks on a file. A video file to be specific.

“I never wanted to show this to you.” He whispers in your ear. You say nothing. Just sit there stupidly watching the screen change into a sight of an unfamiliar room. Jungkook doesn’t withdraw to give you your personal space. He just stays there. You ignore his presence as you pay your jumbled attention to the screen. For a couple of minutes it’s just a still image of a room. You almost become convinced that it’s really a picture when suddenly a door to the left of the room opens. You furrow your brow as you catch a woman entering the room, her face isn’t completely visible. And the quality of the video is really shitty. 

Yet you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand. An urge that something bad is about to happen lurking inside your stomach. Gut feelings. 

The woman fumbles around the room. Her face is still not visible to the camera. But even from the back and with the shitty quality you think she’s familiar. Very. 

You know her. 

Right at the clue, she turns around. Her eyes directly land on the camera. You let out a painful breath. 

Daebi!

You feel your heart squeeze. It hurts but at the same time a fleeting sense of comfort washes over you at the sight of a familiar face. Only until she turns around toward the door again, though. Only until a second figure enters the frame. A man. He doesn’t fumble around. He looks at Daebi the moment he enters and you see his face right away. 

If you thought it hurt to see Daebi, your whole world collapses the moment you see the man.

Hoseok!

No. 

Even before anything happens, you understand it. You feel an overwhelming urge to scream through the top of your lungs. To grab something and smash the computer into pieces. You don’t though. Are too stunned to be able to do anything. You can’t even look away. Not even when Daebi walks to Hoseok leisurely. Not even when Hoseok grabs her waist, flattening her against his chest. You keep watching when he lowers his head to catch Daebi’s mouth in a searing kiss. 

No. Please God no. This can’t be right.

But it’s unfolding in front of your eyes. Their kiss turns heated quickly. Hoeseok’s hand slips from her waist to her ass. He guides them toward the bed. 

No. Not Daebi. Daebi won’t do this to you. Hoseok would, yes. But not Daebi.

“This is- this..” A sob interrupts whatever you're trying to say. “It’s fake. You- you..” You don’t know what you’re talking about. 

“You still don’t believe that, after everything? Even when you have the proofs” Jungkook sighs. You shake your head violently.

“You forged it. Y-you- oh, c’mon,” You chuckle between your cries. “You created a damn app to lure me into your trap. You’re a fucking genius. Of-of fucking course you edited this.” Yes, that’s exactly what happened. You nod weakly, desperate to convince yourself. Jungkook says nothing for a while. But then all of sudden he places his phone on the table. Your eyes flicker from the errotic scene of your best friend and ex- boyfriend making out on a bed to his phone screen. There’s an outgoing call. 

D

Oh, you know what he’s doing. And you want to throw the phone away. You shouldn’t let him manipulate you. This all is his doing. The video. This call. 

“Hello!” 

You slightly jump on your seat when the unexpected voice reaches you through the phone. No one says anything.

“Hello? Kook?” Oh, you can recognize that voice anywhere. She is your best friend after all. 

“Hello D.” Jungkook finally answers her. You slump in your seat. Feeling all your energy leaves your body. 

“What the fuck man. You promised me you will never fucking contact me again. Why the hell are you calling me?” Daebi hisses. Jungkook gives a soft chuckle.

“Oh, it’s just that uh…” His eyes move to your shaky figure. “Your best friend here wanted to say hi.”

“What?” 

Jungkook taps your shoulder. You don’t want to do that. There’s no reason. But somehow you hear your own shaky voice come from a distance. 

“D-daebi?” It’s pathetic and desperate. Still hangs into a loose thread of hope. 

“Shit!” Daebi curses aloud. Her voice is sharp and panicked. That loose thread of hope breaks. You just gape at the phone screen. 

“Are you happy to hear from you bestie D?” Jungkook asks again. With a mockery tilt in his voice. You don’t know whether Daebi answered his question. Probably not. Because before anything, you hear a second voice. 

“Baby, who’s it?” Another voice that you’ll recognize anywhere. How can you not when you have loved him with everything.

Hoseok. 

And the line disconnects. 

All that is left is despair. Disappointment. Disbelief. And pain. Pain everywhere. It hurts everywhere. Every breath you take, every inch of your skin, every heartbeat, it all hurts. 

You can’t believe it. 

But it is the truth. 

You can’t control your cries. Can’t stop the gut-wrenching sobs tearing from your throat. Even start to rock yourself. Wrap your arms around your body. You need a little comfort. Otherwise you’ll die from this pain. That’s why you don’t complain or protest when Jungkook suddenly pulls you onto your feet. Just for him to sit back and drag you into his lap. You just allow him to manhandle you as you immediately curl into a ball in his lap. Hide your face in his broad chest and your fist bunching up on his t-shirt. You allow him to wrap his arms around you and rock you softly. 

“I know princess, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you but you deserve to know the truth. I always tried to protect you. I’m so sorry.” He draws soothing patterns on your back. You feel his lips on your crownline. 

 “It’s fine, I got you. You’re going to be safe. I’m not letting you go this time.”

…………………………..

At Daebi’s place

“Who was that?” Hoseok plops next to his girlfriend on the couch. 

“No one. Just another spam call.” Daebi sighs. Her face is completely pale. Hoseok takes a minute to study her expression.

“Yeah?” He mumbles. “Are you okay?” Questions just to be sure. Daebi gives him a soft smile before leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… you know how it is..” 

Of course, he knows. He and Daebi always lived in a constant loop of guilt. If only either of them had found the courage to tell you earlier, when they started falling in love. Then nothing like this would’ve happened. Hoseok thinks it’s cruel how he or Daebi never got a real chance to apologize to you. He really had thought maybe he would get that chance when he last saw you at Daebi’s birthday. But no. His life is too cruel to allow him such easy chances. Now that you’ve vanished into thin air, no one can say if he’ll ever get that chance again.

It’s almost nearing a month and there’s not a single clue about you. Nobody has seen you after Daebi’s birthday. All of your friends confirmed that. And considering how they all agreed upon that you weren’t been mentally strong lately- which is entirely his fault- police have a fat suspicion that you’ve taken your own life.

But Hoseok refuses to believe it. And even though Daebi doesn’t voice it out, he knows that she doesn’t believe it either. You’re safe, and sooner or later someone will find you. He knows that. 

“Yeah, I know baby.” Hoseok plants a soft kiss in her hair. “She’s alive and safe. You don’t have to worry, we’ll find her.” Reassures.

He completely misses how his girlfriend’s face grows even paler.

……………………

a.n- Let's meet with a prequel soon!!!!!!! (And loads of smut *wink*)

..............................................................................................................................

Taglist- @yunhoswrldddd @rjooniesdimples @ttanniett @targaryenluvs @winchesterkenzie @miniesjams32 @bookstoread199 @smokinghotstargirl @likemeforme @sunshinenmidnight

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[lalacliffthorne]

🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: a scheme needs rules.

notes: didn't think so many people would be into this concept tbh. hope you keep enjoying it 🖤 ______________________________________________________________

The lock clicks, and I push open the door, waving my hand.

Fae lights flicker to life. Their warm glow spills through the small living room, soft and familiar, and I hesitate before looking over my shoulder.

The floorboards creak gently. Then shadows bleed over the threshold, whispering quietly, and my breath catches.

Azriel slowly steps through the doorway. His wings brush against the frame, and the warm golden light turns his eyes into liquid amber as they slide over the worn leather couch, the shelves spilling over with books and the dining table covered in documents.

Shadows coil gently around his wings, whispering where they meet the light.

He's never been here before. Maybe because I am too protective of my own space.

Now, he looks so out of place looming in the doorway that a giggle nearly bubbles in my throat.

Cauldron. This really is absolutely and entirely mad.

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding firmly against my ribs. Then I turn quickly.

"I think we need to set some ground rules."

Azriel's eyes move away from the daggers on the coffee table, and something leaps softly into my throat when they meet mine.

Suddenly, I'm aware of how small the room is. How wide his shoulders are, how much space his towering body takes up. How the shadows curling around him are whispering, and how his amber eyes seem to track my every move.

My breath hitches softly.

Absolutely and entirely mad.

Azriel's gaze flickers over my face. Then he moves.

Shadows whisper gently over my skin, his scent washes over me, and for a second, the feeling of his hands wrapped around my ribs and his lashes fluttering against my cheeks washes over me.

The shadowsinger pushes past me and his rough skin brushes my wrist; my heart leaps into my throat, and I forcefully drag myself away from the memory.

Azriel leans against the dining table, stretching out his long legs and fixing his eyes on me. Then he dips his head lightly. "Go on."

Something swells a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

Alright.

So far, so good.

Now I just need to manage this conversation without accidentally saying something that makes him want to murder me after all.

"Well." I slowly lean back against the arm of the sofa, my gaze flickering over the Spymaster's face. "How long do we plan on doing this?"

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then one of his brows rises lightly.

"I don't know. What was your plan after kissing the first male in sight?"

I blink.

I knew it.

This is a terrible idea. A harebrained, stupid idea that has cost me my last bit of remaining dignity, and now he's going to use every second of this insane charade to torment me for the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my whole life -

The corner of Azriel's lips curves, just barely.

My heart leaps high against my ribs. Then my shoulders sag.

"Oh, hilarious." I huff and cross my arms.

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek.

"Just a little." His deep voice sounds dry, and something lodges gently in my throat when I stare back at him.

In the warm light, his eyes look strangely amused.

I blink. Then I quickly look away.

"Well. It should at least be long enough that it seems serious enough to count. To convince Mor that I really am alright." I crunch my brows softly. "But also not serious or long enough that - when we eventually break up, she won't believe me that I'm not heartbroken."

Azriel nods lightly.

"It has to last until Solstice. That's three months from now." His deep voice tinges with something that sounds very close to irritation when he adds in a low mumble: "That should prove to Cass and Rhys I'm not incapable of lasting connection."

Something dips gently in my chest in surprise, and my gaze darts up and flickers over his face.

I can't help but wonder if he's irritated by their assumption - or if maybe, they're right.

"Have you never had a relationship?"

The question is out before I can stop it. Then my heart drops, and my eyes widen.

Azriel's dark gaze rises and settles on mine, and I nearly shrink.

Oh Mother.

I'm busted.

Quickly, I blurt: "I just - well, Cass and Rhys have known you for basically your whole life, and if you say they don't think you're capable of lasting connection, that implies that they've never seen you in one before, which in turn means you never had a relationship."

One of Azriel's brows quirks.

I blink.

I'm also dead.

For a second, we stare at each other over the coffee table. Then Azriel's voice vibrates through me, deep and slow and unbelievably dry.

"You do realise that just because they have never seen me in a relationship does not mean that I have never been in one."

I blink.

Right.

"Anyway." Feeling my cheeks heat and tearing my eyes away hastily, I clear my throat. "What else?"

Just for a second, Azriel's eyes flash with that same strangely amused twinkle.

"I need you to be there for as many social occasions as possible." He straightens lightly, voice slow and steady. "Whether it's family dinner, a formal gathering or something else. That way Rhys and Cass stay off my back, and it keeps - unwanted attention away from both of us." His gaze pierces mine, and my heart leaps gently.

"Alright." I hesitate for a second, my eyes flickering over his face.

I've been thinking about the next point since I've brought up ground rules.

It's the one I'm most certain will cause him to change his mind and decide that ripping me to shreds might actually be a joyful compensation for the situation I have dragged him into.

But I know that without it, this whole scheme will blow up in our faces.

So I breathe in and and out, blurting the dreaded words with the exhale.

"We need to spend time together apart from everyone else."

Azriel's eyes sharpen in the warm light.

Just for a second, a muscle in his jaw tightens.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and I shrug softly, offering him a hesitant smile. "They're going to get suspicious if we only make a point of showing up together when people are watching."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine. It's dark, and unwavering, and I stare back, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The shadowsinger blinks slowly. Then his voice brushes over my skin, low and steady.

"Any ideas?"

Something catches softly in my throat.

Azriel just watches me. Calm, waiting.

I blink and somehow manage to pull myself together.

"I don't know, say - sleep five nights a week together?" My heart leaps high, and my eyes widen a little as I add hastily: "I- I mean act like we do. Sleep - together." I blink. "Not actually sleep together — I mean, just sleep in the same room."

Somehow, I manage to shut myself up because I can make it worse. Something is thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel's eyes are fixed on mine.

This is a terrible idea.

Truly, awful, terrible idea -

"Four nights."

My thoughts of impending doom screech to an abrupt halt, and my gaze flies up.

Azriel crosses his arms, his gaze steady and calm. He sounds strangely unbothered given what he's currently agreeing to.

"We'll have to see how our assignments line up. It'll probably be easiest if we spend most nights here, because there's nobody around to be nosy." His brow quirks lightly. But he looks only mildly irritated; maybe even a little amused when he adds: "We are going to have to spend at least a few nights at the Townhouse now and then though, so nobody gets suspicious." His eyes pierce mine, glowing in the light. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "I'll take the couch."

Something under my ribs swells.

Maybe we will actually be fine.

Well. Don't push it.

"Alright." Exhaling, I nod.

For a moment, I hesitate and chew on my lip. Then I blurt softly: "How far are we going?"

The shadowsinger lightly quirks an eyebrow. His eyes are swirling amber in the warm light.

"I mean -" My gaze flickers over his face, and my throat closes gently. "I just -"

Don't know how much I can handle without bursting.

Azriel's gaze shifts and narrows in. Something closes gently around my chest when it deepens until it seems to burn through my skin. Then his low voice brushes over my skin, slow and firm.

"I don't care what you think anybody expects." His eyes pierce mine, brows drawing together gently almost like he's willing me to listen very closely. "You decide how far you are willing to go."

Suddenly, there's a small, gentle lump in my throat.

"What about you?" My voice is soft when my eyes dart over his.

The planes of Azriel's face looks like carved from marble. But his eyes are calm and steady when he returns my gaze.

"I'll just follow your lead."

I exhale, and something swells harshly under my ribs when my shoulders sink.

"Alright." I nod slowly.

Azriel's eyes glide over my face like he's making sure I mean it. Then he nods back lightly.

"Well." I breathe in and raise my brows. "We are going to have to create some kind of - illusion of intimacy. I mean, I think we can agree on the fact that we won't have to be as bold as Cassian would be, I mean, neither of us is the type for that, so it would actually be more suspicious if we were too obvious -" I exhale again and raise my head. "How about we just agree to follow what feels - natural. In the moment."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he nods once, steady and calm.

"Alright." I nod back. "I guess we will figure the rest out along the way." My lips twitch as suddenly, something is fluttering against my ribs. It feels strangely giddy.

I raise my brows. "This feels secretive enough to warrant an oath to hold us to our agreement."

I'm almost sure I can see Azriel's lips twitch. Then he rises, and my breath catches gently when, amber eyes burning into mine, he holds out his hand.

Staring up at him, I swallow softly. Then I slowly push myself to my feet and reach out.

Warm, rough skin glides against mine when I slip my palm into Azriel's. Long, calloused fingers wrap around my hand, their grip firm but strangely gentle, and my heart leaps into my throat when Azriel shakes my hand, his eyes piercing mine.

I blink. Then I slowly slip my hand out of his and grin, softly and cheekily.

"Well, now that we've settled this - I'm calling it a night." I hesitate, my eyes flickering over his face. "Are you…"

Shadows curl around Azriel's wings when he returns my stare steadily. Then he nods lightly. "I'm staying."

My heart leaps gently against my ribs.

Azriel blinks, and one of his dark eyebrows twitches. "Mor would get suspicious if I slept at the Townhouse." His gaze pierces mine, and his deep voice is slow when he adds: "Besides. To make this believable, I have to smell like you."

Something catches gently in my throat.

For a moment, we stare at each other. The spots in Azriel's eyes are shifting like stars through the sky. His shadows whisper gently against the floorboards. Then I blink and send him a soft, cheeky smile and turn around.

When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitate. Then I exhale and look over my shoulder, grinning softly even as something plucks at my heart.

 “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Azriel's eyes rise to meet mine.

For a second, we stare at each other. His iris is glowing softly in the warm light. Then he blinks, and his slow, rough voice brushes down my spine. “I don’t.”

Something swells gently against my ribs.

Azriel raises a brow.

“I mean, I do. Sometimes." His eyes pierce mine. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "When you decide to just kiss somebody without actually looking at them and then rope them into pretending you’re seeing each other for example –“

My heart leaps into my throat, and my lips part incredulously.

“You offered that!”

Azriel stares at me, and slowly, the ghost of a smirk forms on his lips.

Something swells in my throat until it feels hard to breathe.

“I hate you.” My mumble is soft and grouchy. But the thrum of my heart betrays me.

Azriel's eyes are twinkling in the light as they pierce mine. Then he blinks and bows his head lightly. "Goodnight."

My breath hitches gently. Then I nod back gently.

"Goodnight."

♡

It takes me hours to fall asleep.

The knowledge that Azriel is in my flat, my small, chaotic home, makes what happened tonight real.

But somewhere between the slow, strange realisation that I don't feel half as nervous as I probably should and the sky slowly turning a lighter shade of blue, I finally drift away.

When I wake up, the sun tickles my face and the flat is quiet.

For a moment, I just bury deeper into my blanket, blinking tiredly. I can hear the gentle buzz of the city from outside my window, soft voices streaming up from the cafe in the cobblestone alley below. A gentle breeze shifts the thin curtains, brushing over my skin.

I lay still for a while longer, feeling the drowsy feeling of sleep slowly leaving my limbs and the soft weight of the sheets wrapped around my body. Then, rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up and slide off the mattress.

My bare feet are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards when I pad over to the door, stretching lightly.

Opening it, I raise my head, and my breath catches.

Azriel is leaning against the counter. Sunlight is streaming through the window, turning his eyes into liquid gold and shining through the thin membranes of his wings. His brows are crunched lightly against the gentle glow.

He's not wearing a shirt.

Suddenly, something is thrumming under my ribs.

Azriel turns his head, and shadows whisper softly against his wings.

I didn't think he would stay.

For a quiet moment, we look at each other from across the room, like the last bits of night are slowly washing away and what we are left with is the deal we struck in the middle of the night over the coffee table.

It feels less tense than I imagined. Calmer. More steady.

I blink. Then I smile, soft and careful.

"Hey."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he slowly slides a steaming cup over the counter.

His iris looks like amber from this angle.

A slow exhale leaves me, and I feel my shoulders sink when I send him a soft, cheeky grin.

"The service."

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek, and his eyes drag over my face.

Rubbing my eyes, I start to make my way over into the kitchen. Azriel watches me get closer. His shoulders shift, tattoos rippling gently. He looks calm, relaxed.

Like somehow, he fits into the small embrace of my home, in with the worn floorboards and the old couch and the little corner of a kitchen.

I decide not to mull on that last thought.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the smooth wooden counter, rubbing my eyes softly before picking up the cup. The scent of herbs rises into my nose, and my lids flutter gently when I breathe it in softly.

Silence settles over the kitchen. I don't know if I'm simply still too tired to care, but it feels warm and comfortable, like the sunlight falling onto the floorboards.

Azriel is blinking into the warm rays. The golden sheen causes his skin to glow and dips his eyes into amber. A dark strand of hair is curving over his forehead.

Fighting the strange sudden urge to brush it back, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup and blink sleepily. Shadows whisper, soft and gentle, lapping at the floorboards.

After a few sips of tea, my body starts to wake.

Leaning my temple against the cabinet, I hesitate, my eyes on the side of Azriel's face. Then I start softly: "Are you still -"

His head turns, and I lose my thread of thought for a breath when his golden eyes meet mine. There are dark spots dancing in his iris.

I blink before mumbling gently: "Are we still doing this?"

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, steady and unreadable. Then his deep voice brushes over my skin, low and calm.

"Have you changed your mind?"

I shake my head softly from side to side.

The shadowsinger dips his head lightly, and one of his brows rises. "Then we're doing this."

I exhale and nod, my shoulders straightening gently.

"Alright."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, and the dark spots in his iris shift, strangely akin to a twinkle.

A rapid, loud knock against the front door makes me jump, nearly spilling my tea.

"What the -"

The door flies open before I can even finish my sentence, and a tall blonde figure sweeps over the threshold.

"I cannot believe you -"

My heart leaps high.

Mor's gaze finds mine. She stops abruptly, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

For a second, the Blonde looks stunned. Her lips are parted lightly, brows raised. Her gaze slowly drags back and forth between me and the male beside me.

Azriel's eyebrows quirks.

Quickly, I slide off the counter. My feet hit the ground, and Mor slowly blinks.

"Alright… Finding both of you here is admittedly not what I expected, though, looking back, an obvious assumption… but at least this way I don't have to have this conversation twice." She clears her throat and straightens, raising her brows. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

I blink and swallow. Then I smile sheepishly. "Tea?"

Mor narrows her eyes.

"Nice try. I might come back to that in a second. Now spill it. What is this, why don't I know about it, how long has this been going on?!"

My heart leaps against my throat, and my mind blanks.

Brilliant.

All this talk yesterday and we really forgot the simple point of coming up with a story.

Bollocks.

Somewhere behind me, Azriel huffs.

"It's none of your business." His deep voice sounds lazy and a little dry.

Mor crunches her brows like he's just made the most preposterous statement and snorts.

"I'm both of your best friend. Of course it is my business!"

My shoulders stiffen.

We really should have thought about this. This is bad. This is really, really -

There's a shift in the air behind me. Then something brushes against my shoulder.

Shadows whisper against my ankles, and my breath catches when a rough palm presses against my lower back in a featherlight, steadying touch for nothing but a second.

Mor's eyes narrow in. I feel myself sink back almost instinctively, into the towering presence behind me, trying to suppress the urge to wince as I wait for her to call our bluff -

I don't know what Mor sees. But the Blonde exhales and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Fine... Just tell me how it happened!" Her eyes find mine again, starting to twinkle, and my heart tumbles against my ribs.

"I don't know." I lightly raise my shoulders, smiling weakly. "It just - did."

Well, at least that's not a lie.

Mor huffs and crosses her arms. But her lips curve slowly, and I risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Azriel is so close that his chest lightly brushes against my shoulder. His wings are looming, relaxed against his back, his hand resting on the counter behind me, just close enough I can feel the tips of his fingers graze my hip.

It's not flashy. No show of closeness.

He's just there. Towering over me, quiet, calm. Steadying. Like it's natural for him to be right where he is now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my hair and his presence in my back.

It feels real.

Blinking, I tear my eyes away again and meet Mor's. She's still staring at us, her eyes narrowed. But that strange twinkle is slowly spreading through her iris. Then she huffs.

"Fine. Be secretive." Her voice sounds almost grudgingly amused when she adds in a mumble: "It suits you."

Azriel's lips twitch.

Exhaling dramatically, Mor raises her hands. "Alright, I won't ask." Her eyes are twinkling with mischief when they meet mine. "But you owe me breakfast for not telling me."

Something like relief swells under my ribs, and I exhale. "Fair."

Mor beams.

"Well, then; get dressed, I'm not taking you out like this!" She raises her brows at Azriel. "I'd say you're welcome to join, but knowing you, you've got somewhere to be."

I look up over my shoulder, and Azriel looks down at me. His eyes are piercing, steady.

My heart leaps gently at the silent question in his gaze, and I send him a soft nod.

Azriel's lips curve just the slightest bit. Then he says, gaze never leaving mine: "Rhys is waiting for me."

I blink, feeling my brows crunch gently when my gaze flickers over his face.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if it's the truth. And if it is - why he stuck around instead of leaving.

Mor pointedly clears her throat.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and quickly, I tear my eyes away from Azriel's.

The Blonde grins, then she raises her brows at the Spymaster. "Alright, well, off you go then."

The shadowsinger huffs, then he pushes off the counter, and my breath catches when his chest presses lightly against my shoulder.

"I'll see you later." His deep voice brushes over my skin, low and quiet like the words are meant to seem only for me. My eyes rise to meet his, and Azriel's gaze pierces mine, calm and steady.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and I nod lightly.

Rough skin brushes my hand. My breath catches in my throat, and for just a heartbeat, Azriel's scarred fingers slide between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then his hand slips away, and he is swallowed by shadows.

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

@icey--stars @ailyr92 @xadenswhore

@sttvrdustt @thalia-as-blog @navyblue-eternity

@florencemtrash @kksbookstuff @messageforthesmallestman

@myfatbottomedgirls @laurenslover864 @xinsonyax

@fxckmiup @bestlessonslearnt @balufy

@sheblogs @i-am-infinite @wickedshadowsinger

@gretavankleep37 @extro2603 @thelov3lybookworm

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@a-court-of-milkandhoney @lilah-asteria

[ellieputellas]

healing process | alexia putellas x reader

You headed to Barcelona for a gap year, hoping to heal from a messy breakup. What you didn’t expect was to find yourself entangled in an even more complicated romance with the captivating, 30-year-old footballer who lived just down the hall. | wc: 21k+

tags: age gap, collegestudent!reader, mostly angst, some smut, next-door neighbors, fluff in the start, drama,

contains: femme!reader, unrealistic football season schedule, strap r!receiving, fingering r!receiving, dirty talk, drunk sex, cunnilingus r!receiving+a!receiving, toxic situationship, love triangle (kinda but not really), cursing, use of pet names, might have some errors and typos

masterlist ♡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! please do not repost this anywhere else!

⋆˙⟡♡ After suffering a rough break-up with your high school sweetheart and ex-girlfriend of 6 years, you decided that what you needed most was a gap year in a foreign country. So, you packed your essentials and booked a one-way ticket to Barcelona.

⋆˙⟡♡ You lived with your rich aunt who worked as a doctor in Barcelona. She kindly agreed to give you lodging, three meals a day, and the occasional pocket money in exchange for helping her keep the house tidy and walking the dogs, which wasn't much work for you anyway.

⋆˙⟡♡ "Warm day out," You said to your aunt's golden retriever, Ruby. "Let's make the most of it and find me a new girlfriend." You figured that today was a good idea to get dolled up, wear a sundress, and just pass by the nearby university with the cutest dog in the world. Ruby would catch the attention of all the cute college girls and then, you'd reel them in with a few eyelash bats.

That would be the perfect way of getting a meet cute. You thought to yourself.

⋆˙⟡♡ You got dressed, putting on a teasingly short white sundress and a pair of ballet flats. You brushed your hair and applied a bit of make-up. You were determined to get that meet-cute and find someone to help you forget about your girlfriend.

The easiest way getting over an ex was getting under someone, your best friend always said. You always rolled your eyes at her but now, you couldn't help but feel that she might have been right. 

Cause here you were in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and all you could think about was your stupid ex. You needed to do something about it and quick.

⋆˙⟡♡ You put on Ruby's leash and cheerfully walked out of your aunt's apartment unit, determined to be all cutesy until a girl approaches you.

It seemed Ruby had the same idea, because as soon as you stepped into the hallway, she spotted a tiny Pomeranian across the hallway, and that was all it took. Without warning, Ruby darted toward the dog, pulling you forward as you tried to hold on to the leash. Before you could even process, you were flat on your face.

You yelped as you fell, the sound catching the attention of the tiny dog’s owner. You winced as your body slammed into the floor, feeling pained by the impact. But, nothing was more painful than the embarrassment that followed. 

“Ui, guapa, estàs bé?” The voice called out, the sound of rushing footsteps getting closer. “Aquest gos teu és fort, eh?”

You groaned as you tried to push yourself up, but both dogs had already zeroed in on you, sniffing your head as you attempted to sit up. This definitely isn't romance movie, meet-cute material.

As you finally settled on your butt, trying to regain your composure, the other girl chuckled, saying something in a language you couldn’t quite place. You looked up, and everything around you seemed to blur.

She was, without question, the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

Her blonde hair framed her face perfectly, and her sun-kissed skin accentuated her cheekbones. Her eyes were a warm hazel that seemed to glimmer in the soft light. You blinked, stunned by how gorgeous she looked.

“Uh, I don’t speak, um…” You stammered, struggling to find words in the face of such beauty. You could feel your face warm up.

She chuckled, her smile practically glowing. “You must’ve hit your head, yeah?”

You snapped back into reality and laughed awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, uh, I fell.” You winced internally. Why was I telling her that? She literally witnessed it all play out.

The girl laughed too, her voice light and warm. "Hmm," She bit her lip. Unbeknownst to you, she was also checking you out, glancing at your eyes and lips. And the sundress... she always loved seeing girls in short sundresses. "Why don't you come over and I'll help you ice that head, yeah?"

You just nodded stupidly cause even if you were still filled with embarrassment, there was no way you were passing up the opportunity to get to know this gorgeous Blonde.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia helped you up, holding your arm as she guided you towards her place. You felt intimidated by her strong presence. She just seemed like the kind of person who seemed so sure of themselves. Even the way she said her own name when she introduced herself was so sexy. It didn't take you long to be enamored by her. In fact, all it took was the walk from where you fell to her door.

⋆˙⟡♡ As soon as you stepped inside her home, you got an immediate sense of who Alexia was. She guided you to the living room, and as you sat down, you couldn’t help but notice the details of the space —the warmth of the interiors, the photos framed on the walls, the trophies displayed proudly, the personal touches in every corner. It was clear that she was someone with impeccable taste and a meticulous eye for detail.

"Trophies?" You asked as you settled down on the couch with Ruby who was too distracted sniffing the pomeranian's butt.

Alexia responded as her expression lightened up. "Ah, yes, I am a footballer."

You nodded and hummed, impressed. "Like, for fun?"

Alexia chuckled as she got behind her kitchen counter, wrapping some ice cubes in a kitchen towel. "Yes, for fun..." She answered. "And for work. I play professionally."

"Oh," You responded, mildly embarrassed that you didn't recognize her. "Sorry, I don't watch much soccer."

Alexia settled next to you on the couch, leaning in to gently place the ice against your head, on the nonexistent bump. (She had no clue you didn't actually hit your head and was just too shy and intimidated to correct her when she thought you did.)

“Here?” she asked, her voice soft as she pressed the ice towel on your forehead.

You nodded, biting your lip as she leaned closer. She was so close you could feel the warmth of her body, the gentle touch of her hand, and smell the subtle scent of her perfume. It made your pulse quicken, and you tried not to let your thoughts wander.

“Hmm,” she hummed, locking eyes with you as she tried to make conversation. “You're American, yes?"

“Yeah… is it obvious?” you blushed, feeling suddenly self-conscious by the fact that she was suddenly getting to know you.

She chuckled. “Well, first, you called it soccer and not football. And… you don’t speak Catalan or Spanish.” She responded as she brushed away the stray hairs sticking to your forehead. "The accent too, of course. It's cute."

You felt your cheeks flush even more. She was so observant, and you couldn’t help but feel a little shy under her gaze. 

She leaned back a little, giving you some space as she continued, “So, what is an American girl like you doing in Barcelona?"

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “Oh, I'm taking a gap year… from college.” You said, hesitating to mention the whole thing with your ex. "Stress from school and stuff, y'know how it is."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Hmm, still in school." She mused, under her breath. "And how old are you?”

“Uh… 22,” you stammered, suddenly nervous.

Alexia hummed thoughtfully, her lips curling into a small smile. “So young,” she muttered under her breath. “Too young, actually.”

You blinked, unsure if you heard that right. You couldn't help but jump to conclusions. Pretty older women should never make statements like that, you thought to yourself as you grew even more flustered. “What do you mean?”

Alexia grinned slyly. “I just mean... I’m old enough to know better than to wear a short sundress with just a pair of lacey pink panties underneath while walking a gigantic dog.” She recounted with a chuckle.

You grew tomato red, realizing just how embarrassing her first impression of you was. You felt the warmth spread across your cheeks and then to your body. You wished the floor would have swallowed you whole.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry you had to see that." You stammered, tripping over your own words.

She chuckled. "Why sorry?" 

Your heart skipped a beat as she said it with a barely detectable mischievous glint in her eyes. You blinked in shock. "Uh, uhm, just cause... public indecency?"

Alexia laughed. "You're funny." She leaned in close again to continue icing your head. "Is the ice helping or not at all?"

You bit your lip as you gazed at her raised arms, the tattoo on the underside of it, the muscles. As she moved closer to you, the more you got a whiff of her intoxicating scent and the more you get to see the beautiful details of her face.

"Oh, it's helping a lot."

⋆˙⟡♡ Ever since you met Alexia and learned that she lived just across the hall from your aunt, you found yourself walking Ruby more often than ever. What started as a casual routine soon turned into an excuse to see her, which was successful since you always ended up running into her.

⋆˙⟡♡ “Since you’re always walking Ruby, we should go together. It would be good for Nala to have a friend.” Alexia said as you were heading back to your apartment on one of the times you coincidentally bumped into her. “I should give you my number so you can text me whenever you and Ruby are out.” “Oh, sure, sure.” You said trying to play it cool when you were really geeking out on the inside. You handed over your phone to Alexia who typed her number into your phone.

She bit her lip as she returned it. “Text me as soon as you get home so I can save your number, okay?” She smiled at you. “See you soon, guapa.”

⋆˙⟡♡ Naturally, you texted Alexia every day that you would be walking Ruby. Initially, you were afraid your crush on her would be so obvious but even if it was, Alexia didn’t seem to mind as she never missed a day with you.

⋆˙⟡♡ When you passed by cute cafés during your dog walks, she'd insist on buying you a drink while chatting you up about college life or whatever was piquing your interest that day. It was rare that she talked about herself, which you found hard to believe considering that she had so many achievements.

⋆˙⟡♡ The daily walks weren’t enough for you. You had to see her more but you were afraid that she’d view you as some kid who always begged to hang out. So, you tried to be a bit more subtle by trying to bump into her every chance you got. ⋆˙⟡♡ There wasn't a single dirty sock in your aunt's apartment since you went to the laundromat every chance you got just to bump into Alexia. And when you did, she was always courteous and proper. She never let you carry your own bag of laundry up to your floor even when you insisted you could handle it. She always paid for your laundry too. Even when you would try to tell her that your aunt left you more than enough money for errands, she’d laugh and say something along the lines of “just pocket it and let me pay” or “it’s just a few euros, no big deal.”

⋆˙⟡♡ A couple of times, you joined her for her grocery run to the supermarket when all you really needed was a singular tube of toothpaste or a small bag of tomatoes. She’d tell you all the best ingredients to buy for certain dishes, even if you’ve told her multiple times all you knew how to cook were box mix pancakes and fried rice. And without failure, she would invite you over to her house after your grocery trip to show you how to cook a certain dish but all you’d do is admire how graciously she worked in the kitchen

⋆˙⟡♡ Each and every single time you were together, Alexia was always friendly, polite — always keeping a careful distance. But somehow, in every encounter, there was that one fleeting touch, one single moment, one look that just left you completely hooked.

Some days, it would be her hand lingering a moment too long on the small of your back or the side of your waist or sometimes even on your thigh, just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. Other times, it was the microglances—the quick, almost imperceptible glances she would steal toward your lips before quickly looking away. Occasionally, there were comments about your age, your looks, how she loved being around you — innocent enough on the surface, but with an undertone that made you question her intentions in saying them. 

If you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed it entirely. But you always were. Every word she said, every glance, every touch was amplified and engraved in your mind. With Alexia, you were no longer just present—you were consumed. And you couldn’t get enough.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia had insisted you stay for a dinner and movie after you helped her unpack the groceries on her latest supermarket run, which you excitedly agreed to.

After dinner, you both settled onto the couch. She mentioned that a teammate had recommended the movie, but neither of you had any clue what it was about. 

Soon enough, you realized it was a horror movie—a genre you weren’t exactly thrilled about, especially with how easily you jumped at every little thing. But you two were already invested in the story to change it to something else. 

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia quickly regretted trusting Patri's recommendation blindly. This definitely wasn’t the vibe she’d intended, but she decided to make the most of it.

Noticing your shivers, she glanced over. “Cold?”

You nodded, and she laughed softly, heading to her bedroom to grab a comforter. She set it over both of you, creating a cozy little nest on the couch.

As the suspense built, you found yourself sinking deeper into the blanket, resisting the urge to cover your eyes as things got scarier. Alexia chuckled, nudging you. “You’re such a baby,” she teased.

“This doesn’t scare you?” you asked, wide-eyed.

She shrugged. "No, not really, I get shocked sometimes but it's nothing too intense for me." She smiled at you. "And I guess, this is too scary for a little kid like you, huh?"

You pouted at her teasing. "Hey! You don't get to tease me when you made me watch a scary movie."

She chuckled, putting her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, no more teasing." She said. "If you're that scared, why don't you snuggle up here? I promise I don't bite."

You bit your lip and felt your heart beat faster. You nodded and scooted closer to her. Alexia put her arm around you as you rested your head on her chest.

There was a warmth to it, a sense of comfort that felt almost… domestic. Sitting there, wrapped in her arms after a casual evening of groceries and a shared meal, you felt the faint illusion of something more — something almost relationship-like.

Alexia never made any deliberate and overt actions to show you that she was interested in you in that manner but the fact that you two were hanging out basically every day, doing all these domestic errands, and now, cuddling... you couldn't help but delude yourself that maybe there could be something there. It had to mean something.

A few moments later, Alexia broke the silence. “Cariño, you still awake?” The endearment made your heart skip a beat. She's used it on you a few times before but without failure, it always made you flush.

You blinked and looked up at her, taking note of the proximity between the two of you. Her eyes were soft and warm as they looked back at you. "Yeah, I'm just comfy.” You hummed, comfortably. “Being near you helped me be less scared honestly.”

Alexia chuckled. You rested your head on her chest again and she started brushing your hair with her fingertips. It was so easy to get lost in how good it felt, but a small voice in the back of your mind warned that maybe this closeness meant nothing to her. Maybe she was like this with all her friends.

"You know you remind me of my teammate, Jana." Alexia suddenly said in the middle of the movie. "She's also around your age and whenever we watched scary movies, she'd cling on to me exactly like this."

It felt like confirmation of your own worries. You hummed in response, not sure what to say. Great, so I guess she is like this with all her friends.

"You should meet her. You'd get along. She's sweet." She continued.

You nodded. "Does she hang out here a lot?" You asked, trying to sound unaffected by the thought of someone else spending this much time with this woman you were crushing hard on.

"Yes, but more so when she was newer to the team." Alexia shared. "She's practically like my little sister so I felt like I had to take care of her. I'd always have her and my other younger teammates hang out here and watch movies during our downtimes. Sometimes, I feel like I raised them."

You just nodded again. You didn't know what was worse – your initial thought that maybe Alexia was interested in someone else or the fact that she was comparing you to someone she thought of as her little sister.

⋆˙⟡♡ “Had to take a late shift at the hospital. I’ll be home in the morning,” read the text from your aunt. You bit your lip, feeling a pang of unease at the thought of being alone in her big apartment all night after watching a scary movie.

Sure, Ruby would be there, but that dog was more of a scaredy cat than you were. If anything, she’d probably push you toward a demon just to save herself.

"You good?" Alexia asked as she noticed you still staring at your phone.

"Yeah, my aunt took another shift at the hospital so I'd be all alone at the apartment." Being home alone after watching Daniel Radcliffe get tormented by some vengeful ghost in a house all by himself was not exactly ideal.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t be alone.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “You’ll be with the woman in black.”

“Alexia!” You playfully smacked her as she laughed. “Don’t joke like that—I’m actually terrified.”

“I’m just teasing,” she said with a smile, her tone softening. “But I won’t let you stay there alone, of course. Spend the night here. I’ll lend you something to wear.”

⋆˙⟡♡ You loved having Alexia's name on you. You took a glance at yourself wearing the old, red jersey you picked out from her cabinet. She told you that the jersey wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep in but you insisted. What other chance would you get to snuggle up in a football superstar’s jersey.

"I still cannot believe you played for your country in the World Cup," You shared out loud. "When you first told me you played soccer, I genuinely thought you meant like casually or like not to that level."

Alexia chuckled, towel-drying her hair after coming out of the shower. “Didn’t want to brag, but… yes, I’ve represented the country,” she replied with a modest grin.

After finishing up, she climbed into bed and raised an eyebrow at you. “Are you planning to spend all night admiring yourself in my kit?” she teased, watching you look at yourself in the mirror.

You chuckled and made your way to her bed. You crawled under the covers and settled with a good distance between you and Alexia. She must have noticed because she commented. "Why are you so far? Are you leaving room for the woman in black?"

You grabbed a pillow and playfully smacked her. “Alexia, don’t make jokes about that! I’m still freaked out from that movie.”

“Alright, alright, no more ghost jokes,” she laughed. “But come closer; I don’t want you rolling off the bed.”

You bit your lip as you scooted toward her, feeling the warmth of her body beside you. Turning onto your side, you found yourself facing her, and she mirrored you, her eyes soft.

"Will I ever get to watch you play?" You asked in a soft voice.

Alexia nodded. "Of course, once the season starts, I'll have a ticket for you in every game." She smiled. "When are you leaving Barcelona again?"

You hummed in thought. "Well, since I plan to re-enroll in the next year, I have to be home before September next year."

Alexia nodded. "Well, that just means you get to watch me play a lot of games before you go home." She smiled warmly at you. "I would love to see you there in the crowd in a Barcelona jersey. You'd be so cute in blaugrana."

You blushed and smiled at the thought of it. "Is it okay if I don't know a thing about football?"

Alexia chuckled. “All you need to know is how to yell my name.” Her voice was laced with drowsiness. "I'd just love to have you there cheering for me. Promise that you'll cheer for me?"

You blushed, her words sending a thrill through you. "Of course, Alexia. I'll be the loudest one in the crowd." You promised.

Alexia smiled at your words as her eyes grew heavy.

You wanted so badly to tell her how much she made you feel—how the smallest gestures, the small teasing comments, and the way she looked at you left you craving more. You wanted to tell her how much you liked spending time with her and being around her. And, god, the thought of being this close to her in bed…

But you held back. Despite how sweet and attentive Alexia was, she never made her intentions clear. Was she spending time with you because she liked you, or did she just see you as a little sister figure? You couldn’t tell and you weren't willing to risk anything just yet.

Soon, Alexia's eyes began to flutter with drowsiness, and she drifted off to sleep. Your heart pounded, an ache in your chest as you resisted the urge to reach out and trace her face with your fingertips. But you stopped yourself, thinking it would be too intimate, too personal.

All you could do was watch her until sleep claimed you too.

⋆˙⟡♡ "So, tell me which girl in this damn apartment building are you playing hooky with?" Your aunt teasingly berated you over dinner. It's been a while since your aunt and you had dinner together with all the time she was spending working at the hospital and all that time you were spending with Alexia.

Your eyes widened. "Why would you think that?"

Your aunt hummed. "Well, cause just over a month ago, you spent most of the time whining to me about your fugly ex but now, you're doing the laundry every fucking day. You're walking Ruby so much that she's grown gigantic calf muscles. You’re running errands like a woman possessed, picking up random things from the supermarket.” She recounted. "Plus, the fact that you're doing all these errands in short sundresses and with blush and mascara..."

You immediately blushed, not expecting her to be so perceptive. “Why would you automatically assume I’m flirting with someone? I just… made a friend.” You said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. As much as you crush on Alexia, you never really made a move… and neither did she.

Your aunt hummed with satisfaction, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Well, tell me about your friend then! I’m not your mom—I won’t lecture you, but I am rooting for you. In fact, I’m all for hearing about your sex life!”

You threw your head back in laughter, amused by your aunt’s frankness. She joined you, but her curiosity didn’t seem to waver.

“I swear, I’m not interested in anyone like that." You tried to brush it off casually, but your aunt’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. “I’m just learning a lot about the city with this lady from our building. She took me to some cafés and bakeries nearby. I can pick up some of these lovely croissants for you if you’d like.”

Your aunt hummed and raised an eyebrow, ignoring your lame attempt at deflecting the topic. "Well, I just gotta tell you that there are crazy folks living in this complex and I just want to make sure you're not falling for some rich wackjob."

You rolled your eyes in amusement. "Yeah, yeah, I'm pretty sure you're the only crazy, rich person here, Auntie.” You joked back at her.

She feigned offense, dramatically clutching her chest. “Absolutely not! These people make me look sane. Like, Alvaro down the hall? He has a creepy puppet collection worth thousands of euros! And that lady in apartment 309? Apparently, she nearly went to jail because she tried to, uh, cut off her husband’s—well, you get the picture.”

Your aunt went on and on listing down the quirks of the people who lived in your building. 

Some of them were a tad weird but not really anything of concern. ("I heard that British girl one floor down is an esthetician and she bedazzles your genitals after she waxes it.") 

Some... well, you just felt your aunt was making up to make you laugh. ("Some guy who lives here once made an offer in the elevator to sniff my feet in exchange for a thousand euros.")

You had a good laugh until a familiar name popped up. "Don't let me get started with that famous football girl on our floor, Alexia or Alexis or whatever. She and her fiancé used to fight so much. Literally, they'd even take it out on each other at the hallway — just yelling and throwing stuff. At some point, someone even called the police."

Your heart stopped. "The police?"

"Well, not the police but like... the building manager, which is basically the same thing to me." She shrugged at her own exaggeration. "I guess they made up or completely split up cause I don't hear fighting down the hall anymore. Either way, thank god."

You nodded, trying to keep your composure. You knew Alexia had past relationships but you didn't know about her being previously engaged; she never liked talking too much about herself, especially her past relationships.

But you couldn’t imagine the Alexia you spent so much time with being involved in a toxic relationship like that. She was always so calm and level-headed. Surely, it must have just been a mistake. Still, a nervous flutter settled in your stomach. 

⋆˙⟡♡ You woke up in the middle of the night to Ruby pawing at you insistently. Blinking, still groggy from sleep, you muttered, "What is it, girl?"

She let out a low whining sound, the same sound she made when she had to poo. You cursed under your breath as you realized you forgot to take her out today for her daily potty.

Your aunt previously told you that the peckish dog only peed and hated pooping in litter boxes. Even when you tried to coax her into it, she refused, so every day, you would take her outside for a poop.

You never usually missed it since she would just do it during your walks with Alexia and Nala. But since Alexia has been busy for a while and couldn't see you, you had no energy to get out of bed.

It's only been a few days since you last saw Alexia yet you were already missing her badly. It also upset you that she didn't even give a reason for her sudden absence, just a curt text telling you she'd be too busy to hang out.

But, being upset over a neighbor's unavailability was no excuse to miss taking Ruby out on her daily poo.

"I'm so sorry, Ruby." You said as you sleepily fumbled out of bed. Throwing on a hoodie, you leashed her up, grabbed the potty pick up kit and headed to the hallway. "Let's go on a quick walk."

The second you stepped out, you heard laughter echoing down the hall. You rubbed your eyes as you looked over to the source of the sound. That's when you saw Alexia stumbling to her door, wearing a fitted, backless black dress, arm-in-arm with a taller girl with dark hair whose arms were covered in tattoos. They were swaying, giggling, obviously drunk.

You couldn't recognize the girl Alexia was with but to be fair, Alexia never talked much about her friends or her dating history. But from what you could observe right now, it was obvious that there was something between the two.

You cursed under your breath as you saw them drunkenly stumble towards Alexia's door. You considered going back inside your aunt's place but just as you tried to, Ruby let out a small bark, as if to tell you to hurry up.

"Alright, alright," You whispered to the demanding dog as you made your way to the elevator —too close to Alexia’s apartment for comfort.

Despite your best attempts at stealth, Ruby was too big and enthusiastic to go unnoticed.

“Espera, espera,” Alexia’s voice rang out as she noticed you, her lips curving into a smile. “¿Ets tu, guapa?”

You could tell from the volume and slur of her voice that she had way too much to drink. You shyly waved but didn't say anything. You prayed the elevator would come faster. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw how close this tall girl was to Alexia, her arm lingering around Alexia’s waist. There was an ease between them, a familiarity that made your stomach twist.

Alexia called out to you one last time, gesturing for you to come over, but you just pointed to Ruby as an excuse and mouthed, “Can’t.” She let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes before turning back to her door.

Just as she was about the enter her apartment, you heard the tattooed girl ask Alexia who you were. “¿Y esa chica, quién es?”

"Ah, just some clingy kid who hangs around..." Her voice trailed off as the two entered the apartment but it was all you had to hear.

You really were just some kid to her. 

⋆˙⟡♡ You were upset about the whole encounter you had with drunken Alexia for about a week. You shifted your whole errand schedule to avoid her. You started walking Ruby late at night. You did your laundry very early in the morning, too early for anyone to actually get up and wash their clothes. Whenever she texted you, you'd ignore it or give her a curt response, telling her you were too busy or feeling unwell. You basically wanted to avoid Alexia at all costs.

⋆˙⟡♡   On the other hand, your best friend from back home was spam-texting you, pestering you about updating her with your "new, exciting life in Barcelona."

Sadly, you had nothing to update her on. 

What would you even say? Oh, it's great, just started yearning for some thirty-year-old who lives down the hall who might be hooking up with some hot, tall, tattooed vixen who I could never amount to... so now, I'm avoiding her cause I don't want my feelings hurt. So, yeah it's been great!

You didn't want to come back home with stories about how you flew all the way to Barcelona just to be upset over another girl. So, you decided that you've had enough of bedrotting with Ruby all day. You were going out to have fun on a Friday night.

You tried to rewind your mindset to just before you met Alexia — determined to forget a girl by finding another girl to mess around with.

You put on a black leather bralette with a very short skort that showed a sliver of your butt cheeks. You went all out with the make-up and hair. You were determined to get laid tonight... or at the very least, find someone to kiss.

⋆˙⟡♡  That night, you found yourself at a packed lesbian bar. The place was already buzzing when you walked in, but you didn’t mind—it only meant more eyes on you.

You didn’t even need to drink to feel the rush of confidence. The playful glances from the other women were enough to make you feel like the center of attention. You could tell they were eyeing you, sizing you up, and enjoying the sight of a fresh, hot girl in the crowd.

What you didn’t know was that as soon as you made your way to the counter, several girls were already trying to figure out the best way to approach you and offer to buy you a drink.

But it was one girl who beat them to it. She was a brunette with lightly tanned skin, defined eyebrows, and a smile that was radiant and inviting. As soon you approached the counter, she slid in before you, leaning in with that playful, confident grin. “¿Te puedo invitar a un trago?”

You couldn’t help but blush, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you looked her up and down. She was taller than you and wore a casual outfit—just a simple white shirt and pants, but she pulled it off effortlessly. “Did you just ask me in Catalan to buy me a drink?”

The brunette chuckled and shook her head, quickly understanding that you were a foreigner. "Spanish, actually." She extended her hand to introduce herself. "Patri."

You smiled back at the girl and shook her hand. "I'll take that drink, Patri."

⋆˙⟡♡ A few drinks later, you were laughing louder than you intended at all the jokes Patri made, and finding every excuse to touch her whenever you spoke. You were getting more and more tipsy, but you didn’t mind it—this was exactly what you wanted. Tonight was about fun, and you were determined to get what you came for.

“Why is every girl in Barcelona a soccer player?” you asked, laughing a little too loudly when she casually mentioned she played football.

Patri just chuckled, clearly amused by your question. “Football is huge here. A lot of people play it for fun, like, recreationally…” she said, playing it humble. “But I actually play professionally for a decent club."

You raised an eyebrow, your fingers lightly grazing her upper arm as you spoke. “Then I must be lucky to have such a famous football player buying me drinks.”

Tugging at Patri's ego seemed to work because she inched towards you and put a hand on your waist. "Yeah?" The footballer asked.

You batted your eyelashes and bit your lip as you nodded. "Yeah..." You intentionally averted your gaze to her lips, silently daring her to make the first move.

Patri didn’t need any more encouragement. She stepped closer, leaning in to close the gap between you, her lips almost on yours.

“Ey, Patri!”

A groan escaped Patri’s lips as she pulled back, her eyes apologizing before she turned toward the sound of the voice. You turned as well, curiosity piquing when you saw who was interrupting your moment... only to be met by the sight of Alexia.  ⋆˙⟡♡ You should have figured it out yourself that Patri and Alexia were teammates but you were too focused on the goal of flirting that it didn’t even cross your mind. If only you knew, you would have picked any other girl to flirt with.

⋆˙⟡♡ Patri introduced you to her teammates who had just arrived — Mapi, Ingrid, Kika, and of course... Alexia Putellas. They all greeted you warmly, save for Alexia who had a stoic look on her face. She didn't react, didn't make it known to her teammates that she already knew you. She just stayed silent, her jaw clenched.

You got to know all of them. They were all very welcoming and they all seemed proud of Patri for bagging you.  At one point, you caught Mapi whispering to Patri something in Spanish but all you could catch was the part when she said something about how pretty you were. Ingrid also complimented you a lot, even touching the details of your leather outfit. It was an ego boost, for sure, getting all these famous footballers to gush about you.

The entire time, Alexia stood silently, either averting your gaze or ordering more drinks. You decided that if she wasn't going to address you, you weren't going to address her. Two could play at that game.

⋆˙⟡♡ You enjoyed being with Patri — her firm body dancing against yours, the heat of her presence, the way she made you laugh and smile effortlessly. She was hot, confident, and didn't shy away from showing her attraction to you. It was easy to get lost in the moment with her, the music pulsing around you, her hands on your hips as you danced together.

But what turned you on the most was the fact that Alexia was watching you the entire time. From the corner of your eye, you could see her—standing by the bar, drink in hand, watching you with a gaze that was far too intense to be accidental. ⋆˙⟡♡ As the night wore on and the alcohol took hold, Alexia stopped pretending she wasn't watching, her eyes locked on you the entire time you danced with Patri, not caring for any more subtlety. It was intimidating but it also felt like a challenge, as if testing you as to how far you’d go while she was watching.

⋆˙⟡♡ The contrast of it all was so electrifying — Patri's impossible closeness with her body pressed against yours and her hands wandering all over your body, and Alexia standing several feet away from you with eyes that never departed you. 

You had been avoiding her gaze the entire night. It just felt too intense for you to handle but after another tequila shot that Patri so gladly poured down your mouth, you finally gained the courage to lock eyes with her as you pressed your backside against Patri's front, grinding seductively. 

Alexia's stare was firm and unmoving; it was almost unreadable. Anger? Disbelief? Annoyance? Disgust? You had no fucking clue. Her eyes narrowed at you two as Patri spun you around and held you closer to her, practically exchanging breaths. Alexia downed her whiskey as she rolled her eyes, turning around towards the counter to order another.

⋆˙⟡♡ "I just need to have you," Patri whispered drunken sweet nothings into your ears as her hands got busy, mostly gripping your waist and hips.

The two of you had made way to a more private corner where you two could be more intimate and apart from the rowdy dance floor. 

Patri pressed a kiss on the side of your jaw. It was firm enough for you to react but gentle enough to let you know she was testing out the waters. Seeing your reaction, Patri smirked and cursed under her breath as she saw your eyes fluttering under her touch.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia watched it all unfold. The alcohol was making her more irritable than she normally was. As soon as she saw Patri plant her lips on you, she felt the jealousy rush through her body. No fucking way, she thought. No fucking way Patri gets to kiss her before I do.

Before you two could proceed any further, Alexia put down her glass and stomped her way to you, not giving a fuck about the people she was bumping and pushing away as she did.

When she got to you, she didn't hesitate. She grabbed your arm and pulled you away from Patri without bothering to say a single word to either of you. Your drunken state couldn't process what was happening immediately. 

"What the fuck?" It was all you could say. You turned desperately to look at Patri who looked just as dumbfounded as you. You tried to halt but Alexia's grip was so strong that even when you tried to stop, she was able to drag your weight.

⋆˙⟡♡ You finally stopped where Alexia's car was parked and you frowned. "I'm not getting in with you, Alexia! You're drunk!" You said in almost a shout. "And I can't drive for shit so we're not going anywhere! I'm going back to Patr—"

Suddenly, Alexia's lips came crashing onto yours, shutting you up. She pressed your body against the cool surface of her car. Her hand made its way to your waist as she kissed you desperately, thirstily. 

It didn't take long for you to reciprocate with your hands snaking to the side of her neck, kissing her as if you wanted to completely devour her. You moaned as you felt Alexia's tongue enter your mouth and as her hand lowered from your waist to your ass. Whatever apprehension or complaint you had from being pulled away from Patri was gone. This kiss was something you've been wanting, craving, needing for weeks

Alexia ended the kiss as abruptly as she started it. She kept one hand on her vehicle and the other on your waist as she pulled away slightly — her eyes piercing yours with an intensely hungry stare. 

"Get in the car." She ordered in a deep, raspy voice and you had no choice but to say yes.

⋆˙⟡♡ You spent the first few minutes silent. You didn't know what to say. You wanted to feel frustrated about her pulling you away from Patri, who had been genuinely nice and accommodating. You wanted to shout at her and tell her off for drunk driving. You just had so much going through your mind that it was becoming static.

"You've been avoiding me," She broke the silence. "Don't try to deny it because I know you have."

You stayed quiet, trying to find a retort but all your mind could fixate on was the fact that she was driving right now. "You're drunk driving."

"Who gives a fuck? We live ten minutes away." She groaned and rolled her eyes. You could see her knuckles turn white as she gripped the wheels tighter with frustration. "See? That's our fucking building complex. You happy?"

You huffed, startled by the out-of-character outburst from the older woman. Alexia was usually so level-headed and calm. You never once saw her this frustrated. Suddenly, you remembered your aunt's short anecdote about Alexia and her fiancé fighting.

Maybe this was that version of Alexia.

⋆˙⟡♡ "Are you just going to keep ignoring me?" Alexia hissed out as you two made your way from the basement parking lot to the apartment elevator.

You stayed silent. Alexia groaned in frustration as she ran a hand through her blonde hair. You were starting to sober up now, not by much but enough to tell that Alexia was absolutely wasted. You could smell the heavy scent of smokey whiskey linger on her breath.

In frustration, once you two got in the elevator, Alexia cornered you. She looked down on you, towering over you. "Do I have to corner you every time I want to talk to you, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "Why would you wanna talk to me? We're not friends."

Alexia's demeanor went from angry to disappointed. "Then what was all that hanging out everyday about? All that pretending you have to immediately go wash two pairs of pants just so you could be with me and do laundry? Cuddling up to me on the couch? Was that nothing?" She asked with a voice laced with frustration.

You bit your lip and looked down, feeling partly ashamed and upset she had caught up with what you were doing. You knew you were being obvious with making up excuses to see her but you thought that Alexia never seemed to mind... well, until you heard what she said about you that night.

Alexia sighed. Seeing you suddenly get upset just softened her. She put her arms down and instead, gently reached out to you to put a lock of hair behind your ear. The same hand cupped the side of your face. "Look at me."

You slowly and carefully looked up to the taller girl. In this proximity, all you could focus on were the tiny beautiful details on her face — her subtle smile lines around her eyes, the small freckles on her face, the golden specks in her eyes. You wanted to give in so bad but you just felt it was unfair of her to be demanding you explain to her why you've been avoiding her when she hasn't exactly been clear about how she felt about you.

“Please tell me, cariño.” She said in a hushed voice. “Why don’t you want to be around me anymore?”

"Why does it matter that I've been avoiding you?" You muttered in frustration. "I'm just some clingy kid to you, aren't I?"

As if on cue, the doors to the elevator opened to your floor. You gently pushed Alexia aside and walked away. You were barely a step out of the elevator when Alexia grabbed you. She spun you around and her lips were on you again.

Your fists were balled up, ready to protest and push her away. You wanted to demand she be honest with you; you wanted to know why she was being all nice and close to her when you were alone together but calling you "a clingy kid" around some other hot girl.

But your body wanted Alexia more than you wanted clarity. And so, your fists unclenched, your body fell limp in her arms, your mouth parted to allow her to deepen her kiss... and you completely gave in.

⋆˙⟡♡ It felt like Alexia and you were playing a game of who can keep their mouth on the other as you undressed.

You continued to make out as you messily and brashly entered her apartment. She basically slapped the walls blindly to turn on the light switches and just dropped her car keys on the floor. She didn't give a fuck. Alexia was selfish with your kisses and didn't want anything else to take her attention from the way you were kissing her.

But this slow stumbling to her bedroom was not her taste and it was distracting to her. So naturally, the blonde girl put her arms on the back of your legs before lifting you up to carry to her bedroom.

You didn't want to lose this game either. You continued to kiss her as you wrapped your legs around her, holding on to her tightly.

She gently laid you down on her bed before taking off her top, revealing her bare chest. She was so attractive and you wanted to feel every inch of her skin under your fingertips. You bit your lip as you desperately kicked off your shoes before pulling her again towards you, wanting more.

"Fuck, I've wanted to do this for so long." She muttered in between kisses as she pulled your leather skort off. You couldn't get a response out as you were too overstimulated by everything that was happening but the desperation behind your kisses could easily be felt by the older woman without you having to say anything.

Alexia's hands gracefully unzipped your bralette top and shrugged it off your body. She cursed under her breath as she gazed at your breasts, taking them in her hands.

"Fuck, been fantasizing about these perfect tits since I met you." She hummed before taking an erect nipple into her mouth, sucking and licking on it. You moaned out loud and bucked your hips as she continued to pleasure your chest with her mouth.

Alexia held your hips down before pressing two digits against your soaked underwear. She hummed in delight. "Since when was this?"

"Huh?"

She smirked. "I meant, who made you this wet tonight? Me or Patri?"

Apparently, you took too long to answer because she violently pressed two fingers against your soaking, clothed cunt.

"F-fuck, Alexia." You exclaimed as you felt her rub slow but firm circles around your clit. You arched your hips again, desperately wanting to be touched more by Alexia. "I want you inside, please."

Alexia hushed you, keeping a steady yet painfully slow pace. "You think I'd give it away to you so easily after you ignore me and then basically dryhump one of my closest friends in front of me, huh?"

You whimpered, feeling desperate. "Alexia, please, please."

She smirked at the sight of you squirming underneath her, begging to be filled by her. "Then answer me." She ordered.

You felt her press harder, making you moan out again. "Alexia, you did. You made me this wet. Alexia, please." You blubbered out in a pathetic string of desperation. "It was all you. Only you.”

Alexia smiled and leaned into your ear. "Good girl."

With a swift motion, Alexia pushed your panties to the side and began firmly massaging circles against your wet clit. You moaned out loud, feeling yourself warm up in pleasure.

As Alexia quickened her pace and as her mouth found its way back to your hardened nipples, you felt yourself getting close to an orgasm but it felt so unsatisfying without being filled by her. You moaned out. "Alexia, I need you inside please."

You clenched around nothing as Alexia continued to rub against you. You felt your frustration grow. "Alexia, inside please." You whimpered, writhing underneath her.

"Shh, you're so impatient." Alexia scolded. "But since you look so desperate for it..."

Alexia pulled your panties off effortlessly before she let her fingers sink deep into you. You gasped at the sudden thrust of her fingers inside you. She smirked, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure. You shut your eyes as you gyrated your hips against her slow-thrusting fingers. You cursed out loud, feeling Alexia carefully curl her fingers to test out your sensitive spots. Her fingers were much longer than yours were and she was making you feel more pleasure than you could ever feel all alone.

Alexia started picking up the pace, thrusting her fingers in and out of you. She cursed when you started moaning out loud and felt your fingers tighten around her two digits. She started to thrust faster, then harder, and now she was curling her fingers with every inward thrust.

She loved watching you undo under her touch. She loved your moans, the feeling of you clenched around her fingers, the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your boobs bounced with her every thrust... you were a sensory delight to her.

"Alexia, oh my fuck..." You exclaimed as you felt her pound her fingers against you. The sound of your slick and your heavy breathing filled the room as Alexia steadily fucked you to the point of not being able to think about anything else but the feeling of her fingers inside you.

Alexia leaned next to your face and planted small kisses in between catching her breath. "I've wanted to fuck this tight pussy since I saw you." She said against your ear. "You looked so cute in that sundress."

You moaned again, gripping Alexia's bare back. "Alexia, faster, please."

Alexia pressed a kiss against your jaw before opening her mouth to leave sloppy kisses on your neck that you were sure would leave marks in the morning. She picked up the pace even more, making you shout out her name as you felt the pleasure ripple throughout your body. 

"Fuck, I'm so close." You moaned out. "Oh my god."

"Scream my name, cariño." She whispered with heavy pants. 

Then, you felt your orgasm rip through you, leaving you shaking under her. "Alexia!" You shouted out as you let yourself arch your back in the intense pleasure.

Alexia let you ride out your orgasm before slowly pulling out her fingers. She smiled at you warmly before using her thumb to part your lips open. As you did, she stuck her two wet fingers down your mouth. "Suck me dry, cariño."

You enthusiastically sucked on her fingers, making sure to lick and suck all of your cum off of it. The entire time, you made eye contact with Alexia who was biting her lip and cursing under her breath. 

The sight of you taking her long fingers in your warm mouth was making her wet. And, god, the wet sloppy sounds paired with the sensation of your mouth wrapped around them… She cursed under her breath before she pulled her fingers out. You looked at her confused as she made her way to her cabinet, rummaging for something in one of the drawers.

That's when she pulled out a large, transparent dildo attached to a harness. You bit your lip as you watched Alexia put it on her bare body.

Your eyes finally got the chance to admire her more this time. You looked at her muscular figure, her long legs, her firm ass, and of course, her abs. You've never seen someone with abs as glorious as hers before. You wanted to moan out loud at just the sight of her. She was hotter naked than you ever imagined. 

"Checking me out, cariño?" She teased as she adjusted the harness. 

You bit your lip and nodded. She chuckled, feeling elated by the fact that she could see you get wet again just with the sight of her naked body. 

"Well, you can do that on your knees, no?" She asked.

⋆˙⟡♡ Watching you suck her fingers wasn't enough for Alexia, she wanted to watch you take her entire strap in your mouth. She wanted to see you struggle to take its entire length.

"Open wide, pretty." She said in a low voice as she took her thumb again to part your mouth. The sight of you kneeling in front of her with wide, pleading eyes paired with an angle where she could perfectly see your tits... it just made her want to fuck it with being gentle and take your head and use your mouth to fuck her strap with.

But she still tried to be gentle with you. Letting you take in the tip between your lips before gently pushing your head towards her to take in the entire length. You almost gagged at one point but you quickly adjusted to having her length in your mouth. 

When you took in the entire length, Alexia moaned out loud at the sight. "Fuck, suck me off, cariño."

You obeyed and started slowly moving your head as you sucked. You looked up at the older woman who had her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she held your head steady. “Yeah, just like that.” She grunted out. “You look so pretty taking me in like that.” The silicone stifled your moan when you finally got a whiff of her alluring musk. You couldn't see under the harness but you were sure Alexia was dripping wet herself.

Alexia grew impatient. “Cariño, tap my leg if it hurts, yeah?" She warned you and you just nodded.

She smirked before firmly grabbing onto your head as she began slowly thrusting into your mouth. When you felt the strap hit the back of your throat, you gagged and felt tears form in your eyes, making Alexia even wetter at the sight of it. "You look so cute, cariño." She grunted out breathlessly.

The base of the dildo was hitting Alexia's clit every time she thrust into your mouth, driving her close to an orgasm. It felt so good watching you suck her strap off while feeling it all on her clit. She moaned as she kept thrusting your head against the entire length, wanting to feel more of the sensation.

She moaned out in a low voice and threw her head back. The sight of her — with her eyes shut and her muscles clenched — as she used your mouth to fuck herself left you dripping on to Alexia's bedroom floor. Finally, you felt Alexia tense up before finally cumming. 

"Good job, baby." She said before guiding your mouth open to take the dildo out, a string of saliva forming from your mouth to the silicone member. She bent down to your height and captured your lips in a kiss. "You did so well. You took me in your mouth so well."

Her compliments filled you with so much warmth. You continued to kiss her, wrapping your arm around her neck. Effortlessly, Alexia lifted you up again and laid you down on the bed. 

She planted a gentle kiss on the side of your head before whispering. "Think you can handle my strap inside of you?"

You didn't even have to think twice about it.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia never was an impatient lover in bed but everything about you made her feral, wanting to fuck you fast and hard just so she can watch you unravel before her over and over again.

Something about the way you orgasmed was addicting for her to watch. She loved watching your body clench, your mouth open wide in pleasure as you moan and whimper and scream her name. It was addicting for her.

Despite that, she still wanted to focus on your pleasure instead of fulfilling her own desires of seeing you cum several times — one after the other — under her.

She watched your pussy slowly take in her entire length as she slowly pushed it inside. It didn't take long until she thrust the entire length inside you, the strap disappearing from her sight. She cursed under her breath as you wriggled and whimpered underneath her as you felt her huge strap completely split you open. She bit her lip as she slowly began to thrust in and out of you.

You were exactly as she fantasized in bed — obedient, submissive, and loud. And god, you were so gorgeous when you were being fucked. She leaned in again to capture your swollen lips into a short kiss before she focused again on fucking you with her strap.

Your moans and whimpers were a symphony to her ears. She felt like she could cum just hearing you absolutely get wrecked by her.

You couldn't control the volume of your voice. Alexia was extremely skilled in bed. Her thrusts were fast and hard but incredibly precise, pressing against your sensitive spot with every push she did inside you. There was too much pleasure rippling through your body to give a fuck about the neighbor's hearing.

And you just couldn't stop moaning out her name. It felt so good in your mouth to say it over and over again. 

"Yeah, keep moaning out for me, cariño," Alexia said as she picked up the pace of her thrusts. 

You felt a tad of pain as she became rougher with her thrusts but it was a good kind of pain. Alexia grunted as she held on to your waist with her hands. 

It didn't take long until your pussy was clenching around her strap and you were practically shaking as your orgasm built up for the second time that night.

"You're all mine," Alexia slurred out in between heavy breathing. "This pussy is only mine."

You moaned out in agreement. "Yes, Alexia, yours. I'm yours."

With one strong thrust, you came undone. You screamed out her name again for the nth time before falling limp underneath her. Alexia pulled out and gave you a kiss. 

You couldn't find the energy or brain power to speak. So, you just held Alexia close, your heavy breathing synchronizing with each other. You sighed.

You just knew then and there that you've fallen hard for Alexia Putellas.

⋆˙⟡♡ You woke up to an empty bed, blinking a few times as the soreness in your body set in. You groaned, stretching, and only then did you realize you were still naked. Flushing, you glanced around, noticing Alexia must be in the kitchen from the faint sounds of cooking.

Quickly, you found your underwear on the floor and pulled it on, then grabbed one of Alexia’s football shirts from her closet to slip into.

With a soft smile, you tiptoed over to her and wrapped your arms around her waist from behind. “Good morning,” you murmured.

She chuckled, “Careful, cariño. Sneak up on me like that, and I’ll cut my finger instead of this tomato.”

You hummed, ignoring her and just hugging her tighter. "Breakfast?" 

She laughed. "I think someone enjoyed last night way too much to realize it's already noon." She smiled. "This is already lunch."

You blushed and let go of Alexia, getting out of the way of her cooking. You sat down on the counter and watched her do her thing in the kitchen. She looked like she already got up and took a bath as she was wearing new clothes.

"You took a bath without me?" You jokingly asked with feigned disappointment and a pout.

Alexia smirked. "Sorry, I couldn't stand the thought of waking you up when you looked so pretty sleeping naked in my bed. I'll be sure to invite you to join me next time." She glanced at you again, realizing you were wearing another one of her older Barça shirts. "Hmm, you seem to like wearing my kits, huh?"

You smiled. "Love your name on me."

Alexia's lips curled into a smile before giving you a peck on the lips. "You can have it. I just love seeing it on you," She set down the cooking supplies and leaned in to give you a deeper kiss. "But I love seeing me inside you more."

You playfully smacked her arm. She continued to cook as you picked on the leftover tomatoes on the cutting board to snack on them. 

You hummed playfully. "So, Ale..." You started.

"Hmm?" She replied, focusing on cooking.

"So... last night you said you thought about fucking me when you first saw me..." You brought up with a playful smirk.

Alexia chuckled. "Your turn to tease me, huh?"

"I'm just asking." 

"Well, of course, I did..." She responded. "Couldn't stop thinking of your little lace undies."

You blushed, recalling how you fell on your face and exposed yourself to her. "Hey, you're teasing me now again."

She laughed, stirring the sauce. “You’re just easy and fun to tease.” As she finished, she dished up two plates of pasta, setting them on the table.

"Hmm, then what was all that 'you're so young' and 'you remind me of my little sister figure' talk about." You brought it up, casually.

Alexia hummed as she placed a healthy portion of food on two plates. She placed it on the dining table, contemplating your question. She finally headed up to you, taking your hand and leading you to the dining table.

As she sat, she took a deep breath. "Well... I didn't want to scare you off just in case you weren't into me." She said. "And... I guess I was trying to remind myself that you were — I mean, you are — too young for me."

You hummed, giving her a reassuring smile. “Our age gap isn’t that big, you know. I’m an adult.” You reassured her and partly, yourself. 

She smiled gently but shrugged. “I know, but we’re in different stages of our lives, you know? It made me hesitate.” She explained. 

You nodded, feeling her words sink in. After a pause, you asked. “And with that tattooed girl… why’d you call me a ‘clingy little kid’ that night?”

Alexia’s face grew serious. “That was just a dumb mistake." She said, pausing to use a paper towel to wipe her mouth. "I was drunk, and I was with my ex—I hadn’t seen her in a long time. I didn’t think about how it would make you feel if you heard it."

“Oh… was that your ex-fiancée?” You asked cautiously.

Alexia shook her head. “No, no, my ex-fiancée and I would never hang out." She chuckled. "That was Jenni. We’re good friends and we were just catching up after not seeing each other for long... but yeah… I was stupid. I shouldn’t have said that.”

You nodded slowly, a lot of questions swirling in your mind—questions about her past, what last night meant, if your age still bothered her. But you decided to let it go, not wanting to ruin the moment. 

⋆˙⟡♡ "You ghosted me for a month and now, you're telling me that you're dating a pro soccer player?" Your best friend Ashley shouted over FaceTime. "Are you nuts?!" 

You hushed her as you stood from your bed to shut the door. "My aunt is right outside my room."

"Who cares? She's cool and probably would be gushing with me right now if she knew!" Ashley exclaimed. 

You chuckled. "Just shhh. I haven't told anyone about Alexia cause we aren't really dating."

Ash's face fell in shock. "Huh? Then what are you doing?"

You sighed before going on to tell her the whole story — the day you fell in front of her, the grocery runs, the night you saw her with Jenni, the night at the club, and of course, last night when you slept together. Ash was practically exclaiming and shouting every other minute in shock and excitement.

"Okay, okay, girl, I just looked her up and hot damn, you're telling me you slept with THAT?" Ash pointed her phone camera to her MacBook screen which displayed a photo of Alexia celebrating in her sports bra during a football match. 

You chuckled. "Oh... Ash, her abs... they were so firm and hot up close. I felt like I was going crazy."

The two of you geeked over how hot Alexia was for a few minutes before calming down. Ashley sighed. "But babe, like, I want you to be careful still cause like... she hasn't really said that she likes you yet, right?"

You blinked and thought about it and realized Ashley seemed to be right. She did say she wanted you and she did say you were "all hers" in bed and that she thought about you sexually from the moment you met... but there were no explicit mentions of her feelings.

"Hmm, yeah, I could read from your expression that she hasn't..." Ash commented. "I know she's sweet and fun but just be cautious, okay? I can't afford to lose my best friend to another gap year cause of another heartbreak." She joked.

You chuckled weakly. "No, no, I mean, I'm taking it slow. I'm not that invested yet." You lied. You were pretty much all in with Alexia at this point.

Ashley nodded. "Okay, that's good. Just enjoy having fun with your older woman but just be careful. Okay, babes?"

You sighed and nodded. "Yeah, of course."

Ash hummed and stayed silent for a beat before asking, "So... about this Patri girl, I just googled her too, and wow..." 

You chuckled and continued bantering with Ashley, trying to push your insecurities to the back of your head. 

⋆˙⟡♡ You woke up to your phone ringing. You blinked your eyes open and took a glance at the phone. "Hmmm," You groaned out before answering. "Yeah?"

It was Alexia.

"Cariño, come over, please." Her voice was low and sultry. You hummed into the phone mic, sleepily. Alexia chuckled at the sound of it. "Aw, did I wake you up, my love? I'm so sorry."

"Hmm, yeah. Is everything okay?" You mumbled out.

She had a short chuckle. "I just need to taste you, cariño. I need you so bad." Her voice came out in a needy, low tone that made your insides churn.

You took a deep breath and blinked the remaining sleepiness away. "Okay, I'll just get dressed up." You said with a yawn. "I'm still in my pajamas."

"No, baby, I'm undressing you anyway. Just come over, cariño." She begged. You smiled at the sound of her voice; she sounded so desperate and needy.

"Okay, got it." You chuckled.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia wasn't lying because as soon as you entered her apartment, your clothes were practically off your body and on the floor.

Alexia had pinned you against the front door, too impatient to even take you to her bedroom. You watched the blonde woman kneel in front of you as she pressed her mouth on your core, licking and flicking her tongue against the most sensitive part of your clit.

You grabbed her head and rocked your hips against her mouth, making Alexia hum in pleasure. She spread her tongue flat against your wetness, taking it all in before focusing again on your clit.

"Fuck, I could do this everyday." You muttered out.

⋆˙⟡♡ And you did do it... almost every day.

It could be early in the morning, in the middle of the day, or even late at night. Alexia would text you and you always found your way to her bed... or her couch, or her floor, her shower, her kitchen counter, her table. You two fucked so much that you felt like you were losing brain cells with how she left you so mind-fucked every time.

⋆˙⟡♡ On more than one occasion, you wanted to bring up your feelings for Alexia and how you wanted more than just sex out of your relationship but you always chickened out.

You figured you could talk about it some other time.

⋆˙⟡♡ Yet, the opportunity never really arose. Whenever you two were together, nothing seemed to leave your lips except her name and a string of incoherent moans. It was fun and exciting but sometimes, it also left you feeling insecure about your place in her life.

⋆˙⟡♡ "Look who's back home at 5 in the morning," Your aunt jokingly tutted her tongue as she watched you enter the apartment in clothes you borrowed from Alexia. You thanked heavens you didn't wear one of her kits with her name on it or else, you would have been figured out. "And is it safe to assume you didn't come from the grocery with that heavy cream I asked to buy you two days ago?"

You blushed as you saw your aunt judging you as she sipped her morning coffee. "Hi, Aunty..." You said softly. "I can go get that later once the supermarket opens. I'm sorry I totally forgot about it."

She shook her head. "How did you go from doing all the errands like a maniac to doing none of it?" She joked. "See, I don't mind that you're running around with some girl... clearly, it's making you happy."

You bit your lip and tucked a hair behind your ear. She continued, "Just make sure you're doing errands like you agreed to, or else I'm shipping you back to your momma."

You nodded. "Sorry, auntie."

⋆˙⟡♡ "Come over, cariño 😚" The message notification popped up on the top of your screen as you were reading the list of things your aunt wanted you to pick up from the grocery.

You sighed and texted Alexia, telling her you had to do some errands. You smirked as you read her reply. "Okay, I'll drive you there only if you agree to ride my face later."

You rolled your eyes and chuckled.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia had her hand on your thigh as she drove to the nearby supermarket, gently feeling your skin as she moved it up and down your thigh.

"Alexia, if you keep doing that, we won't end up getting the groceries." You said as you held her hand steady on your thigh. She smirked at you and said, "I'm fine with that."

You chuckled and ignored her.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia couldn't get her hands off of you. She'd have her hands on your waist as you tried to get stuff from the shelves. She would kiss you on the cheek randomly. Even as you were pushing the cart, she would have her body pressed behind you, resting her head on your shoulder as you pushed the cart together.

Thankfully, there weren't many people but the people who were there were taking notice of how clingy and affectionate Alexia was being.

"Cariño, you smell so good. I wanna smell you all over and put my face against your..." Alexia whispered in your ear as she rested her head on your shoulder. You playfully elbowed her and swatted her away.

"Ale, people can hear you." You said with an eye roll.

She hummed as she pressed her lips against your ear. "Baby, I just want you so bad. I don't care if anyone hears about how much I want to..."

"Alexia?" A voice from the far end of the aisle called. Alexia practically jumped away from you as soon as you two heard the voice. You turned your attention to the tall, blonde girl at the end of the aisle.

Alexia cursed under her breath but raised her hand to greet the girl who came walking towards you. "Frido, hey." Alexia greeted, straightening herself up. "What's up?"

The tall girl hugged Alexia and then turned her attention to you. "And who is this pretty girl you're with, Alexia?" She smiled at you before turning to Alexia with raised eyebrows.

Alexia looked at you with a panicked expression before turning back to Frido. "Oh, she's my neighbor. I gave her a ride to the grocery." She explained before changing the topic. "And who are you here with?"

Alexia and the taller girl, who you inferred was a teammate, started chatting a bit more but all you could think about was how Alexia introduced you

⋆˙⟡♡ After you loaded her car with groceries, you immediately headed to the passenger seat and slammed the door behind you.

Alexia had taken notice of your change in demeanor. She entered the car and looked at you with a confused look. "Why are you mad?"

You hummed and ignored her. She sighed and began driving. She tried to put a hand on your thigh but you swatted her away, which seemed to piss her off.

"What's your problem?" She snapped.

"I don't know, maybe neighbors just don't touch each other's thighs like that." You retorted, annoyed.

Alexia groaned. "Don't tell me you're mad at me because of that."

"Why wouldn't I be mad, Alexia?" You responded with a raised voice. "You and I have been fucking for weeks. We cuddle. We have dinner. We kiss and fuck and spend so much time together. Not to mention that before all that, we were already practically together all the time... and I'm just your neighbor?"

Alexia's eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't see the big deal. Frido's my co-worker and I just don't feel like airing out my sex life randomly to people I work with."

You groaned. "Don't you get it? You don't need to tell people we're fucking. You can just say we're dating, seeing each other... I don't know. Even just calling me your friend is better than being called your neighbor."

Alexia clenched her jaw and shook her head in disbelief. "This is the problem with dating younger girls..." She muttered under her breath.

This just drove you over the edge. "What does my age have to do with this?" You shouted as you glared at her. "Last time I checked, you were the one who said our age difference didn't matter to you."

Alexia groaned. "You're just being so immature. Why does it matter so much what I said to Frido? She's just my co-worker. Of course, if some other girl came over to flirt with me, I'd say I'm seeing someone already. That's when the distinction matters."

"How would you react if someone I knew from school came over and I just called you my neighbor?" You retorted.

"I wouldn't give a fuck," She responded. "Cause I'm mature enough to know it doesn't matter."

You snapped. "Well, maybe that's cause you don't actually care about me." You could feel your voice crack as you said it but you stopped yourself from getting emotional.

Alexia groaned and grew more exasperated. "See? This is your problem. I don't air out my personal business and suddenly you think I don't care about you..."

"Well, do you, Alexia?" You stared at her, with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. "All you ever want to do now is fuck. You don't ever tell me how you feel about me. You never even mentioned once that you liked me... and I can't recall the last time you complimented me in a way that wasn't about my body or looks. You might care but not enough."

Alexia groaned but tried to compose her thoughts before responding to you, not wanting to frustrate you even more. "Obviously, I like you but I just..." She trailed off. "I don't know if I'm ready for what you want."

You looked at the older woman with an incredulous look. You were at a loss for words. You felt a tear fall but you just wiped it off and shook your head, dryly chuckling.

She parked the car and took a deep breath. "Cariño, just because I'm not ready to commit yet... doesn't mean I don't care or like you." She explained patiently as she turned to look at you. "I just... think what we have now is good. Please, can we just calm down?"

You stayed silent, waiting for her to tell you she liked you more than just physically or to tell her you mattered to her. You didn't know exactly what you wanted to hear but you just wanted reassurance that you weren't just some secret fuck buddy to her.

Alexia groaned exasperatedly at your silence before unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning towards you, grabbing your face to kiss you. But instead of kissing her, you put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"Goodbye, Alexia." And with that, you left.

⋆˙⟡♡ After your frustrating exchange with Alexia, you demanded your groceries and insisted on carrying them up yourself, not wanting to talk to her for a while. 

So, with two arms loaded with grocery bags, you clumsily stormed into the apartment, causing a couple of things to fall out of the bag. You groaned exasperatedly. "Fuck this shit."

"Guess the coupon didn't work out at the supermarket, huh?" You nearly jumped at the voice. You turned to see your aunt sitting on the couch, sipping coffee. 

You sighed deeply, not answering as you were still distraught over the realization that after all this time, Alexia never returned your feelings. You doubted yourself, thinking maybe you were immature and childish for reacting like that but you couldn't help but be overwhelmed with insecurities. 

Your aunt took note of your gloomy demeanor as she stood up from the couch to help you out with the groceries. "Darling, are you alright?" She said as she took the bags from you.

You looked up at your aunt and just shook your head. She immediately put the bags down on the nearby counter and took you in for a hug.

⋆˙⟡♡ As you unloaded your groceries with your aunt, you also decided it was time to let her know about what was going on. She was always the cool aunt, growing up. She was never judgmental or preachy; she often said something like "How could I be judgemental when I was way worse than you when I was a kid?" So, you figured that if there was anyone you could go to for advice, it would be her.

You kept the details vague though, not totally willing to disclose the fact that the girl you were seeing was Alexia. You just said you met an older woman while walking Ruby and you two hit it off. You recounted all the memories of you two hanging out, doing groceries, walking, or even just doing laundry.

"It felt domestic, at some point." You told your aunt. "It felt like we were dating even if we hadn't hinted that we liked each other. It felt even more intimate than when I was with my ex, y'know. It really felt... I don't know, close to her."

Your aunt nodded, understandingly. She continued to listen as you told her about running into Jenni and what Alexia said. Then, you told her about the nightclub incident, keeping details and identities vague. "And while I was dancing with the girl I met at the counter, she suddenly grabbed me and pulled me away and dragged me out of the club."

Your aunt's eyes widened. "She did what?!" She exclaimed, almost comically loud. You chuckled and continued, "Yeah, and I got really mad at her for it but then she suddenly kissed me."

You continued telling your aunt about the kiss and how you finally got to admit your attraction for each other. Then, you told her how started spending your time together in a more intimate manner, completely leaving behind the cutesy domestic aspect you've grown accustomed to.

You cringed a bit, talking to your aunt about your sex life but she didn't seem that bothered. "So, you went from playing house together to just fucking each other's brains out, got it." Your aunt said, making you chuckle.

You then tell her the reason as to why you were alone and angrily hauling paper bags full of grocery. She nodded along, seeming to be in deep thought. When you finished telling her your story, you sighed. 

"So, yeah... I just got so annoyed by the whole 'neighbor' comment, the fact that she said I was immature because of my age, and how she didn't even bother to clarify that she liked me beyond the physical aspect. There was no reassurance that I could mean more to her than just someone to have fun with." You explained. "And when we argued, it felt like she knew exactly what my insecurities were with our relationship — well, situationship — and just had to pick at those."

Your aunt nodded, understandingly. "If it was just the grocery thing with her co-worker, I would have said you were acting immature too but I get that it was all the other factors together that just made you snap." She sympathized. 

You nodded. "Yeah, I think I would have calmed down if she didn't make the comment about my age. It just felt like a pick at my deepest insecurity with our relationship, that I'm too young and immature for her... and the fact that she didn't want to commit or even just reassure me about us."

You sighed deeply. "It just made me feel so unsure of myself, which I was already feeling ever since we made our relationship mostly physical."

Your aunt sighed. "Well, if you ask me, I think it's better she showed you her intentions now than later, right?" You nodded in response.

"So, just rest a few days, and assess your feelings. Don't shut her out completely," Your aunt said. "I think you should give her a chance without her knowing that you're giving her a chance, if that makes sense. Just wait a couple days and if she reaches out to you and apologizes and tells you that she values you as a person, and possibly, a future partner, then go for it."

You sighed, thankful for your aunt's advice. You took her in for a hug, feeling comfort with the fact that you could really run to her with your problems. 

Your aunt patted your back. "I'm sure you'd figure it out. Besides, I feel like she'd cool off in just a few days and apologize. Athletes just tend to have a reactive temper, I guess."

You froze at her comment. "But I never told you..."

She chuckled. "Well, your reaction just told me now."

⋆˙⟡♡ That very night, Alexia texted you just as you were about to get in bed. 

"Cariño, come over." You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what this text meant and you weren't exactly in the mood to fuck and forget about it.

Another text. "Let's make up, please. I miss you." 

"Cariño, are you still mad?" 

"I'll make it up to you pls."

You sighed, not a single text about talking it out or apologizing for how she acted. You put your phone on silent and just decided you'd reply once she texts you for more than a booty call.

⋆˙⟡♡ You were on your early morning run with Ruby when your phone started ringing. You rolled your eyes at the caller ID. It was Alexia.

As soon as the rings stopped, you got a text. "Come over, Cariño." 

You rolled your eyes again. Is this the only phrase she's capable of? What happened to "hey" or "i'm sorry"? 

As if reading your mind, you get another text. "I'm sorry."

You hummed in satisfaction but figured that you still needed a bit more time to think it out and consider your emotions. You didn't want to talk it out while you weren't ready.

⋆˙⟡♡ Late at night, you considered messaging Alexia that you two should talk but you still felt a bit of uneasiness and uncertainty with it. Plus, you felt that if you went to Alexia at this time of night, she'd get the wrong message. 

⋆˙⟡♡ But apparently, even if you headed to Alexia's apartment now, you wouldn't find her there anyway.

You squinted at the Instagram story that the nearby lesbian club posted and saw a familiar figure in the background of one of the videos. You swore it was Alexia.

So, you did some digital investigating. Since Alexia was never the type to post on social media. You looked through Patri's Instagram story. Nothing. You went to Mapi's Instagram. Nothing. It was only on Ingrid's account that you found something of interest.

It was just a video of Ingrid with her arm around Mapi as they sang along to a song you weren't familiar with but in the background, you could see Alexia chatting up a shorter brunette girl.

You figured you might be overreacting but you couldn't help but feel jealous and annoyed. You were here, mulling over your relationship while she was out partying and maybe flirting with other girls.

The rational thing was to consider maybe it was just another night out with teammates, enjoying the break from football. But a part of you just felt annoyed and jealous. 

I'll sleep it off, you thought. If she messages tomorrow, whatever it is, I'll reply that we should talk then. No use in delaying it anymore.

⋆˙⟡♡ Tomorrow came and there was no message. You pouted and went about your errands. 

Afternoon, nothing. Dinner time, nothing.

You practically stalked the entire Barça team but most of them didn't post anything aside from Ingrid who just posted a couple more photos with Mapi and another with Alexia. Nothing too incriminating.

Still, you couldn't help but get annoyed that she gave up trying to reach out to you.

⋆˙⟡♡ The next day came, and then the next, and the next, and no message from the blonde Catalan.

You felt like you were reverting to your "bed rotting and mopping around with Ruby" routine as the days passed. You wanted to talk to Alexia so bad and you wanted to kiss her and hold her but you just knew deep inside, that it would be better if she made the first move in having a conversation about your relationship.

You sighed as you tapped through Instagram stories again, having nothing better to do. You paused when you reached Patri's Instagram story. 

After that night at the club, you haven't exactly reached out to her considering your situation with Alexia but... Patri was always at the back of your mind.

You hesitated, pausing to consider. Would it be messy to hit up Alexia's teammate after everything we've done?

You bit your lip. Well, Alexia and I never dated and as far as anyone is concerned, there's nothing between us. No one, except maybe Frido, has a clue that we're romantic. 

You corrected yourself. Romantic? Am I insane? There was nothing actually romantic about it. It was purely physical, especially towards the end. 

You sighed. I just want someone who wants to date me and invest in me romantically. Is that too much to ask?

Your night flashed back to the club with Patri. While you didn't get the chance to talk much, she seemed attentive and interested in everything you were saying. Plus, she was also incredibly attractive. It wouldn't hurt to give it a shot.

But the thought of Alexia lingered. You knew that it might be unfair to her — how you never talked it out with her while sliding into her teammate's DMs. It could really hurt her.

...But then again, she never really made the effort to talk it out anyway. And, if you were keeping count, she hurt you first. You take a deep breath. 

Fuck it. Alexia's not my girlfriend. I can do whatever the fuck I want.

⋆˙⟡♡ You didn't expect Patri to respond until the next day since you were certain she had a bunch of other DMs from fans.

But it didn't even take half an hour for her to reply, already talking about where she'd take you out on a date. You smiled, grateful that she was willing to still date you even after what happened.

⋆˙⟡♡ Patri took you to a tapas place. Even if you were the one who asked her out, she insisted that she pick you up; she even brought you a delicate bouquet of pink and white flowers. 

She was basically everything a girl could ask for, opening doors for you and letting you sit first, being polite and attentive to you

It didn't hurt that her playful flirtatiousness from the club was still intact. When she met you at the lobby, she gave you a whistle, reacting favorably to the tight dress you were wearing. She also seemed to love guiding you by putting a hand behind your back or your waist. You felt it was a good balance of being polite and being subtly flirty and sensual. 

⋆˙⟡♡ As you were eating and drinking, Patri finally brought up the single thing you didn't want to talk about at all.

"Okay, so I've got to ask." She furrowed her eyebrows. "Why did Alexia drag you out of the club that night? I was confused cause I didn't even see you two talk before that and she was suddenly dragging you away from me. I asked Mapi about it but she said she was too busy cuddling up with Ingrid to pay attention to anything else."

You sighed. You knew this question was inevitable but you still hated having to talk about it. "Alexia is actually my neighbor." You responded.

Patri nodded and chuckled, still visibly confused. "Okay? And?"

You chuckled back. "Well, we hung out sometimes and she told me that I reminded her of your younger teammate, Jana..." You continued. You weren't exactly lying but you did feel like you were circumventing the truth. "So, I guess she was protective of me somehow? I don't know..."

Patri nodded. "Hmm, did she tell you anything about me?"

You shook your head. "Uh, no... she was pretty drunk so I don't think she was thinking straight that night."

Patri paused and took a swig of her sangria. For a moment, you thought she'd seen through your lie version of the story. 

Patri sighed. "I still think what she did was so random but... I guess, it might be because she doesn't trust me enough in the relationship department." She chuckled.

Patri briefly explained that she once dated another younger teammate and it ultimately ended up sour when Patri grew bored of the relationship and broke up with the girl, leaving the younger player distraught. It affected the team dynamic for a while but she said it didn't take them long to recover from it. 

"I figured that maybe that could be the reason." Patri nodded, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "She didn't reply to me when I asked but I mean, Alexia barely checks her phone so..." She laughed.

You took a deep sigh of relief. She didn't figure you out; she seemed more concerned about the fact that Alexia might have warned you that she wasn't ideal dating material. "Yeah, I guess that's it... she was drunk and we didn't exactly talk about it after." Again, you weren't exactly lying when you said that.

Patri nodded. "But I hope you don't let that change the way you see me. I swear, that whole thing was just blown out of proportion. I wasn't being mean to her; I just try to be honest with the people I date." She explained with a shrug. "I mean, what's the point of lying?"

You felt a lump form in your throat but just forced a smile, nodding.

⋆˙⟡♡ In the next week, you spent more time with Patri, having lunches or going for random café runs. When you were apart, you were still texting each other stupid memes and TikToks or just chatting about everything under the sun.

It was fun being around her. She was so funny and easy-going. It felt like dating a friend. But the best part of it was that, even if you just started dating, she was very forward about how she felt about you.

⋆˙⟡♡   You went on a random afternoon date to a cute gelato place you passed by once on one of your walks with Ruby. You briefly mentioned it to Patri in a passing conversation but she remembered and took you there the next day. 

You hummed in delight when you tasted the pistachio ice cream. "Oh, this is so good." You exclaimed. She smiled at you and looked at you with soft, admiring eyes.

You blinked. "What?"

"Nothing," She chuckled. "I just... like spending my time with you. I think I really like you..."

You smiled back. "I like spending time with you too."

She paused to eat a spoonful of ice cream. "Who knew that the hot girl I was grinding on from the bar would have me acting all nervous to tell her that I like her?" She joked. 

You laughed and shook your head at her silly statement. With Patri, everything seemed easy. No doubts or second thoughts. She was always quick to remind you she liked you, not leaving any room for questioning.

Yet, deep inside, you could still feel yourself yearning for Alexia. Your relationship might have been tumultuous and uncertain but she made you feel things. Everything felt fiery and passionate and overwhelming... and you just craved for that intensity again.

⋆˙⟡♡ "Okay, do you want pizza or something else?" You asked Patri as you lay on her couch, scrolling through food options on the Deliveroo app. 

Patri lifted your feet up and sat down, placing them on her lap. She rubbed your feet as she contemplated her options. "Hmm, are you on the menu?" 

You chuckled and playfully pushed her with your foot. "You're so gross, Patri." 

She continued rubbing your feet. You realized that you have been seeing Patri for almost two weeks already and you still haven't done anything beyond kissing. You reasoned out to yourself that it may be because you two usually spent your time outside her place but you knew deep inside, something else was holding you back.

"Hmm," Patri hummed loudly. 

"Yes, Miss Guijarro? Is there a problem?" You asked, looking away from your phone to give her an eyebrow raise.  

She shook her head. "Nothing... you just didn't answer the question..."

You smiled in amusement. "I did... I said you were gross." You retorted. Patri pouted and gave you a disappointed face which you just laughed at. You rolled your eyes. "Hmm... ask me again after dinner."

Patri practically beamed. "Okay, just order whatever pizza then. I don't want to delay dinner any further." She joked.

You chuckled at her silliness. "So, what movie did you say we should watch again?"

"I was going to recommend that we watch this horror movie, The Woman in Black, but I don't think that will set the mood I want to set." Patri chuckled. You nodded, recalling the movie and how Alexia mentioned that it was recommended by a teammate. 

Of course, it was Patri. She did say she loved horror movies.

You nodded. "Let's just watch something else. I hate horror movies." And being reminded of Alexia.

She chuckled. "Yeah, okay, my teammates didn't like it too. Pina and Jana practically hated me when I made them watch it when they came over." She recalled before turning to you to smile. "You really should meet them. They're fun. You'd love them."

You just nodded along, feeling hesitant. You didn't know if it was a good idea meeting any more of their teammates, scared that maybe Alexia had mentioned something to someone and word would get out about this whole complex situation.

So, you changed the topic. "Okay, got us a large pizza with some soda. That good?"

⋆˙⟡♡ You and Patri were going out on another date at a new club near her place. It started off well. You tried some unique cocktails and got to chatting about your college life and Patri's own experience back when she was still studying.

Two drinks down and you were already starting to feel tipsy but you figured that was no problem. After all, you were with Patri who was responsible enough to take care of you if you did end up wasted.

In the middle of your conversation, Patri paused to check her phone. "Oh, by the way, I hope you don't mind but I told Jana that she should come over. She's in the area and she said before that she wanted to meet you."

Your heart dropped. "What?"

"Jana, my teammate." Patri clarified, speaking in a higher volume as the music had gotten a bit louder. "She's really fun so no worries."

You blinked, feeling a bit anxious. "You told her about me? She's going here?" 

Patri looked confused. "Yeah? She's my friend. Don't you want to meet her?"

You sighed and started to overthink. You felt like it was irrational to feel this nervous about meeting her teammate.

You didn't want to admit it but deep down, you knew that if you met Patri's friends and teammates, it would solidify to them that you were Patri's girl. 

The fact that Mapi and Ingrid already saw you two flirting back in the club didn't help. Now, a bunch of other people in her team knew about you. Soon, it would be solidified to everyone that you were Patri's... and somehow, you didn't want that. 

Because that meant you were erasing your chance with Alexia. What if, at the end of it all, you decided to choose Alexia? Then, it would just seem like you were a slut or that you used Patri.

But you did use Patri. You used her to forget about Alexia.

The nagging voice in your head repeated over and over, making you feel overwhelmed with the gnawing feeling of guilt. 

"Do you not want to meet my friends?" Patri asked again, bringing your attention back to her.

"I- I just..." You started getting frustrated, not with her but with yourself. "I don't think I want to do that right now."

She looked at you confused. "Why?"

You shook your head. "I don't know. I just... why would you tell them about me?" You asked in a raised tone. It was sinking into you just how rude you sounded; you could have made up some excuse about wanting to spend time alone. But you just had to be too emotional and now, it was too late to take your words back.

The calm expression on Patri's face turned to that of disbelief. "Am I not supposed to tell my friends about the girl I'm dating?"

You sighed. You knew she was in the right. In any other normal scenario, it wouldn't be such a big deal to introduce your date to a friend.  But, you just couldn't rationalize to yourself why you felt so annoyed and anxious about it. "I just... I'm not ready for this Patri. I'm sorry."

Patri tried chasing after you but you waved her off. You were too overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts you could never explain to her. 

⋆˙⟡♡ The combination of alcohol, anxiety, and guilt had left you shedding tears inside the taxi cab on the way to your apartment.

You liked Patri. You really liked her a lot.

But... with Alexia, it was different. She made you feel like your heart was doing flip-flops. She made you feel so warm from the inside. You don't think anything can replace the feeling of being with Alexia. She was... something else.

You loved the way she took care of you — cooking you meals, carrying everything for you, making you feel good. You loved her kisses, her touch. You loved how she looked at you; you couldn't put into words how Alexia Putellas' gaze could make someone feel. 

It hurt admitting all of this to yourself because you knew Alexia never felt the same about you.

⋆˙⟡♡ After the grocery incident, Alexia felt annoyed and angry at you for blowing up the way you did. She felt like it was such an overreaction to what she said. 

But most of all, she hated how you questioned her feelings for you. After all the casual dates, the daily walks with your dogs, the grocery or laundry runs, the nights spent cuddling, the breakfasts she'd thanklessly prepar for you as you slept soundly in her bed just cause you mentioned you loved waking up to the smell of pancakes... she felt it was overlooked. 

She did like you. She liked you a lot, more than anyone she's ever messed around with. But she wasn't ready for a relationship with you, or anyone at all. She just never desired that ever again.

Not after Olga left her.

She didn't know if she could ever recover from another heartbreak like that. She didn't know if she had enough strength left in her to handle another failed relationship.

⋆˙⟡♡ When Olga left Alexia, she felt like she could never be with someone like that again. She hated the rollercoaster of a relationship; she felt like she'd grown too tired of it already.

She usually settled for meaningless hook-ups, the occasional one-night stand. She was content knowing that that was the closest thing to intimacy she would get ever again.

⋆˙⟡♡ That was until you came along with your sundresses, your clumsiness, your sunny demeanor. She found it hilarious how you would find so many ways to be around her. It was becoming blatantly obvious you had a crush on her.

⋆˙⟡♡ Sure, she first thought of you as just someone she could hook up with; the physical attraction was there from the start. But you were so... innocent, oblivious to her touches and comments, her advances. She figured that maybe you weren't really into her like that, maybe you just loved being around her.

⋆˙⟡♡ So, she let it play out. You'd go on your morning walks, share a coffee at a café, go to the grocery, do the laundry... she enjoyed it a lot until she realized she might be developing feelings again for someone who might not like her like that. 

⋆˙⟡♡ And so she decided to slowly detach herself from you, not seeing you for a few days.

The only problem with trying to detach physically was that she never considered how you still managed to linger in her brain. She couldn't get you out of her head. You were in everything she saw. 

Making a cup of coffee? Oh, this was the brand of oat milk you liked. Doing laundry? Oh, this was the top you thought was cute on her. Even Nala was all out of sorts, possibly also missing Ruby. 

⋆˙⟡♡ So, she tried other things.

She called up her ex, Jenni, who happened to be in town for drinks and perhaps, some good old fun. It worked for a while. Jenni always knew how to get your mind off of things

But then, just before she entered her apartment that night, she saw you, looking so cute in your pajamas with sleepy eyes and Ruby by your side.

And suddenly, you were imprinted on her mind again. 

⋆˙⟡♡ Even when she was waking up to a debilitating hangover, all she could think about was if she was going to see you again that day.

She dreaded the thought of seeing you, knowing it would only remind her that she was growing attached to your presence. Yet, strangely, she also craved your presence. She missed walking your dogs together. She missed seeing you in your cute dresses, how you'd blush when she called you pretty.

She knew that she was risking getting further attached to you if she did spend more time with you but not being around you was so much worse than that.

⋆˙⟡♡ So, she walked Nala that afternoon during the time you'd usually take Ruby out for her poo time. But you weren't there. 

She'd go to the laundromat several times with just a couple shirts in hand, hoping to see you fussing with things that shrunk in the dryer. Again, nothing.

She'd send you a text about something dumb like the supermarket near you stocking up on your favorite oat milk but it was left on delivered.

She was getting frustrated. She did start the whole avoiding thing but the way you did it was so unsubtle, especially after she figured out that you were taking Ruby on walks at ungodly hours of the day. It was blatantly obvious you were avoiding her.

It was a sign for her to erase any thought of pursuing you, whether it be for some casual fun or something more. She felt you were so immature to be avoiding her like this, and she didn't have the energy to deal with that.

⋆˙⟡♡ When Mapi sent an invitation to the team group chat for a night out at Manuelas, Alexia was the first to say yes.

She figured she might as well get drunk and get laid that weekend, instead of staying at home wondering when the 22-year-old down the hallway would come out of her apartment to walk her dog. She felt so juvenile and naive thinking about shit like that.

She knew that going to a club, surrounded by hot girls would be enough to forget about you.

⋆˙⟡♡ But as soon she entered the club with her teammates, she saw you.

You were unbelievably close to some girl with her back turned on Alexia. She grew angry at the thought of you flirting with someone else. She grew even more frustrated when Mapi leaned over to whisper, "Looks like Patri already found her meal for tonight."

She was basically gritting her teeth at that point.

⋆˙⟡♡ She hated how you touched Patri's arm with unspoken intentions and hated how she could hear you laugh from two meters away at Patri's corny jokes. She hated how you barely acknowledged her even when she approached you, not even a single smile or nod. 

⋆˙⟡♡ She couldn't help herself that night. She spent several weeks trying to give you all these hints and advances just for you to reciprocate none of it. But here you were, grinding against her teammate who you barely even knew.

Soon, the alcohol in her system had taken over and the only agenda on her mind that night was you.

⋆˙⟡♡ One night with you was enough to drive Alexia feral. There was something about you that was addicting, something that drove her insane. 

She's slept with a lot of beautiful girls, and girls who were amazing in bed. But nothing compared to you.

⋆˙⟡♡ She had to have a taste of you every day, sometimes even more than just once a day.

She was a woman captivated. Even when you weren't around, all she could think about was pleasuring you and what she'd do to you as soon as you were around.

⋆˙⟡♡ One night, you were heavily making out on her bed.

She was slowly grinding her knee against your core, gearing up to take control again. But this time, you pulled away. "Alexia, can I make you feel good this time?" You looked at her with wide eyes.

She smiled at you. "Cariño, I already feel good just watching you." She tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. She planted a kiss against your temple. "Come on, just lay back down; I'll take care of you."

You pouted at her with puppy eyes. Her weakness. "Please? I can't promise that I'll be as good as you but I can try." You pleaded.

She chuckled. "No one is as good as me, cariño." She sighed, pausing to give you a kiss. "But if you insist."

You were overly excited, spreading her legs clumsily before diving in. She hummed as she felt your tongue press against her, lapping her entire core in such a careful and calculating manner.

Once you were more comfortable and familiar with her, you wrapped your mouth around her clit, sucking like she did with you. Alexia let out a soft moan, which was enough encouragement that you were doing well. 

Alexia stifled her moans as you continued to eat her out, alternating between sucking and licking. She grabbed onto your head, grinding on you as you continued to eat her out.

She moaned out your name as she felt the pleasure fill her entire body. As soon as she was wet enough, you inserted two fingers inside, steadily thrusting as you kept a quick and consistent pattern of licking around her clit.

Just with a few thrusts, she could feel her orgasm approaching. And as she came, she moaned out loud. "Uh, cariño, I love y—" 

She stopped herself from saying it, eyes wide at the realization. She looked down at you but you were still pressed between her legs, not hearing her little slip-up.

She bit her lip, feeling like she was approaching dangerous territory with you and her feelings again. She told herself that it was just the pleasure, the sudden rush of emotions that made her almost say it but she knew that wasn't the truth.

⋆˙⟡♡ From then on, she kept your interactions short and casual. No more extra frills. She'd hit you up whenever she wanted some fun or stress relief but she'd leave it to that.

You didn't go on any more dog walks or errand runs. She didn't want to do anything that reminded her of anything soft or romantic. She decided that she was going to limit it to just the physical.

⋆˙⟡♡ Naturally, it didn't take long until you were demanding for her to tell you how she felt.

She cursed, thinking she should have been more limiting about it. Why did she have to go with you to the grocery that day? If she hadn't, maybe she wouldn't be forced to contemplate her emotions on the spot.

⋆˙⟡♡ Of course, she liked you. She liked you more than she would have liked to. But, she knew that you were young and all that commitment stuff mattered to you and she just couldn't promise you that. 

⋆˙⟡♡ She didn't know how to make it right with you without having to lie to you by giving you some false sense of commitment.  She figured you would have moved on from it soon enough and you'd be back to spending your days all over each other again.

⋆˙⟡♡ But you didn't respond to her texts. You didn't answer her calls. You shut her out completely. It left her annoyed and mildly... upset.

"She's just another fuck buddy," She told herself on several occasions. "You'd find someone else soon."

⋆˙⟡♡ But she didn't. Every girl she talked to was boring. No one even remotely attracted her anymore, not even physically. Even when she went to her usual lesbian club, there was absolutely no one that caught her eye.

That's when she knew she was in trouble.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia still didn't want to confront her own emotions.

If she wasn't going to fuck her way around to forgetting you, she figured she would pour her time into friendship, as corny as it sounded.

She'd hang out a lot in Mapi and Ingrid's place but being the third wheel just reminded her of you again. She'd prepare dinner for her younger teammates and it would be a good distraction until they made the same stupid Tiktok references you made and played the same songs you listened to. It just felt so impossible to run away from the thought of you.

⋆˙⟡♡ Jana was helping Alexia wash the dishes after a spontaneous dinner at Alexia's home. Jana always had a fifth sense when it came to her teammates, and she could sense that Alexia needed company. 

"So, how've you been, Ale?" She asked, cautiously. "You seem different from your usual self.

Alexia hummed. "Just bored," She responded. "Wish football season would start soon so I won't be stuck alone at home all the time. And you? How's Jill?"

"She's great. She's coming over here this weekend to visit me and her friend from the Netherlands who is on Erasmus here." Jana beamed. "Her friend is pretty cute, Ale. We should set you up."

Alexia chuckled and shook her head. "If she's on Erasmus, that means she's way too young for me." She laughed. 

Jana frowned. "I mean, she's a bit younger than you but the age gap isn't that bad. It's just like Jill and me." She hummed at the thought of her girlfriend. "22 and 30... not that big an age gap, in my opinion."

Alexia sighed deeply. Great, another reminder of her.

"Think about it, Ale, it would be so cute. We can even invite Patri and her new girl!" Jana exclaimed, enthusiastically. "It would be my first time doing a triple date."

Alexia nodded and just continued washing the pot she used. "I didn't know Patri was dating anyone," Alexia commented. 

"Yeah, I stalked her girlfriend on Instagram and she's really pretty. I think they suit each other really well." Jana beamed as she absentmindedly continued to wipe on the same plate she'd been wiping for a while. "Just like I think this Dutch girl would suit you..."

Alexia shook her head in amusement and took the plate from Jana's hands. "Let's focus on the dishes for now." She joked, absolutely not interested in dating another college girl.

Jana's phone buzzed and she gasped. "Oh, Ale, we should go out tonight! Patri's at the new trendy bar with her girl." She exclaimed, looking at the text she got. "Ooh, I've been wanting this strawberry cocktail there."

Alexia pondered for a moment. She hasn't exactly hung out or talked to Patri since the club incident but she figured that if Patri had a new girlfriend, it would be water under the bridge for them. "Hmm, how far is it from here?"

"Let me check," Jana paused before gasping again.

"Wait, aw, look how cute they are! They're so adorable together." She gushed before showing her phone to Alexia. "Look, Ale. Isn't her girlfriend so pretty?"

Alexia nearly crushed the wine glass in her hand when she saw a selfie of you and Patri with your faces so close together. She blinked a couple times before setting down the wine glass and trying to retain composure.

Jana still noticed Alexia's weird reaction. "Why are you quiet? Don't you think she's such a massive babe?" She gushed, scrolling through the other photos Patri sent. "Patri's so lucky."

Alexia rubbed her face and sighed. "I just didn't know Patri was dating my neighbor." She said, trying to make her stunned reaction appear more natural.

Jana widened her eyes. "What a small world, oh my god! All the more reason we should go out tonight." She smiled. "I can even invite Pina since I think she's around the area too."

Alexia shook her head. "Nah, I'm good." She responded. "I forgot that I have a dental cleaning in the morning and I have to wake up early."

Jana pouted but didn't want to force Alexia. "Okay, I'll just tell them you send your best wishes." 

Yeah, best wishes. 

⋆˙⟡♡ As soon as Jana headed out, Alexia opened another bottle of wine. She didn't know how else to cope with learning that you had moved on so quick and started dating her friend.

Here she was, going crazy trying to forget about you while you were cozying up to her friend and teammate. And the fact that all her teammates probably knew about it before she did... it was unbearable.

This was what she wanted to avoid all along — the same destructive feeling she had when she ended things with her fiancée. But this time, you two never even dated. You only saw each other for a couple months and yet, she was completely distraught.

She chuckled dryly to herself, thinking about what her younger teammates would often joke about when talking about their own relationships. "That two-week-long lesbian situationship will send you to therapy." 

She always laughed it off, chalking it up to kids being dramatic. She never would have thought she'd be going through it too at her age. She finished the bottle and decided it wasn't enough; she had to have more to drink but there was nothing left in her apartment.

She sighed, thinking maybe it was time to cool it with the drinking. But she knew it would be easier to drown out her emotions with more alcohol.

⋆˙⟡♡ You wiped your remaining tears as you entered the apartment building.

Fortunately, the cab driver didn’t catch your answer when he asked where you wanted to go, giving you extra time to cry as he initially drove to the wrong location. (Not that you could blame him—you were an American with no Spanish or Catalan skills, and your sniffling and tears likely didn’t help either.)

You straightened your dress up and tried to brush your hair with your fingertips. You didn't want your aunt to see you distraught again. One more breakdown over a girl and you were certain she was going to have you checked with one of her psych friends. 

And, you just felt pathetic having all of these feelings. You were so done with the tears, the frustration, the regret. It was more than you could handle. 

At least, I'm home now. I'm going to leave behind all the tears with that poor cab driver and genuinely, get my shit together. 

⋆˙⟡♡ But much to your dismay, once the elevator doors opened, you saw Alexia. 

You hated the cruelty of fate, forcing you to face each other again while you just cried your heart out about her in a cab. 

You kept your head low and considered just waiting for a different elevator. But Alexia laughed dryly and asked. "You're not getting in?"

You wanted to retort with a "and you're not getting out?" but you decided against it, knowing your voice would crack and give away the fact that you just bawled.

So, against better judgment, you got into an elevator with Alexia.

⋆˙⟡♡ Alexia couldn't quite see your face; all she knew was that you'd come home from a night out with Patri. She clicked her tongue, glancing at you before rolling her eyes.

"Not gonna press the button?" 

When you didn’t respond, she hit the button for your floor herself, stealing glances as she did. She wanted to curse out loud. She could barely see your face since you hovered close to the elevator door, and turned away from her—but the way your dress hugged your body stirred a familiar annoyance. How could you look that good, dressed up like that, for anyone but her?

"So, you're with Patri now, huh?" 

You stayed silent. Of course, word had gotten out to her that you were seeing her teammate. You were stupid for thinking lesbians wouldn't tell their friends about the girl they're seeing.

Alexia scoffed, pressing a tongue against the side of her cheek in annoyance. "So, you sleep with me... then you sleep with Patri... you got a Barça checklist I don't know about?"

Her words stung your chest. It felt like she was implying that you were a slut or that you were just interested in her or Patri because they were famous. 

"I didn't sleep with Patri..." You muttered out weakly. 

Alexia chuckled. "What? Scared she won't make you feel good as I did?" She taunted, feeling her step closer to your back.

This time, you felt tears fall down as she instigated you. You could tell she was drunk by the way she was slurring her words, maybe even more drunk than you were but you couldn't ever find a world where you would speak as harshly to her as she was to you.

"Huh, can't even answer." Alexia hummed. 

But it didn't take long for her to hear small sniffles. She furrowed her eyebrows before gently walking towards you to take a look at your face. You quickly pushed her away, not wanting her to see you this vulnerable again. The elevator doors opened and you walked out but she quickly grabbed you. 

She spun you around and her face softened at the sight of you crying. You tried again to swat her away. "Alexia, leave me alone." You croaked out.

She didn't let you go, keeping both hands on either side of you. "Hey, hey, what happened?" Her voice was more calm now. "Did Patri hurt you? What did she do? Why are you crying?"

You pushed her away again with more force, making her step back away from you. "Fuck, Patri didn't hurt me, Alexia! You did!" You said with a raised voice. "This is all your fault! So, you don't get to talk to me like that after you fucked everything up. Just... leave me alone."

Alexia reached out to hold your hand, keeping you from walking away. "I'm sorry." She said it sincerely. She hesitated for a while before wiping away the tears from your face.

She used both of her hands to cup your face. "Cariño, please don't cry anymore. I'm sorry... I'm sorry I hurt you." Her voice was soft.

You looked down at your shoes as Alexia continued to wipe away the tears on your cheeks. 

"I'm really sorry." She began apologizing again. "I should have talked to you about how I felt. I should have been more open about my past and why I was so scared to commit. Instead, I made you doubt that I ever liked you and that was wrong for me."

You gently removed Alexia's hands from your face and wiped the tears off yourself. "It's not just that, okay?" You said with a soft yet pointed tone.

"Tell me and I'll make it up to you." Alexia moved closer, putting a hand on your waist. 

You shrugged her away. "I just... I'm having it really good with Patri. She's funny and pretty; she's really a catch. And, she makes me laugh so much but she's also really nice to me. Like, attentive and sweet." You rambled on, still tipsy and incoherent from the alcohol in your system. "She's so good to me, Alexia. And I want to love her so bad. I want to be in a relationship with her and commit to someone who reassures me about their feelings so often that I wouldn't have time to question it."

Alexia stayed silent, knowing there was more left to be said.

You sniffled. "But all I want is you. I can't love anyone while you're there, at the back of my mind." You confessed, feeling your voice crack. "Even when you made me feel like shit, I wanted you. I still wanted to be in your arms and kiss you."

You wiped the tears that were running down your face. "It's unfair to someone as kind as Patri for me to be there with her but still be thinking about how much I want you... and that's all on you." You exclaimed, blaming her. "If only you were honest about all of this — even if you didn't like me — I'd get the chance to move on and I wouldn't be stuck thinking about you anymore."

Alexia stepped in to hold you in an embrace. She hushed you, brushing your hair and patting your head to comfort you. "I'm sorry, cariño." She whispered. "If I could redo it, I would."

"I was just... frightened by how I felt." She continued. "I didn't ever heal completely from my past relationship and it just left me scared of ever committing again. And, you came along and... you made me feel all the things."

You stood there, sniffling against Alexia's chest as she held you. "I just felt like accepting the fact that I was falling in love with you would be accepting the chance that you'd break my heart." Alexia sighed in shudders, feeling tears well up in her eyes as well. 

She looked down at you and you looked up at her, locking your eyes together. "I'm not making excuses. I just want you to know... I can change it all now. I can make it all better." Alexia whispered.

She leaned in closer. "I want to try again with you." She closed the space between you, taking your lips into hers gently. "Let me try again."

You breathed, averting your gaze away from her again. You couldn't decide on what to do but how could you think clearly now when all of your thoughts were becoming static noise. 

You wanted to give in, to try again with Alexia. After all, she was what you craved all along. But something inside you felt that that would be the wrong decision.

"I think I need to think about it." You looked up at her. "If we wanted to try and actually pursue something, we need to be serious about it. It would be the mature thing for me to do."

Alexia nodded and gave you a bittersweet smile. "Can always trust you to do that." She smiled before gently touching your face again. "Just give me one more kiss, just a kiss good night?"

You sighed before you nodded, letting her hold your waist in her hands. You locked eyes, taking in the moment and the proximity you had with each other. Then, your eyes both fluttered shut and you were kissing again. 

It felt good but it felt so different this time.

It felt like a goodbye.

⋆˙⟡♡ You woke up to your Aunt knocking on your bedroom door. "I made breakfast." She called out to you.

You blinked your eyes open and immediately felt the heaviness of your eyelids. You could instantly tell they were puffy from all the crying. You sighed and headed out to the dining room to have a meal.

"Damn, you look like some bees stung your eyes." Your aunt commented, making light of it. "You run into a beehive?"

No, just ran into a blonde footballer.

"Rough night," It was all you could say. 

Your aunt squeezed your shoulder. "We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to. Don't worry." She said. "But if you want to... you know I'm just here."

⋆˙⟡♡ You were cleaning the dishes from breakfast when you heard the doorbell.

"I'll get it." Your aunt called out, signaling for you to keep doing the dishes. As soon as she opened the door, she cooed. "Ooh, quines flores més boniques! És para mi?"

Your aunt continued to talk to the person at the door as you washed the plates. When she shut the door, you turned to see who it was and were shocked to see your aunt holding a bouquet of various white flowers. 

Before you could even react, your aunt was reading the tag that came with it. "Huh, guess I got the wrong footballer in mind..." She commented.

You hurriedly set down the plates and ran to your aunt to grab the note from her and prevent her from reading any more of it. She just chuckled. 

It was from Patri. "I'm sorry for last night. I shouldn't have rushed our relationship. I'll give you space if you need it but I'm here for you always. -Patri"

You bit your lip, feeling the guilt in your heart grow tenfold. Patri was never in the wrong. Any girl would tell their friends about someone they've been seeing for weeks. You knew it was your fault and that she didn't get the treatment she deserved.

Yet she was the one sending you flowers. She was just too good for you.

⋆˙⟡♡ You were in bed, scrolling through Patri's Instagram and contemplating whether or not you should message. But what would you even say? I'm sorry. I'm in love with your teammate?

You wished you were honest from the start... or that you could just take it all back. Never come to Barcelona. Never experience this pain and guilt. Never meet Alexia. 

You put the phone down and decided to make yourself some tea to calm your nerves. Your aunt was in the living room, watching old clips from a Barcelona game. "That's the girl you're seeing, right?" She asked, pointing at Patri.

"Auntyyy," You groaned. "Why are you watching that?"

"I... wanna support my local club, y'know." She said with a shrug. "Can you make me a cup as well?"

You nodded, trying to ignore the screen that showed both Patri and Alexia; it was the last thing you needed. 

⋆˙⟡♡ Later on, there was another knock on the door. Your aunt offered to get it, pausing the video. 

You turned around curiously as you heard her chuckle. "Two in one day. Guess I should open up a flower shop." Your aunt commented, jokingly. "So... what can I help you with, neighbor?" 

"Is she home?" You heard that familiar voice. It was Alexia. You couldn't see her but you knew it was her. "I... got these for her."

You bit your lip, not knowing what to do. Your aunt looked over to you. Seeing the worried expression on your face, she turned back to Alexia. "I can tell her to call you later if she wants to."

"Thank you. Please tell her to call me whenever." Alexia's voice sounded disappointed. "And that I'm sorry."

As soon as your aunt closed the door, you saw that she was carrying another bouquet. This time, it was a large bouquet of peach and pink peonies. 

Your aunt looked at you with an incredulous look on her face. "Now, I think we need to talk."

⋆˙⟡♡ You and your aunt sat side-by-side on the living room couch with both bouquets on the coffee table in front of you and the TV still on pause with the Barça clips.

"Well, if you ask me, I like the peonies better." You aunt commented after a long moment of silence, still trying to bring some humor to the ridiculous situation you were in. "Did it come with a note?"

You shook your head. "Is that a sign or symbol of something? Are these a metaphor for something I'm missing?" You said, overthinking again.

"I think it's a sign for you to get your shit together," Your aunt said with a sigh. "Cause how is it that you've got two footballers sending you apology flowers in a day. What did they do?"

You shook your head and rested your head in your hands. "It's actually mostly my fault..." You said, muffling your own words with your hands as you felt yourself getting teary-eyed again. "I just feel so stupid."

Your aunt comforted you by rubbing your back. "It can't be that bad, darling. We'll talk it out and we'll find a way for it to get better."

⋆˙⟡♡ But it was that bad. 

You felt yourself wince and grow more and more annoyed with yourself as you recounted the events in detail. Your aunt was trying her best to be comforting but you could tell from her expression that even she was finding it all hard to believe. 

"And so, I just feel like I made a huge mistake." You sniffled as you finished telling her the entirety of what happened. "I didn't mean to lead Patri on. I genuinely felt like I would have moved on and actually be with her but Alexia..."

You looked at your aunt, who nodded understandably. "That's because your heart already chose her, " she shrugged. It sounds corny, but it happens. Once your heart claims someone, you can't easily force them out of there and replace them with someone else." 

You wiped the tears on your face. "I just feel so clueless and stupid right now because I put myself in a lose-lose situation."

Your aunt furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "And why is that?"

"Because if I choose Patri, I would feel guilty because I know Alexia will always be on my mind and that I'll always still have those feelings for her and that's just unfair and wrong to Patri." You explained, sniffling. "And I love Alexia, even more than I have ever loved my ex who I dated for years... but I don't think I can trust myself to be vulnerable with her anymore. And I think I would always feel distrustful of her intentions."

Your aunt nodded, pausing for a moment. "But you do know those aren't the only choices, right?"

You looked at her to continue. She sighed, "You're looking at a false dichotomy. It's not going to be Alexia or Patri. It doesn't even have to end up with you choosing a relationship to pursue right now." She paused. "It could just be you choosing to heal... which is what you initially came here to do."

You nodded, taking in her words.

"You know how when you get a wound and it's barely healed but you pick at it and it just gets worse?" Your aunt tried to explain "That's what's happening now. You came here to heal from your ex-girlfriend and you barely let the wound heal before putting yourself in the same situation that gave you the wound in the first place. Do you get me?"

You nodded, feeling a bit lost with her vaguely medical analogy. "Yeah, kinda."

She sighed. "What I'm trying to say is... you can't keep running back to the same situations that hurt you and expect different results." She said as she rubbed your back. "And, you were right for coming here in the first place. You can't heal where you were hurt so it was smart of you to take yourself out of that place and distance yourself to give yourself time to actually heal."

"But... now, it's happening again. You're hurting here." She looked at you with pity. "And you can't expect yourself to heal from a past wound and this new wound while you're in a place that just keeps making you want to pick at the scabs each time they form."

Your aunt chuckled. "I feel like I've had this exact conversation with a nine-year-old kid who kept picking his knee scabs from falling over his bike..." She said, lightening up the situation. "But seriously, I stand by it. I don't think you can fully heal while you're here."

You paused. You knew she was right. If you stayed here, you'd always be tempted to run to Alexia who was literally a few feet away from you.

And, even if you were strong and had self-control, the thought of her just being down the hall would make you wonder all the time about what she was doing. Plus, the likelihood of you two running into each other was also enormous. 

You couldn't stay here and expect to heal. 

"So, should I just go back to the States?" You asked.

Your aunt paused. "If I were you, I wouldn't. Because then, you'd be comfortable in your environment, and you'd be bored and all you would do all day is probably watch Barcelona clips or stalk those two online and you'd keep regretting more." 

"When you first came here, you told me you'd love to travel Europe." She reminded you. "You said you'd want to go see the Eiffel Tower and Pisa and all those corny tourist traps... what's stopping you from doing that?"

You paused to think about it. You did have a decent amount of months left before you had to return to university, and you didn't want to come home and tell everyone that all you did was mope around in your aunt's apartment for an entire year. 

"But what if I still don't heal there? What if I still feel like shit?" You asked your aunt.

"Well, if you ask me, it's better to feel like shit while you're eating a pizza in Rome than feel like shit while taking Ruby out on her daily poop." She joked, still making sense.

You knew she was right. You couldn't waste time here, doing nothing and expecting results. There was no chance that you would stay here and completely move on from the remnants of the pain you felt with your ex and from the fresh wounds you got from your experience with Alexia.

If you wanted to move on, you had to put yourself first and leave Barcelona.

⋆˙⟡♡ You packed a small suitcase with essentials while your aunt helped you book trains and buses.

"Madrid is packed with tourists during this season. Why don't you go to France first then just pass by Madrid on the way back here?" Your aunt said with eyebrows knit together as she looked at your rushed itinerary. 

You chuckled. "To be honest, I don't really care where I go. I just need to be a tourist for now — be on the move and take all the usual tourist photos."

Your aunt hummed. "Then I'm changing all of your plans here cause this isn't a good route." 

You chuckled and allowed her to do it. Soon enough, you had a month of travel ahead of you with the first plane leaving early tomorrow. 

You sighed. You thought it was such an out-of-character thing for you to do — just randomly planned flights and train rides to random cities without any set housing or a clear itinerary yet. But maybe doing things that were out of your comfort zone was what you would need.

⋆˙⟡♡ Your aunt drove you to the airport at 4 am. Before leaving the apartment, your eyes lingered on Alexia's door down the hallway. You felt tempted to run over there and give her one last kiss before bidding your farewell.

But you knew that was just you picking at the scabs again. So, you used every ounce of self-control in your body and dragged yourself away from it. 

Though, you did send Patri a text. You told her you were still experiencing trust issues from a past relationship and that you jumped into dating her without healing. You apologized, making sure she knew that none of it was her fault and that you were genuinely regretful. You also said you would apologize in person but that you had to leave Barcelona urgently.

You were nervous for when she would wake up to that text and for what she would say but you figured that this was for the best.

You hugged your aunt tightly before you headed inside the airport. You wanted to cry, missing Alexia already even when you haven't left the city.

But you had to choose yourself this time. You had to heal.

⋆˙⟡♡ In just three months, you've been to Paris, Monaco, Tuscany, Venice, Munich, and all the other places you've planned (and didn't exactly plan) to go to. 

You did all the touristy stuff. You made several friends in the hostels you stayed in. You tried so much food. You hiked. You missed a flight. You ate bad cheese and blew your guts out in the metro toilet. You basically experienced everything — good and bad — and it was genuinely helping you move on.

⋆˙⟡♡ There were times when you stumbled — liking a photo Alexia posted and quickly taking the like back, sending an Instagram DM only to unsend it before it's fully delivered, basically going through each Barça member's account to see a glimpse of Alexia. 

It was especially worse when football season started and Barcelona was playing so many games. Even when you tried not to watch, you'd stumble into a bar that was showing the game. But soon enough, you learned to block it all out from your head and ignore it.

When you left Barcelona, Patri sent you one long message telling you that she was hurt but she understood where you were coming from and that if ever I needed someone to talk to still, she was there. Though, you never took her offer; you still appreciated the gesture. All you could hope for was that she would move on and find someone more worthy of her time.

On the other hand, you didn't know if Alexia messaged you because you blocked her number as soon as you boarded the plane. It felt naive and childish to do so but it was crucial. You knew you'd end up obsessing over whether or not she'd message you or what she'd say if she did. You didn't want to fixate on that.

Ignorance is bliss, after all.

⋆˙⟡♡ You felt like you were almost fully healed at this point. 

You no longer felt sick when you'd see Alexia play a game on TV. You no longer stalked the Barça team for updates. You were moving on, and it felt good.

But undeniably, there was still something inside you that felt empty. 

In all of your efforts, you figured that throwing out all the regret, pain, and hang-ups inside you was the best way to go about it. And it worked but it did leave you feeling empty and unfulfilled.

It wasn't anything too bothersome but you knew yourself that something was missing that kept you from fully healing.

⋆˙⟡♡ "Come on, we're both tourists here. We might as well make the most out of it." The brunette girl said, trying to get you to go out on a date with her. "What's stopping you from going out with me?"

You smiled at the brunette sitting across from you. The two of you accidentally exchanged suitcases and had to contact each other's mobile from the bag tags to switch them back. 

So, you met at a café near your hostel and you were shocked to learn that the owner of the luggage you accidentally got was this attractive brunette girl with a confident smirk and intimidating aura. 

"Isn't this already a date, Lena? We're in a quaint coffee shop in Italy, getting to know each other." You asked her. "If that's not enough, let's have another coffee then - on me - then we can go our separate ways and have a cute story to tell our friends. You can embellish it with more cutesy details; I don't mind."

"All we did was exchange suitcases and chat about how hassle that trip was." The German girl rolled her eyes. "The fact that you and I have the exact same luggage, were on the exact same trip going here, and exchanged suitcases accidentally..." She paused for dramatic effect.

"That's just the recipe for the most perfect meet-cute. It's fate." She reasoned out.

You laughed at her. It was undeniable that she was charming and funny and very good-looking, and the fact that she was trying so hard to ask you out was flattering. But you weren't really in the mood to date now. If anything, it was the last thing on your mind. "I've had enough meet-cutes in my life to know it isn't all that."

"Sure, a gorgeous girl like you would have experienced it so much already but that shit rarely happens to me so it must mean something." Lena reasoned out, making you laugh again. "What? Are you straight or something?"

You laughed. "God, no." You shook your head. "I just... came from a bad breakup, followed by two simultaneous situationships that had me running all over Europe just to get over it. So, I'm just averse to romance for the time being."

Lena's eyes sparkled with curiosity. She felt amused by your blatant honesty. "Tell me what happened then."

You shook your head. "Too long of a story. Besides, I don't kiss and tell." You shrugged. 

Lena huffed and rubbed her chin in thought as she crossed her arms, purposely doing so to accentuate her biceps. You rolled your eyes at the ridiculous attempt. "So, your exes must be hot, huh?"

You laughed. "Does that matter?"

"Well, I would give up pursuing you if you said they were hotter than me. That just means I've got no chance." She said.

You chuckled. "Well, then yeah. They're hotter."

She feigned defeat but paused. "Would it change your answer if I tell you I'm a pro football player?"

Your mouth dropped. What is with me and attracting soccer players? Was I a soccer ball in my past life for me to attract these women?

"That would just make your chances worse actually," You said with an incredulous look. "Way worse."

Lena sighed deeply. "Guess I've gotta go to that Juventus-Barcelona game myself." She said, trying to bait you.

You paused. You haven't kept yourself updated with the games Barcelona was playing. You knew it would have been counterintuitive for you to do so. So, it naturally came as a shock to you that they were playing in the exact same city you were in.

"Barcelona? Femeni?" You asked cautiously.

She nodded. "Yeah, my friend plays for Juventus and she invited me to watch." She took note of your expression. "You a fan of Barça?"

You hummed, not exactly responding. "And that game is when?"

"Tonight," Lena responded with a smirk. "Why? Did I just convince you to go on a date?

You laughed and rolled your eyes. Lena just laughed it off. "So, you are a fan."

"Yes, well, not really..." You answered vaguely, unsure of how to respond. "Kinda, I don't know."

She rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, you're one of those girls who saw those Tiktok edits of Alexia running around without her shirt on and so now, you're a fan." She joked.

You bit your lip at the mention of Alexia. It felt weird knowing that some stranger was talking to you about her without knowing that one of the reasons why you were in Italy was that you were trying to move on from her. 

Lena chuckled, assuming she was correct. "Well, I've got an extra ticket if you want to go... and I wouldn't mind if you cheered for Alexia the entire game."

What Lena said triggered a memory... of you and Alexia on the first night that you slept over at her place. 

You remembered how you cautiously watched her drift to sleep, talking about watching a game of hers when she said, "Promise that you'll cheer for me?"

And you made that promise. 

You didn't think much of it then. You were clueless as to what would transpire after that night. But, the fact was that you did promise her that.

You rationalized with yourself that she wouldn't have remembered and that that shit didn't matter anymore. But, it was just funny how this opportunity to see her again — in Turin of all places — was falling straight to your lap. It felt like a chance to fulfill that promise.

Maybe this was what you had to do now. If you changed your mind and ended up hurting from the sight of her again, you still had a month and a half to go to hop to more random cities and forget about her again. 

It wasn't a bad idea.

"I can just buy the ticket from you." You offered the German girl to which she laughed incredulously. "I think I've got enough cash in my wallet right now."

She smiled. "No, it's yours. I have no one else to go with anyway." She shrugged. "Can't believe I'm bagging a date thanks to Alexia Putellas."

⋆˙⟡♡ Your heart was skipping a million beats per second as you arrived, and it wasn't just because you were the only one in a Barcelona shirt on the Juventus side.

"Lewandowski fan too, huh?" Lena commented as she looked at the name on the back of your kit. 

You shook your head. "Not really, I just bought the only Barça shirt available from a stall near my hostel." You said as you scratched your neck. "It's kinda itchy actually."

Lena chuckled. "If you want a Barcelona jersey, I can ask my friend to exchange kits with Alexia and I can give it to you." She beamed, still thinking you were just some fan. "But that would mean another date with me." 

You rolled your eyes. "Again, this is not a date." You corrected. And I already have one of Alexia's kits back at my aunt's house in Barcelona, you thought silently to yourself.

She frowned. "God, your ex must be top-tier if you're still not folding to my charm right now." She joked. 

"Yeah, I actually dated Alexia Putellas." You responded in a jestful manner, looking at her straight in the face. Lena just laughed it off, clueless to the fact that you weren't lying. 

⋆˙⟡♡ The game was going to start soon and you were getting incredibly anxious. You were going to see Alexia after months of no contact. It felt like you were having an out-of-body experience.

Soon, it was time for the players to march in. Your seats were premium which meant that you were right at the player's tunnel — the first people to see them all enter.

Promise that you'll cheer for me?

The memory echoed in your head over and over again in the past hour. You felt a pang in your heart. There was a part of you that felt guilty for leaving Alexia without a single goodbye.

But you figured this was your way of making it up to her — by fulfilling that promise.

As soon as the players walked out with their mascots, you stood up and started to cheer her name. You felt like a shrill fangirl and you could feel the eyes on you from all the Juventus fans on your side but you didn't care all too much. You were keeping that promise.

"Alexia! Alexia!" You cheered, jumping on your feet. 

Pretty soon, the blonde took notice of the loud cheering that came from the Juventus side, ready to flash her beautiful, charming smile at a brave fan but when she saw you in that crowd, her face fell.

Alexia felt like she was actually dreaming when she saw you, wearing the previous season's kit as you screamed her name, locking eyes with her. (And were you beside Bayern player, Lena Oberdorf?)  

It genuinely looked like one of the several dreams she had of you in the past month; it felt hard to believe that you were here and that she was awake.

You stopped cheering and just flashed a genuine smile at her as you waved at her. Soon, a smile grew on her face again; her entire face lit up as she realized that it was all real and that you were really there, cheering for her. She tried to walk towards you but hesitated, possibly remembering that she had a game to play.

"Go, go!" You mouthed at her and gestured for her to go along and play already. You felt a few tears fall from your eyes which you quickly wiped away. Alexia just nodded as you gestured for her to go on, motivated to give her best now that she knew you were watching.

You had no idea why you were suddenly tearing up. It must have been the overwhelming emotions or the sense of fulfillment of keeping your promise to her that you would cheer her name. You weren't sure what it was exactly; all you knew was that it was all tears of joy.

Alexia smiled at you one more time and kept her eyes on you for as long as she could. You smiled back, unable to stop the tears now. 

As she ran off to the pitch, still turning her head back occasionally to see if you were really there, you screamed. "Go Alexia!" 

She gave you one last look and a smile before the game started. And finally, you felt that emptiness inside you get filled.

You were finally healed.

a/n: hope you guys liked it! if you did, please reblog and leave me your thoughts. (but please be nice... i am a fragile creature.) anyway, thank you for patiently waiting for this! i only did one read through it so there may be some errors which i'll just edit later on lol!

[gtgbabie0]

Sevika x Reader

Synopsis: {Sevika has some trouble with her mechanical arm, you offer her help} For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

softSevika,softSevika,softSevika! Enjoy my lovelies <3 💕

The pale light of the moon was drowned out by the neon signs that flicker soft colours of pink and blue which bleed through your small apartment, it was the only source of light guiding Sevika through the room before she finds the light switch, clumsily flicking it on.

It had all gone so horribly wrong so quickly, what was meant to be a simple drop off and pick up turned into a violent mess— fucking useless, she thought bitterly. It’d be the last time she would work with some newbies who couldn’t tell their left from their right.

Her frustrations were bubbling over, that much was clear when she slams the front door shut, immediately wincing at the loud noise and once again she silently curses, this time at herself.

It was well past midnight and you were definitely knocked out like a light, it was endearing how quickly you fell asleep, one moment the pair of you would be talking then the very next you were snoring your head off. The thought of you curled up in your shared bed with your face smushed against the soft pillows makes her smile— the type that softens her hardened features.

It almost made her forget about the dull ache that seized her muscles, almost. She needed a drink.

So with a bottle of whiskey and her toolbox, you had so kindly brought for her spread out on the coffee table she sat down on the couch trying to fix the mess that had become of her mechanical arm— which was so much more harder to do by herself, without you there to unscrew the screws she couldn’t reach or to hand her the right tools… or to caress her cheek with those soft hands of yours, fuck, she had missed you more then she’d like to admit.

Sevika had been at it for hours, fumbling with one stubborn screw that had been lodged stuck. It refused to come loose for love nor money and it was driving her up the damn wall that she throws the stupid screwdriver across the room, watching it bounce across the wooden floorboards with a loud clang and a thud.

She stares down at it with a small scowl, scoffing before reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

“Sev?— what’re you doing?” Your soft voice, heavy with sleep ripples through the silence, breaking down the spell of anger that seemed ever present.

“Nothing, go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” She mumbles the reply, ducking her head down to look at the floor beneath her, it was almost ridiculous how fast the guilt hit her. She’d woken you up at god knows what time with her banging around.

You shake your head at her dismissal, padding your way over to her with a small frown— your hands tightening the silk robe you had wrapped around your body. Without a word she moves her legs so you can perch yourself on the edge of the coffee table, sitting in front of her.

“You won’t be able to fix it if you’re drunk.” You tell her, a small smirk ghosting over your lips as you watch her put the bottle of whiskey down on the table with a small huff.

“It’s not the alcohol—” Sevika replies gruffly, her heart skipping a few beats at the feeling of your hand against her knee as you rummage through her toolbox. “It needs a specific part.” Gods, you made her feel like a lovesick fool sometimes but damn if she didn’t absolutely adore the feeling.

With a soft hum, you let your fingertips graze along the metal fixings of her prosthetic arm, the joints were all broken and a couple of cogs were missing— it’d be easier to fix if it was detached and by the look on Sevika’s face she knew this… but it was a pain to do.

“I could-” you go to offer her an alternative, eyes skimming across the mechanical arm as your tired mind runs a mile a minute.

“Just help me take it off,” She concedes with a weary sigh, nodding over to the screwdriver which you’re quick to pick up.

She didn’t like having it off, to feel so vulnerable and defenceless. In a strange way, it scared her. Sure she could probably knock a guy or two out with one hand but it was still daunting to feel so stripped in such a way.

You stand up from the coffee table, situating yourself in between her legs as you begin to gently unscrew the bolts, handing them over to her one after another as she puts them safely into a bag. Then with a soft hiss of air, the arm comes loose, the weight falling from Sevika’s shoulder and down on the sofa beside her.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow… get that specific piece.” You promise her with a tender smile, looking down at her from where you stand with her rough hand resting over the curve of your hips from between the opening of your silken robe— caressing up to your waist slowly.

“Mmhm.” She hums in agreement, leaning forwards to bury her face into your soft tummy with a heavy sigh that borders on a groan as you skim your fingertips along her cheek and through her hair ever so slowly that it has her nuzzling into you like a damn cat.

Gods, you knew just how to dismantle her… you were a dangerous woman— her kryptonite.

“C’mere.” She mutters, pulling you down onto her lap without a single second thought. Her strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against her as you melt into her body— her fingers brushing along your hip.

“Come to bed Sev— you look like you’re about to pass out.” You whisper, turning your head to get a good look at her with those soft eyes of yours… so tired and sweet.

“I will just let me hold you like this for a minute.” She replies back, bumping her forehead against your own— pressing a kiss to your cheek then burying her face into the crook of your shoulder, a muffled ‘I love you’ spoken into your skin.

[urfriendlywriter]

What is emotional vulnerability? And can how can your characters show it?

(these are from my POV of what I have learnt and researched. differences in opinion are appreciated because no definition and depiction is set in stone | Credits must be given when reposted elsewhere / @urfriendlywriter ! I hope this helps all of you :D)

Tackling this with three topics:

What's vulnerability?

Actions related to vulnerability. (Actions/words that depict a person is feeling vulnerable + some dialogue prompts)

How to build trust between two people?

Vulnerability:

Emotional vulnerability is the ability to be open to and express one's feelings, even when facing the risk of rejection, criticism, or shame. Vulnerability means acknowledging your difficult emotions. Accepting overwhelming feelings, being able to express them with tender care towards yourself and others.

I'd consider myself a very openly communicative person. If I love you--as a friend, family or something else, I'll make sure you know the depth of it, the meaning behind my words, my look and my touch. I encourage vulnerability in all my relationships and it has positively reflected in their own personal growth as well. Being open, being real, being you, with all the ache, the scars, the hurt, and even the small ball of light within yourself amidst is all---that's vulnerability. And as we,

We gen z, we shelter ourselves to protect ourselves from hurt. But... if we get hurt, is it really our fault? No. If somebody hurts you intentionally, it doesn't translate to what you deserve or must go through. But if I don't get hurt... how will I learn to cope with it? Express it? Communicate through it? Learn from it? And.. importantly, how will I..

Learn how to heal myself again. Learn how to love myself far better. Learn how I want to be and what relationships I want to attract?

So, me, personally, I put myself out there. Like an open book. To read, to feel, to see--including the hurt and the parts I'm working on. Of course, i don't fully lodge it down a person's throat in one go, but u get what i mean. It is slow building of trust and can be used to your advantage as well. (lol that sounds toxic)

Harsh Truths?

Some people will use it against you, but should it hurt you if u were real to yourself? No.

Not all people u open up to may be emotionally mature. And that's okay. Move on.

It is not the end of the world if someone who saw all parts of you turned against you. It simply wasn't your person. It was neither of your faults.

Paint a character afraid to be vulnerable:

Hesitancy to open up, to speak up for themselves.

Blinking back tears, and telling themselves they'd be okay regardless.

"Atleast I don't have it worse."

"And.. If.. I tell you.. You won't look at me differently? Like.. I'm--I'm not worthy?"

doesn't ask for help. doesn't accept help easily.

doesn't think they're worthy to be seen. or to be loved. to be accepted or to even be heard.

"what i say won't make much of a difference anyway" A & "No, i want to hear it. how little, silly, stupid, serious, deep, it may be. I want to hear it. Please."

being numb to pain that they think it's normal to internalize it all.

and one day it erupts all out. into tears and rage. or raw unfiltered pain that bleeds onto everyone who loves them, hurting them too.

they freeze, momentarily surprised when they're asked for their honest opinion

or when they've to blink back tears when someone notices something and helps them without them even asking

detached during intimacy or hyperventilating after or during it

pulling away and pushing the other person away when they truly need them the most

Paint a character confident in themselves and are openly communicative:

you will not second guess what they feel about u, because u can see it in their faces or they'll openly say it

they encourage honest and deep conversations

the look of love is always there in their gaze

they love openly. they have so much love to give.

they'll hear u out no matter the time of the day and will provide a safe space for u

"I'm always here for u" in a soft, quiet voice, a gentle smile and a warm hug

"It's okay to feel that way. Hell u should feel that way. If u wanna talk about it.. here I am."

they're their own safe spaces and they can dive into their emotions, whenever and wherever needed.

they won't let u feel alone in ur misery. they'll shoulder the burden with u, but won't internalize it as their own. (i fear this is very important)

always knows the cause of why they said what they said / how they behaved or reacted

can analyze even u with one glance.

"how are you?" As a gentle caress of words & "I've-I've.. never been asked that.. not with such sincerity.." shyness of the one opening up.

^ "So, here I am.. I've got all the time of the day. Care to tell me?"

They aren't afraid of rejection. But they'll not put up with bullshit.

Building trust between two people:

Building trust is intimate. If done right. Between friends, family, lovers or anyone it may be. It's delicate, it's comforting quietness at some times and hearty loudness at some other. It's being understood, being seen, being able to communicate freely and respectfully.

Vulnerability is present where trust is.

asking help for small things without shying away from it

physical closeness. after moments of honesty or heavy emotions.

prioritizing each other

admiring every little thing they do

lots of "thank you"s being said that shows appreciation loud and clear

nervous glances, shaky hands and fluttering heartbeats as they may be help u zip up ur dress.

forehead kisses, followed up with, "I see you.. Let me help u cleanse away the day's stress."

celebrating even the smallest of their success

asking consent in every small thing!!

^ "i-i why are u asking for that? yes, of course." A & "Love.. I should always ask, even for such a thing as that." B

Being slow but steady with each other

"U don't want to do that? no rush." Immediately backing off A with a smile & B trying to understand how they aren't mad yet "A-are u sure?"

^ "We're in no rush.. We'll go at you pace. But consider my emotions too down the line, hmm?"

Lots of "And how does that make you feel?"

arguments feel less like the ones they saw growing up. and now it's more intimate, thoughtful, full of understanding and closeness. both sides are heard, understood, appreciated and both sides change.

Author's (@urfriendlywriter aka Ziya) note:

The comments are open to anything that you may wanna add :)

Thank u for reading so far! I hope this helps u write amazing, emotionally available characters.

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [20]

[masterlist]

ghost x f! reader. 10.2k words cw: sexual assault. heavy violence. heavy gore. 18+ mdni

the jaws close.

The shrapnel of your blood-thinning scream strikes Ghost through the head with the force of a bullet. 

It lodges in his brain, festering and swelling until a tumour forms around it, and it’s the only thing he can hear — not an echo, but a broken record, repeating and repeating until his vision turns red and the tendons of his hands nearly snap in the strain of his grip. 

His eyes are wide with it as he turns the corner and wrenches the trigger of his rifle, lighting up the dark room with a strobe of yellow fire and shooting down two Konni soldiers in a fusillade of bullets. Even persisting in firing at their lead-riddled corpses once they collapse to the floor beneath them. Stupid, because he’s onto his second-last magazine, but he isn’t lending much thought to practical concerns. 

He feels a writhing in his stomach, bubbling like cyanide, dissolving him from the inside out. 

He failed you. 

He lied to you. 

You told him from the fucking start. You knew what would happen. 

He didn’t believe you, and now you’re trapped with the very psychopath he promised you’d never have to see again. The fucking animal. At liberty to get his claws in you, his teeth in you, unmuzzled by an audience or the threat of retribution. 

The veins in his temples thump hard when he pictures it, as he yells a command at his Sergeant to breach the room on his right. Sees the smug grin pulling in the pig’s paper-cut lips. Hears his frothy laughter among the shrieks you cry out in the hope Ghost can hear them and come to your aid like he promised he would. 

Fills him with magmatic rage, viscous and molten in his blood, that makes his heart thud like a sledgehammer against his sternum. Makes his jaw grind to the point of ache, as he stomps his full weight into the head of the terrorist he had just gunned down. Just to see his skull pop. Wanted to feel bone and flesh crushing beneath the sole of his boot, imagining it as belonging to the man ensnaring you. 

Six men have been killed in the trap he fell for. 

Half of Delta team and two of his own. Their blood amalgamates with that of the enemy combatants he has killed, staining his clothes, dripping from the end of his gun, sticky on his cheeks. 

“LT!” The Sergeant yells through a door on his right. “In ‘ere!” 

“What?” Ghost roars, busy sweeping the bend in the hallway ahead. 

“Just — you need to see this.”

Ghost growls in frustration as he turns to storm towards him. “Stop fucking around, Johnny, we need to get the fuck out of here! ” 

There isn’t enough time to waste investigating what little bullshit might be littered around the dead-end factory, with the exfil helicopters a few clicks out, and your fragile life on the line. 

“Look,” Soap barks urgently, standing in a cavernous storage room, where fluorescent bars hang on chains from the ceiling, tall rolling doors along one wall. Johnny shines the torch of his rifle on to a stacked palette, wrapped in packing film, concern etched in his pinching eyes. “Y’were right.” 

“What is it,” Ghost grunts, coming to a hasty stop beside him, where Johnny tears away a layer of the plastic. Beneath sit four steel drums, lacquered in glossy navy enamel.  

Johnny points imperatively at the label on one of the containers. A big yellow sticker, bedizened in a skull and crossbones, all of the warnings in Russian — danger, highly toxic, corrosive. 

“Fuck’s sake, Soap, what am I looking at?” 

“Phosphorus trichloride,” he blurts, “a shit-tonne of it.” 

“And? English!” Ghost roars, impatience boiling within him so vigorously he can feel the steam rising up his throat. 

“We were fuckin’ right the first time!” Johnny shouts, jutting a furious pointer finger at the drums. “They were making nerve agents. Our early intel was right. We’ve been following fuckin’ bait they tossed to throw us off the scent.” 

If it were possible for Ghost to get any more furious, any more despondent, he might have broken his gun in half. Helps that the Sergeant is consistently cleverer than he gives him credit for — must have paid keen attention in his CBRN defence courses, such that he remembered even a precursor chemical to the production of nerve agents. 

Certainty is a powerful weapon, though — and there isn’t a second left to waste pissing into the wind. He pulls his sat phone out of a pocket on his tacvest and dials up the Captain. 

Picks up on the second ring — luckily — he was about to crush the plastic phone in his grip. 

“Lieutenant — what’s the story.” 

“There are no missiles,” Ghost barks, immediately, before the Captain is able to finish his dry greeting. “It’s fuckin’ nerve agents. Not missiles.” 

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. If they’ve been taken somewhere else, we need to—” 

“Listen, Makarov fuckin’ baited us. It was a trap, a lie!”

“Have you checked—”

“Captain, are you fucking hearing me?” Ghost bellows, “there are. No. Missiles!” 

There’s a pause of only a second, long enough to make a capillary burst in his sclera, before the Captain speaks again. 

“Zakhaev’s bloody widow, eh?” He seethes, “I told you not to trust that lying bitch.” 

The tendons of his neck crack in the strain of his fury. “Jesus — this isn’t her fault. Makarov gave her false intel so that we’d look in the wrong place.” 

“So that you’d look in the wrong place. You followed your cock right into a trap. Fuck’s sake, of all people, I never thought you’d fall for—” 

“We’re here because you believed the Americans’ intel, not because of her!” Ghost thunders, so ragged with rage that a mist of blood might have sprayed out with his broken voice. “You sent us hunting for missiles that never fucking existed — she is the one that figured that out, and now she’s being fucking tortured for it!” 

“Careful, Lieutenant—”

“Pull your fucking head out of your ass, Captain. Makarov never left Kastovia, he’s at Zakhaev’s estate. They’ve got a launch code with hundreds of locations. They’ll already have a network of bombs just waiting for the push of a button, ready to go, no thanks to the fucking months we spent chasing our god-damned tails!” 

There’s another venomous pause as the Captain must be in thought — rubbing his jowls, no doubt, white-knuckled and exasperated. If he were standing in front of Ghost in that moment he would have been met with a fist to the gut. 

“Fucking hell,” he croaks. “Alright, okay. Fine. Nerve agents, then — how are they dispersing them? When? Have you got that far?” 

“Today, Captain. They’re setting them off today.” 

“How do you know?”

“Mia,” Ghost grits. “Mia found the drive containing the code.” 

“And you believe her?” The Captain spits incredulously, “Sergeant Garrick and I are on route to Russia on her word — the same word that drove you into an ambush — and you still believe her?” 

“Yes, Captain, I fucking believe her,” he rages. “I’m taking my team and what’s left of Delta back to the estate. I suggest you turn around, because there’ll be an army waiting for you when you land. Only telling you that because I like Gaz alive.”

Price’s sigh cuts through the line like a ripsaw. 

“Alright, Simon,” he grumbles. “Garrick and I will circle back. Get the drive, if it exists — that’s the priority. Not Makarov, not the UNs, and not Zakhaev’s fucking wife. Understood?” 

The phone screen cracks in his grasp. “Copy.”

There’s a point where terror loses its meaning. 

Dulls to a blunt edge like an overused blade. Doesn’t cut as clean, doesn’t draw blood as quickly, but hacks away at flesh all the same. 

Still drives you to kick, to scream, to buck and twist like a wrangled cat, to claw and bay and cry until your throat goes splinter-dry and it hurts to inhale; even if your senses are fraught to the point of fog, blurriness where your vision had been clear, a ringing in your ears that deadens your hearing.  

It only makes him chuckle, like a dry joke, as he holds a stony arm around your neck, pit of his elbow pressing into your throat. Hauls you down the corridor of your mansion like dead game, towards an open door you’ve never seen before — tucked under the stairs, panelled in the same wainscotting as the rest of the wall. Hidden in plain sight for as long as you had lived there. 

“Stay up here, both of you,” he demands, in Russian, to the armed soldiers that followed closely behind him, there to catch you in the unlikely circumstance of your escape. 

It fills your belly with dread. 

Briney. Corrosive. No audience to spectate him, that might question or criticise him, that he might feel the need to appease. 

He wants you alone with him. 

He has wanted that from the day you met him, plain as the murky death in the pits of his eyes. In the yellowing where his teeth meet his gums when he grins. In the ownership forboded by his touch. 

The certainty of this inevitable outcome, seeded in his mind from the moment your husband had reclaimed the seat of power that would otherwise have fallen to him. 

How better to avenge such an injustice than to steal everything he once owned? The throne, the money, the estates, the credit for their terrorist plot — and last of all, you. 

You can hear it in his breathing, ragged and approving. Feel it in how he presses his nose into your hair as he drags you down a flight of exposed concrete steps, breathing in your fear like perfume. Fragrance bespoke for him. The raw musk of dread and corporeal anticipation of the agony he is yet to inflict on you. 

You don’t bother begging. Your pleas turn to blood at the back of your throat. Wasted breath, because to hear you pray for mercy would only please him. 

The crying is instinctive, though. Screams that rip from your chest and rend your diaphragm, sobs that you choke and gulp on and that drool from your mouth. There’s no swallowing that, no matter how hard you try to maintain some dignity, how hard you attempt to compose yourself in an effort to avoid arousing him. 

Because you know that it does. 

You know every tear that drips from your chin and lands on his forearm pulls vindictive blood into the cock you can feel against your spine. Every scream makes his smile wider. Every splutter makes his grip tighter. 

Beyond purely sexual sadism, because you can smell his spite in the vapour of his breath. Rancour as putrid and sanguinary as raw meat. Hatred that has been stewing and rankling in the noxious pits of him for so long that it leaks from his skin and smears against yours. 

He wants to hurt you because he loathes you almost as much as he loathed your husband. He delights in conquering you because you’re the trophy he has stolen from the only person that has ever been more powerful than himself. 

He relishes in your screaming because to him it sings like victory. 

“Here we are,” he croons, as he pulls you into a cement cave — a plainly square room, walls of raw concrete, with a lightbulb behind a cage bolted to the ceiling. 

Nothing in here but a metal door in the corner, that ventures to somewhere unknown — and a small terminal fixed to the same wall, with a display the size of a postcard. A keyboard juts out from beneath it, atop a steel cabinet, where thick rope of corded multi-coloured wires creeps out and along the floor. Your eyes follow them to where they travel up to the top of the wall, through a small square hole and into the space behind it. 

“Haven’t been down here before, eh?” He asks richly, entrapping you at the base of the stairs, with his cheek against yours. 

You only whimper, refusing to ingratiate yourself with words, even if indulging him might help you. 

“Keeping secrets was one thing Vic was good at, I’ll give him that,” he says smugly. “You were even better, though, weren’t you?” 

You swallow the bile that pushes up your gullet as he nudges you in the direction of the terminal. 

“Loyal girl,” he says into your skin. “Never told him about you and I, did you? Kept our secret from him until the day he died.” 

He describes it like an affair, like you cuckolded your husband because you wanted to, like you had a choice in the matter. 

“You must have known this is where you were headed. Straight back to me.” 

You know he isn’t stupid enough to think that. He’s only mocking you. Tormenting you for something he knows you could not prevent. 

“Mustn’t have told your Englishmen, either,” he drawls. “I’m sure they wouldn’t have sent you here if they had known how you spread your legs for me. If they had known who you are truly loyal to.” 

You choke on a sob, as he shifts his suffocating arm from your throat, and both of his hands land on your shoulders. Fingers burrow into the tender meat just to make you squeak. 

“It disappointed me that you did them favours so willingly, I admit,” he grumbles, into the hair at the crown of your head. “But, that’s why I let you send them to Mialstor. I knew you’d share that secret, at least.” 

A single hand releases you, and he reaches around you — with the same USB drive you had discovered earlier pinched between his fingers, you watch as he plunges it into the plug at the base of the keyboard, and the little screen lights up. A black window, command prompt, with lines of white text at the top;

> 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘  𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍

> 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘  𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍 

> 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘  𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍

> патриот@𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝: ~$ _

You feel your beating heart in your teeth, and his lips on the shell of your ear. 

“But not our secret, eh, girl?” You feel him smile, his cold teeth on the thin layer of red skin over the cartilage. “Are you embarrassed? Or did you just want to avoid upsetting me?”

You cry, wrenching your eyes shut, and you taste your tears on your tongue. 

“Hm?” He pesters, tightening his fingers around your trapezius. “Answer me.” 

Every organ in your body resents the words you form with your tongue, but they spill from your mouth, because you do not want to know what he’ll do if you fail to obey a direct demand. 

“I was embarrassed,” you sob, refusing to answer him in Russian, the frail syllables barely eking out of your throat. Chose the option you hope might even slightly bruise his ego. 

But he only chuckles, synthetic sympathy in his breath. 

“Oh, Mia,” he coos, his second hand sliding away from you, “no need to be embarrassed. You have far worse things to be embarrassed about.” 

Your wet eyes follow as his restraining hand joins the other on the keyboard, arms enveloping you, the gritty skin of his clean-shaven jaw chafing against your ear. 

He types a short line of command into the terminal; 

> патриот@𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝: ~$   𝟷𝟷𝟶𝟷.𝚜𝚑 &

“Like fucking the man that murdered your husband,” he remarks, amusement in his tone. “Are you embarrassed about that?” 

You whimper, and he laughs. 

How could he know that? It makes you sick to think — had he planted listening devices throughout the whole house? Cameras you couldn’t see, or never thought to look for? 

Had they been there since the funeral? Or ever since Victor bought the mansion for you, more than five years ago? 

Your sight goes hazy at the thought that he had been observing you the entire time. At the thought that you never had a secret, never had a moment of privacy, never had a break from ravenous eyes — not once, not even in what you thought was your only place of respite. 

That he had watched you shower, watched you masturbate, watched you fuck your husband, watched you scheme with the spec op that executed him, and watched you fuck that same man on the kitchen counter. Watched you bathe with him, touch him tenderly, sit on his cock in the bathwater. Watched you cry in remorse for it. Watched him cradle you. Watched you open yourself innocently to what you thought was a moment belonging to only two people; Simon and yourself. 

But it was never just the two of you. It was never only you. 

You’ve been a source of entertainment, of stolen pleasure, of inhumane gratification for every waking moment of your life. Raped by eyes you didn’t even know were defiling you. Followed unremittingly by sniffing dogs at every bend. 

“Are you?” 

“No,” you croak, because it’s true. 

He lets out a chuff of laughter. 

“Good,” he muses, “I’m glad, Mia. Because it just as likely could have been me. Shame he beat me to it!” 

“What do you mean,” you whine, as his clammy palm slides down your arm, taking your hand in his, pinching you by the pointer finger. 

You are past the point of being able or willing to resist him. Hopelessness sits heavy in your abdomen like a new organ, black and meaty. The venom of futility beats through you in place of your blood, it makes your skin turn grey, and your tongue chalk-dry. 

You watch vacantly as he pushes the tip of your finger into the enter key. As a line pops up beneath the one he typed. 

> 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘  𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

“Victor was supposed to die here,” he explains gleefully, keeping your hand dead still, and your finger pressed deep into the key he had forced you to press. 

You feel a weight in you that is unexplainable, elusive, incomprehensible. A black hole where your guts should be. Something Eldritchian, like gravity, that makes your head feel heavy and nebulous, and your feet sink into the floor. 

“Don’t move your finger,” he instructs, stern and unforgiving. He means it. 

“I don’t understand,” you cry, obeying as he releases your hand, and he pinches a thin green wire that pokes out from the side of the keyboard. 

“I designed this all for him, you see—” he says, gliding his fingers down the wire, to where it enters the steel cabinet beneath the terminal. “He wanted to be the one to set everything in motion, fucking egotist that he was.”

He twists the small metal handle to open the door, and it squeals as it reveals its contents — you can’t quite see until he gives you room to look downward. 

You’re not sure what you’re looking at, at first. Blocks of ivory clay, wrapped in plastic, webbed with wires and kept together with straps of black tape. 

It dawns on you, though, as your eyes trail back up the little green wire, to where it connects to the keyboard, right beside the enter key. 

You let out a whine like a kicked puppy. “Is it — is it going to explode?” 

“Only if you lift your finger,” he hums, the pride of victory so concentrated in his voice that you can taste the salt of it in his breath. 

You would cry more keenly if you weren’t suddenly petrified of moving — because you understand, now, that you are as good as a warm corpse. A dead man’s switch he had orchestrated for your husband to trigger. He couldn’t run the code himself, having designed it to kill whoever did. 

No, he just used the same body he has never had any qualms about using, only this time for an additional purpose. 

He has made you his weapon as much as his toy. 

“What is it d-doing,” you sob, but you can guess the answer. 

“You read the script, didn’t you?” He asks, hot breath seeping through the hair at the back of your head, as one of his hands settles on the side of your thigh. His palm is cold and sticky as it slides up to your hip. It makes your skin bristle and your heart drop. 

“I didn’t — I didn’t know what it meant,” you moan, tongue slippery and stuttering on every syllable. 

“You’re a clever girl, Mia,” he lauds deeply. “What do you think it’s doing?” 

The repulsive softness of his touch makes you shudder, cold abhorrence dribbling down your spine — because he doesn’t need to be aggressive, nor forceful, nor violent, now that he has you where he wants you. Because he knows that you will not and cannot attempt to fight him off. Because he can fuck with your head, like he has always been predisposed to — putting the onus on you to refuse him, knowing that you wouldn’t. Then whose fault is it but your own? 

This time, even crueller; he can handle you how he pleases, because he knows you want to live. 

“Are there—” you ask in a whimper. “Are there bombs at the coordinates?”

His other hand fixes to your opposite hip, the hem of your long t-shirt draping over his wrists. He’ll have realised by now that you’re not wearing any underwear, because you are still wearing what you slept in. You can hear it in his breathing, it turns frayed as his hard fingertips brush your bare hips.

“Close,” he chuckles, head sinking to your neck. 

You break out in sobs, hoarse and shattered, arm quivering where you can’t rest your weight into the chest-height keyboard, nor drop it to relax the slowly aching muscles. 

You can hardly utter the words that stammer between your teeth. “Are p-people dying?” 

“Guess.” 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

He smiles. “See?” He murmurs. “You’ve always known.” 

The cement floor feels warm under the soles of your feet, and you wonder if the maws of hell are about to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You hope it does, and you hope it digests you slowly. Hope it eats away at your sin and failures with brimstone and stomach acid, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left of you but the seeds of what once could have been a whole person. Seeds that might have germinated but were never planted, never nurtured. Wasted in the barren soil of a whore like you. 

Your eyes cleave to the blinking underscore on the command prompt — running, it says, and it doesn’t change — and you think for a moment you might be able to hear the cries of death over the horizon. The brontide of murder by the thousands, every second. One for every breath you take. 

You’re met only with beating silence, and the ragged breathing of the beast behind you. 

“If I take my finger off, w-will it stop?” 

You quietly hope that he might have overestimated your selfishness. Might have orchestrated some ploy that would force you to decide between your life or the lives of thousands of innocent people. Might tell you that releasing the key would put a stop to the suffering, both yours and theirs. 

But you know he is smarter than that. 

“No, girl,” he says dryly. “There’s no stopping it now. It’s already been done.” 

You choke on a cry as he lifts your t-shirt to your waist, and you hear him chortle under his breath. 

Seems he has staked his life on your desire to survive. Confident you won’t release the key and kill the both of you, because you want to live. Because you think you have somebody coming to save you. Because you think your life matters enough to preserve. 

He nudges your legs apart with his knee, and your finger feels light on the key. 

The air in the belly of the NH90 is resinous and heavy. Scarce. Hard to breathe and even harder to keep in his chest. 

The weight of death and failure hangs thick in it, a smog, one that keeps the remaining soldiers penitently and bitterly silent. Seething, mourning the men they lost; whose bodies they had to abandon, left to bloat and rot in the ambush they were caught in like mice in an unmonitored trap. 

There’s a rage shared, though. Swelling and shuddering in the steel bowel of the helicopter, as he and his men listen to the incoming reports from Laswell, and all they can do is sit and wait for the bird to approach its destination. 

“…Istanbul, Hamburg — fuck. Zurich. Dublin. Two in Paris, so far,” her voice is weak, grim, compulsively relaying every attack as if it might fuel their hunger to stop it. “We’ve sent out an emergency alert to instruct civilians to stay indoors. Until you find that drive, that’s all we can do.” 

“How frequent, Laswell,” Johnny grumbles into his headset. 

“Roughly — one every thirty seconds.” 

The Sergeant presses his fingertips into his eyes, head bowed, all but keeled over in his seat. Mumbles fuckin’ hell mournfully under his breath. Weighed down by that heroic grief, the poignant lamentation of his failure to save the lives he had set out to, the collapse of three years worth of efforts to prevent this very outcome. 

“They’ve targeted business districts, street corners, office buildings. Public transport. Subways.” 

Ghost checks his watch; just after half-past nine in the morning. One or two hours behind in the more western regions of Europe. Peak commuting hours in central cities. 

Failure . It rumbles deep in Ghost’s ears as he stares into the dark clouds through the small window across from him. 

It putrefies. It festers. Fury that turns black and sticky, thick in his veins — but not slow moving. It beats through him hard, and fast, it makes his vessels distend and his skin burn. Pellets of acidic sweat form on his skin and do little to cool him. His hands are rigid. Searing. Tendons taut and close to snapping. Knuckles white-hot.

His eyes are red with it. Wide and bloodshot and twitching in the corners. Jaw grinding so ferociously into his skull his molars threaten to shatter under the pressure. 

He can hear you, indistinctly, somewhere in the hollows between his ear canals and the back of his throat. 

Not only your indelible scream, the one ringing in his ears louder than his tinnitus — but your voice. The gentle terror in your throat every time you warned him of exactly this. 

You know what will happen. 

Riddles him with guilt that manifests as crude oil. Incendiary fuel for the rage that thunders within him, that needs only a single spark to ignite. But he contains it, for now. Chews on it like tobacco, lets the inebriant anger seep through his gums and bleed into his brain where it simmers behind his forehead. 

His Captain told him that you aren’t his priority.

But you are. 

Now, he knows it, as certain as gravity — there is no denying it anymore, no dancing around the inexorable fact, that you have been from the start. 

You were his priority when he stole you. His priority when he interrogated you. His priority when he dragged you back to your estate. His priority when he let you loose among the mongrels. 

He just hadn’t accepted it yet.

He had repudiated it with every fibre of his being, every synapse of his brain. Didn’t let himself make the calls he knew, deep in his gut, were the right calls to make — the call to spare you, the call to exonerate you, the call to send you home unharmed. 

You are stuck where you are because he was too much of a coward to confront his own humanity.

He won’t abide his cowardice anymore. Any residual shame for his concern for you has sloughed from him like irradiated skin, been trampled beneath the rugged soles of his boots, shot to pieces the moment he heard your broken scream over the radio signal. 

The ETA from the pilot crackles through his headset; “Five minutes out. Get ready to drop.” 

He shoves the magazine he had been flipping between his knuckles into his rifle and it clicks as he seats it. Tugs back the charging handle to chamber a fresh round. Taps the spare clips he had preemptively stuffed into the pockets of his tacvest, the backup that the helo had brought along with it. A blessing, because he does not plan on being frugal with his bullets. 

Igneous anticipation surges through him like a current, as he pushes himself to stand, gripping the handles on the ceiling of the aircraft to maintain his balance. Rolls open the sliding door early and peers out into the stormy sky — beneath the helicopter he sees the rampart of cedar hedges that encircle your summer estate, and he’s so close he can smell you. 

Soon your mansion comes into view, and he hopes you can hear the blades of his helicopter thundering across the sky. He hopes the walls of the building shake with it. He hopes Makarov can fucking feel it in the air, the fate so soon to befall him once he is caught between Ghost’s teeth. 

The Sergeant comes to stand beside him, clutching the ceiling and leaning out into the air to glare down at their destination. 

“Reckon Makarov is still in there?” Johnny asks through gritted teeth, acrimony thick in his voice. 

Ghost responds with a stiff nod. “He’ll be taking his fuckin’ time.” 

“Plenty of time to catch him, then.” 

Whatever tell he failed to conceal seems to alert Soap to the machinations of his mind, and the Sergeant lands a firm pat on his shoulder. 

“She’s a tough girl,” he assures him. “Don’t lose your head, eh?” 

Ghost bites on nothing, and a ragged breath rips from his lungs. “Too late.” 

It’s a fast few minutes before the helicopter begins its descent behind the treeline, far enough from the mansion that they’ve avoided fire from the woefully unprepared mercenaries that litter the estate. 

Ghost turns to address the men in the bird with him, and those that had been sent as reinforcement — the Captain had finally pulled his fucking head in, once the proof was drilled unremittingly into his ear, and he could suddenly justify returning to the estate with significant forces in tow. The next two aircrafts are not far behind. 

So as he roars his orders into his headset, he addresses all of them. 

“Right, the lot of you — we’re cleaning fucking house. Not a Konni soul left breathing. I want the fucking floor wiped with them! Copy?”  

Follows the uproar of yes sirs and copies as the rest of the soldiers up and ready themselves, rearing and ripe with a hunger to avenge the men they have already lost and the lives still being taken every minute. Exactly the furore he needs from them — he needs them driven, and vigilant, and angry, so that he can focus on his own objective. 

You. 

He leans out of the open door, unblinking in the gale of the blades, glaring down into the waving sea of grass beneath him. Just about close enough to jump out without breaking his legs on landing. 

“Alright!” Comes the inciting yell from the pilot, “move! Move! Move!”

Ghost had leapt to the ground at the first syllable. 

He sprints with the fury of a hunting wolf, legs pumping with adrenaline and tumescent rage, and his boots singe the grass underfoot. His massive assault rifle is light in his grip, an extension of his hands, raised and ready, itching to unload on a hair-trigger. 

He shoots down the first Konni soldier he sees through the trees before he had consciously acknowledged his presence there. The ear-splitting cracks of his gunfire reverberate through the steppe, likely alerting everyone in the vicinity to his incursion, if the helicopter hadn’t already.

Good. 

He wants you to hear him coming for you. He wants those that entrap you scared and scrambling. 

Stalks like an android. A terminator. Unrelenting and indomitable. Fires cannonades of red-hot bullets at every combatant that crosses his sights — precise, deadly, unhesitant. Splitting skulls with five-five-six calibre. Trampling over their corpses as he bulldozes towards the back door to your estate. 

His vision narrows to an aperture. Turns black at the edges. Pulsing. Bloodthirsty. The sight that’s left is clear and sharp — a reticule, crosshairs bright red, infrared vision hunting for the heatmap of one creature. 

Moves like he did when he first invaded your manor, back in the arctic mountains of your husband’s motherland. Just as hungry. Just as targeted. Killing every man in his sight without thought or vacillation — it happens instinctively, on autopilot, pre-programmed to clear targets as if they were still made of paper. His rage then was near as blinding, but rooted in an entirely different source.

His primary objective remains unchanged. 

Finding you. 

He fires a few rounds into the lofty glass of your sliding back door, and it shatters into shards of snow, sprinkling over his back as he storms in unhampered. 

“Mia!” He roars into the hollow of your mansion, hoping only that you’ll hear him, that you’ll know he’s coming for you — he expects no response, but he is still fraught not to hear one. 

Two soldiers in the sitting room. He shoots one through the forehead, but the other slips behind the stone pillar of the fireplace, out of sight. 

No matter, Ghost advances without reluctance. The man looks surprised to see him when he appears beside him, likely having expected some ducking-for-cover shootout — doesn’t have long to regret it, though, before Ghost fires three rounds through his neck, and his carmine blood sprays in a mist over the cobbled stone behind him. 

A chorus of gunfire wracks through the villa from every direction — up the stairs, through the corridor, out the front of the house. Stormed from every angle, now that the reinforcements had shown up, and his manpower matches that of the vermin that infest every corner of the property.

Their extinction is inevitable. 

Now, he can focus on what he came here for. 

He knows, wherever you are, that you can’t respond to him. So he calls for your captor instead. 

“Makarov!” He bellows, steaming through the kitchen, dining room, lounge — “I fucking know you’re in here, you piece of shit.” 

Continues up the stairs, shoots down another Konni that crosses his path.

“Wanna know what I’m gonna do when I fucking find you?” 

Sweeps the second floor — your bedroom, your cunt husband’s office, the ensuite he can still smell you in. Leaves bloody boot prints in the plush carpet and the sulphur of gunpowder in the stagnant air.

“Might start with your tongue, you disgusting cunt. Gonna cut it out and make you fucking swallow it.”  

The hatred starts to ulcerate within him when he doesn’t find you. Can’t even hear you. Feels the blisters of fury distending in every organ, threatening to burst, and he’s apoplectic with it. 

“Where the fuck are you!”

He thunders down the stairs, still inexplicably certain you’re somewhere, somewhere in the bowels of the palace. Not sure what it is that fortifies his confidence — magnetoreception, perhaps, sensing you nearby like your presence disrupts a radio signal. Maybe the lingering fragrance of your perfume and your sweat that dances in the air, leading him toward you like a string through a maze. 

But as there’s a fluke pause in the chaotic din of gunfire — in that fraction of a second— 

He hears you. 

What he thinks is you, anyway. 

A cry that cuts through the ephemeral silence like a knife, the pitch of your voice just high enough to pass through walls, through foundations, as he tracks it to the wall beneath the floating staircase. 

He notices immediately the gap in the edges of the panelling. 

Doesn’t waste a heartbeat looking for how to open it, whatever convoluted mechanism there might be in place to keep it locked — he steps back, hurling his boot into the centre of the panel with an explosive thud , and the echo behind it sounds hollow. 

He kicks it again, and again, and again, until a split forms in the lacquered wood — unceasing, even as he begins to feel splints in his shin — his boot slams into the panel unrelentingly until it erupts through the crater he deepened with every blow. His hands do the rest, tearing at the splintering wood like it’s made of cardboard, until the fissure is large enough for him to reach through and feel for a handle on the other side. 

He finds it quickly. Pulls it down and opens the door. It creaks as it swings. 

So encumbered by wrath that it weighs him down, his boots thud loudly with every step down the concrete stairs. Huffing like a bull. Steaming. 

Hears the pig before he sees him. 

“Unfortunate timing, Riley.” 

Met with the back of him, sinewy fucking ghoul — panting as though short of breath, clad in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Only as his hand lowers does Ghost catch a glimpse of the Pernach pistol wrenched in his grip — he wipes the long barrel on the leg of his trousers, and in the dim white light of the bulb in the ceiling, Ghost sees a smear of wetness left behind in the fabric. 

The thought that crosses his mind is so putrid it makes his stomach rend itself in revulsion, and all he can do is hope that his assumption is erroneous. 

“Interrupted the fun part.” 

Ghost keeps the mouth of his rifle high, aligned with the back of his head. The only thing preventing him from pulling the trigger is his indecision on how slowly he wants him to die — and, more crucially, the risk that you are right behind him; that close-range bullets would tear straight through him and embed in you. 

And he’s endlessly thankful he curbed the impulse, because he hears your whimper eke out from obscurity. 

“Simon—” 

You’re alive. 

Relief as dizzying as liquor rushes through him in a torrent, a flash flood of napalm, and the embers of his worry reignite into an inferno of inveterate hatred, and his eyes glow red. 

Makarov turns his head over his shoulder as he shifts, just slightly — and  there, he sees you, hunched over but upright, between your anathema and the wall. Shaking. Knees locked but close to buckling. 

There’s nothing else he needs to see. No greater confirmation. 

The stifled fury sweltering within him tumefies to the point that the pressure threatens to crack his skull. He all but shudders with it, as he flips his rifle in his grip so that he holds it by the barrel like a baseball bat. 

The fucking egomaniac must have expected time to monologue, turning to aim his glistening gun at Ghost far too late — hardly has time to blink before Ghost swings the butt of his rifle into his armed hand, weapons colliding with a crack and the deafening eruption of a too-slow bullet fired as a last resort. The pistol is catapulted from Makarov’s grip, clacking loudly as it slams into the cement wall and bounces off the floor. 

Makarov snarls like a rabid cur, cursing through teeth; “Cукин сын.” Son of a bitch.

Greasy spite of besmears itself across his face. Eyes like beads in his gaunt skull. His belt is undone. Zipper down. 

Ghost carelessly tosses his rifle aside, and it skids across the concrete into the corner of the room. 

He was never going to proffer the pig the mercy of a bullet. 

There was only ever one means of execution befitting him. 

Frothing at the jaws as he abruptly thunders toward him, and despite the futile throw of a retaliatory fist, Ghost swiftly has him by the throat. Growls like a bear as he tackles him to the floor, in a furious blur, as the Russian contorts to pull an out-the-front switchblade from his sock. 

Only notices when the blade slices through his cheek, sharp as a scalpel, steel knicking the bone — but nothing at this point can hurt him. Everything in him, every nerve, every muscle, every cell — so focussed, so honed in on his victim that anything else is so utterly insignificant it disperses into smoke. 

The knife is gone before Makarov can muster a second attempt, riven from his grip and tossed to oblivion, and before he can swallow a breath, Ghost hurls his iron-hard knuckles square into the centre of his face, shattering his nose with a crunch , and the back of his head ricochets off the cement underneath with a teeth-chattering crack that makes the room go silent. 

The pig blinks, still breathing — so Ghost throws another, so violent that his nose caves in, and the blood splatters over the taut skin of his fist. 

Not enough. He throws another. Beats a crater into his forehead. Skull splits along the crest like ceramic wrapped together by skin. 

He throws another. Wrapping splits in the fissure and the blood spills like milk. 

Only sees red. Teeth bared. Eyes glass over.

Throws another, carmine fountain splashes out from the impact—

—another, eyeballs birthed from between purple eyelids, burst like blisters— 

—another, jaw breaks at the hinges from the rest of his skull—

—another, tongue severed and jutting out through shattered teeth—

—another, grey parasite of gelatinous brain spills out onto the concrete—

—another, and thuds turn to squelches.

—another, a fracture in his own knuckle. 

—another, his vision blurs. 

…another, and his fist is hitting concrete. 

Another. There’s nothing left. 

“S-Simon—”

Your weak voice cuts through the red fog like a beacon.  

His humanity gradually returns to him when he hears it. Comes back with a gulping breath, as he glares down at the body he bestrides. At the caldera of flesh and bone where his victim’s head used to be. 

Chest hounding, jaw loose, he can taste the iron of blood in his teeth. It drips from his beaten knuckles, speckles the cement like spilt paint. It sprays up his forearm like a glove. It glitters across his cheeks like freckles. 

You speak, again, and he finally breaks the surface. 

“Simon, what do I do?” 

He pushes himself to stand with a grunt, breathless, and attempts to wipe the blood spattered on his face with the back of his hand — smears the red leaking from his own wound in so doing, he forgot it was there. 

Turns to you, where you still stand facing the wall, and he grimaces — are you chained to it? 

“He m-made me—” You stammer out in broken sobs, and he grits his teeth as he girds himself to hear whatever horrific crime you were made victim to. “He made me press it. I c-can’t stop it — Simon, how do I make it stop?” 

His brows knot in worried confusion as he rushes towards you, fighting the urge to immediately take you by the arm and haul you into an embrace; such an act would be for his own comfort more than yours. 

But as though sensing his approach, you shriek—

“Don’t touch me!” 

He stops behind you, but your agitation simmers quickly. 

“You c-can’t — I can’t move,” you whine, shattered. “You can’t t-touch me.” 

“Mia…” He mumbles, finally registering what you’re looking at as he moves beside you — eyes pinned to a terminal interface, finger pressed into a keyboard below it. 

“It’s still going,” you weep. “It’s k-killing them… I can’t stop it. I’m killing them and I c-can’t stop it.” 

The tunnel vision that had focused solely on you widens just enough for him to absorb what you are talking about. The terminal, the keyboard — and as he looks at it, the drive. Jutting out of the plug at the base. 

The mission returns to him like a kick to the teeth. Laswell’s voice in his ear. Reminding him of every chemical bomb triggered, every thirty seconds, for the last forty minutes. 

His eyes catch the wire snaking out from under the key you press. Where it enters the open cabinet beneath the keyboard. Can see past your knees the blocks of C4 stacked from base to top, wired up tidily by experienced fingers. 

The realisation douses him like cold water. 

“What do I do,” you cry, as he reaches a careful arm around you. 

You flinch, and the guilt for startling you falls heavy in his stomach, but he can’t back away. Not now that he understands the predicament you’re caught in. 

Settles a thick finger next to yours, pressing into the enter key beneath it. 

“I need you to move your finger,” he murmurs gently.

You shake your head vigorously, desperately, shaking like a leaf but inadvertently leaning some of your weight against him. “I can’t.” 

There isn’t a choice. He coils an arm around your waist, gripping tight, and he feels you deflate as he lifts you upward. 

“ No, nonono, no…” you wail, but you don’t fight him; he twists you, reeling you away from the keyboard, until your finger is free and your hand drops to your side. 

You collapse into him once you’re no longer holding the dead man’s trigger — head rocks against his shoulder, weary hands clutching onto his forearm as though you’d plummet off a cliff if you let go. 

“I’m sorry,” you lament, voice frail and so fraught with grief it hurts him just to hear it. “I’m sorry — I let him — it’s my fault. I pressed it — I…” 

To hear you apologise makes his ribs close in. That you could ever be sorry for anything, that you could shoulder even an ounce of guilt — an injustice he cannot abide, and he presses his lips into your hair. 

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he urges. “None of this is your fault. Hear me? It’s mine.” 

You sob, and he wants nothing more than to wrap both of his arms around you; to embrace you in earnest, to apologise unremittingly into your skin so that even the blood that pumps under it believes him when he says it. It’s not your fault. 

But he can’t. Your life is more important. “Now I need you to step back.” 

He lets go of you as you manage to stand on your own feet, balancing you with a hand on your back when you stumble, but you do as you are told — stepping back slowly, trembling, not yet willing to run. 

“Get out of the basement,” he orders firmly.

“No,” you refuse, shaking your head, still within arms reach — you gasp when the back of your heel collides with the corpse on the floor, and your head swivels to look down at it. 

He sees you gawk at it. Lips parting in horror. Eyes bulging with it. Can barely muster a sound. “...Simon…”

“Look at me,” he insists, and sweet girl, you do. Rheumy-eyed and quivering. “Mia — go upstairs.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whimper, swallowing a breath. “Not without you.”

His chest tightens up, and it’s quickly clear to him you won’t leave unless compelled to — brave girl, your lack of self-preservation makes his teeth scrape together. 

He needs you out of the room before he attempts to interrupt the script. He can enter the command without lifting his finger from the enter key — but he needs to release it in order to press it. 

With his free hand, he speaks into his radio. “Johnny — how copy.” 

“Solid, LT,” he returns immediately. “Fucken’ bloodbath out here.” 

“I found the terminal. Entry under the stairs. Get here. Now.” 

Not even a minute before he hears the heavy boots, bounding down the stairs, but the Sergeant screeches to a halt when met by the carnage on the floor. 

“Jes— Jesus fucking Christ , Simon.” 

Not often the boy uses his Lieutenants name; says it meekly, like it’s a greater sin than using the Lord’s name in vain.

“Is that…” 

“Makarov,” Ghost spits his name out. 

“Where’s the girl?” He asks sombrely, as though already anticipating bad news — the state of Makarov’s carcass likely evidence. Ghost only gives him a nod in your direction, and he turns his head over his shoulder; you shrivel up when the Sergeant looks at you. 

“Listen to me,” Ghost barks, and Soap marches over hastily, ever obedient. “I need you to take her.” 

“Now?” Johnny balks. 

“Now.” 

“What about the terminal?” 

Ghost huffs through his teeth. “I’ve got it,” he grits. “Now get her on a fucking helo.” 

“No — no,” you suddenly yelp, inching closer to him, as if he might be the one to protect you from the Sergeant he has ordered to take you. “I said I’m not going anywhere.” 

His eyes wrench shut. Bites out a pained sigh. “Mia — go with him. Please.”

“No!” You yell, fragile voice breaking in the strain, “I’m staying, I’m not letting you disappear again—”

“Soap,” he grunts rigidly. 

“Copy.” 

Needn’t restate the order. The Sergeant understands well enough, and he marches toward you unrepentantly. 

That ever-present guilt burns in his throat as he watches you cower away from him, shaking your head and gulping on sobs — but Johnny scoops you up like you weigh nothing, an arm firmly buckled around your waist, back riveted to his side. He wastes no time, stepping over the corpse on the floor and carrying you towards the stairs. 

“Put me down!” You squeal — bucking, kicking, you even try to get an elbow in — “I’m not going! No! Simon! Simon!” 

His eyes are warm. He cannot listen to it. Agonising as a ruptured eardrum to hear you cry for him — right there, where he could answer you — but he is cruelly unable to. 

“Johnny — you get her that fucking passport if it’s the last thing you do,” he roars. “You hear me?” 

“You got it, LT.” 

The man carting you up the stairs is far stronger than the one who dragged you down them, and no amount of kicking or twisting or scratching loosens his grip. 

All you can do is cry, and scream, and pray that Simon changes his mind, and comes bounding up the stairs, having performed a miracle — that he frees you from the restraint of his subordinate, that he promises never to leave you alone again, that he gets on the helicopter with you. 

But you are carted down the hallway, toes dipping in the blood that puddles on the slate, and he does not come. 

"Put me down you son of a bitch!” You wail, voice shredded to husks and squeaks after the labour of interminable screaming. “Simon!” 

The Scotsman — Johnny — is steadfast. Unshakeable. Any moment you feel like you might come close to slithering out of his grip, he readjusts, reorients, subdues. 

“I’m only following orders, hen,” he grumbles, and you can hear the unease in his voice, coating his throat. Perturbed, perhaps. Guilty. “Not trying to hurt ye.” 

You are not afraid of him. There is nowhere worse he could take you than where you have already been, and you trust Simon not to have left you in the arms of somebody that could hurt you. 

No, there’s something else that terrifies you. 

That Simon will die at your hand, along with the thousands of others you have already killed. 

Your fault, because you sent him to that factory, where there was never anything to be found. Your fault, because you let Vladimir command you like a puppet, too frightened to pull back on his strings. Your fault, because you let Simon ever think you could be useful for anything but your inbuilt purpose. 

“I f-fucking hate you!” you sob, though once you utter it you’re not sure who the sentiment is for. Yourself, maybe. Johnny. Vladimir. Everyone you have ever met. 

“Ah know,” he says stiffly, giving you a pat where his arm coils around your back. “But he wants you alive.” 

He moves quickly despite your wriggling, keeping you as low as he can without letting your feet touch the floor — gunfire rings out in the distance, cracks that echo from within the house and outside. 

Soon he has you over his shoulder, just to free a hand, and you hear him talking to somebody over the radio. 

“Gaz, Gaz!” He belts, “how copy?”

You can’t hear whoever responds, assuming the conversation is being had within the man’s helmet. 

“You near the birds? Reckon you could start one up for me?” 

“Got the princess. Lieutenant wants her out of here. Yeah — she’s not happy about it.” 

“Does it sound like I give a fuck what the Captain said?” 

“Good man. Be there in two. Out.” 

He lets out a sharp and beleaguered breath, lowering you from his shoulder, where he must have assumed you might have been uncomfortable — or, less charitably, worried you’d slip out of his grip. 

Shards of glass crunch under his boots as he carries you through the shattered back door, out into the hammering rain, where the gunshots are close enough to make you cower into his chest as if he might shield you from them. 

“Almost there, hen—”

Boom. 

Assurance punctuated by deafening thunder that quakes the ground beneath him. Shatters all remaining glass on the first floor. Twinkles as the slivers fall to the patio behind you. 

Your diaphragm seizes. Heart stops dead. Hearing goes dull. Tongue goes dry. Eyes go gauzy. 

There’s a beat where you all but lose consciousness. Disappear within yourself like you’ve fallen down a well. 

You resurface when your escort begins to run. 

“NO!” 

You shriek viciously enough to make your vocal cords bleed, entire body contorting and writhing until you finally break free from him, and you land in the grass with a thud. 

He fails to grab you in time, you scurry in the mud, fingers clawing at handfuls of grass until you’re able to scramble to your feet — you break into a full sprint, bounding like a hare, sucking the wet air so deep into your lungs it makes you dizzy. 

“Mia!” Johnny roars after you, quick in his chase, but you endure. 

You run bare-footed over the shards, utterly ignorant to how many slivers might get embedded in your soles — the interior of the house is cloudy with dust and smoke, creaking and crumbling, moaning in dispute of its destruction. 

“Simon!” You wail, scrambling down the hallway, towards the staircase — even more glass carpeting the floor where the balustrade had been blown to smithers, and rained down on the slate underneath it. 

Charcoal-black smoke billows out from the open door to the basement, entirely obfuscating, beating and waving like a creature in itself. 

You venture into it unhampered. 

“S—” a shout bitten off by a cough as you leap down the stairs, “Simon! Please—”

You choke on your plea as you trip over something heavy at full speed, toppling into the smokey abyss and landing on sticky concrete. 

You cry, it hurts, every part of you — your eyes burn, and your lungs singe with every breath, and your knee stings — but you hastily turn to feel for what you had tripped over, and your hands find warm fabric. 

Simon. He made it to the stairs. Find his neck and you feel him breathing — hardly, he wheezes with every pitiful inhale. 

And his skin feels wet. Gritty. Peeling. 

“No, nononono,” you wail, clambering up and over him, attempting to situate yourself while utterly blind. 

You feel desperately for his shoulders, scooping your hands through his underarms until you have him hooked by your elbows. 

“Please, Simon—” You beg, coughing, spluttering, as you engage every fibre of muscle in your body to lift him from the stairs. 

“Mia — are you in there?” Johnny calls from the basement door, voice dampened by the density of the smoke. 

“He’s alive!” You try to roar, voice abraded to near-mute, and you’re not sure if the Scotsman could even hear you. 

You heave , pulling Simon’s enormous body up a single step with all of your might — dizzyingly heavy, and yet somehow lighter than you would have expected. You cry in your strain as you pull him again, stepping backward onto the next step up, hauling him agonising inch by agonising inch. 

Only as the smoke begins to settle, and you make it up another stair, do you see the blood. Coating you like paint. 

The side of his head is singed where it wasn’t covered by his helmet. Thick fabric of his uniform shredded by the explosion, exposing the blackened skin within, where it blisters and peels to reveal the yellow fascia beneath it. 

Your eyes land, then, on the strands of crimson flesh where his shin used to be. 

“Oh, god,” you wretch, cough, and turn your head to spill tar-black vomit onto the cement wall beside you. “Fuck — S-Simon…” 

You feel a hand on your arm, then, and it grabs you, picking you up and dragging you out of the smoke. 

“No!” You sob, “no — please, he’s alive, you have to—”

Johnny plants you in front of him, firm hands on either side of your shoulders, and he glares into you with such piercing eyes you have no choice but to meet them. 

“We’ll get him help, okay?” He pledges, firm, unyielding. “But he’ll never forgive either of us if you die here today, understood?” 

You wheeze, lungs glutted with smoke and charcoal, tears so wet on your cheeks that your skin itches, and you’re not able to form a single word. 

“C’mon, hen,” he says gently, scooping an arm under your knees and hoisting you deftly off the ground, carrying you tightly to his chest. “Let’s get you out of here.”

There’s no fight left in you. No wrath, no terror, no spite. Only a hollow pit in the core of you, sucking anything else into its void, and leaving you bitterly empty. 

Johnny totes you back out into the pounding rain, and you feel it rinsing the coal and blood from your calloused skin as he sprints across the expansive lawn.

You hear the beating of the helicopter gradually grow louder as he gets closer to the treeline. 

“They stopped!” 

An unfamiliar shout over the roaring aircraft, but you don’t turn to look. You keep your stinging eyes held shut so that you can feel the grit of the smoke wearing down their film. 

“Cannae hear ye, Gaz!” Johnny yells back, voice vibrating right through you. 

“The bombs! They’ve fuckin’ stopped!” 

You realise then that what you had thought was a shout, was a cheer. 

“Hear that, hen?” Johnny says pridefully, lowering his head closer to yours so that you can hear him. “He did it.” 

You have no words to utter, but you feel your heart twist up behind your sternum. 

He did it. 

Soon the helicopter’s engine is deafening, and Johnny unfurls you, raising you up by hands under your arms and sitting you down in the open door of the aircraft. Another hand encircles you, then, to prevent your limp body from falling back out. 

“Jesus—” blurts the man beside you — the Sergeant. Gaz, you suppose. “She okay?” 

“No,” Johnny barks, giving him a pat on the knee. “Y’take care of ‘er, yeah?” 

“Course,” Gaz confirms solemnly, with a rigid nod. 

The Scotsman addresses you, then. 

“You enjoy that new life of yours, eh?” He says loudly, an indeterminate expression of certainty tight in his features. “You’ve earned it.” 

With a nod, he’s away, unslinging his rifle from his back and barreling back off into battle. You watch vacantly as he disappears behind the oak trees. 

The man in the helicopter with you gives you a nudge to get your attention — doesn’t grab you, or pull you, just waits patiently for you to turn your head and acknowledge him. 

“Mia,” he says, as gently as he can while still audible over the helicopter blades. You finally turn to look at him. “C’mere, let’s buckle you in.”

He looks at you sincerely, sick worry in the back of his eyes, reflecting the dim light of the grey sky. You nod weakly, and he helps you stand, leading you to a seat and holding you as you slump into it. He tightens the straps over your chest, buckling them and giving them a jostle to make sure they’re secure. 

He fixes a pair of earmuffs over your head, adjusting them over your ears, and you’re suddenly swimming in a deep and thumping silence. Puts a pair on himself. 

“There we go,” he says into his microphone, and you can hear his voice clearly. He leans into the cockpit and taps the pilot on the shoulder. “Cleared hot.” 

With that, the helicopter begins its ascent. Wobbling on its way up, as the Sergeant settles into the seat opposite you.

“Where are you going to take me now,” you ask dejectedly, hardly a squeak, voice excoriated beyond repair. 

You expect him to say something vague, something obscurely menacing. To the compound. To an airbase. To a camp down south. 

He gives you a weak smile. 

“Home,” he says. 

[moechies]

Thinking about sloppy blowjob on sugu and hes so, so mean :c

“oh, you’re blowing bubbles now?”

geto tugs harshly at your hair, pulling you back from where you had originally been while mouthing his cock. its sloppy, drool spilling from the sides of your mouth and dripping from his hard, swollen cock onto your lap. “stupid fuckin’ girl.”

you wince in pain of his fisting hand in your locks, and at the harsh words he spits at you over and over — contradicting to the usual sweet, enamoring geto you’re used to. you stammer, ignoring the hot burn in your throat, “s—sugu,”

“c’mon. get it together, yeah?” he growls, pressing your face back into his manhood. your nose nudges against his dewy balls, gaped mouth taking instinct and wrapping around his sack with soft, tight suckles. "there we go."

your lashes flutter at the means of praise, looking up at him with watery doe eyes — you want more. oh — you want so badly for him to give you a kiss and call you his good girl; maybe give you the green light to touch your swollen pussy or even lay you down so he can—

"aw. m’girl’s so pretty like this. ‘s a shame she’s so fuckin’ dumb, though.” he purrs and you drool — thick saliva dripping from his sack to his bulky thigh. he tsks, you’re such a messy little thing. he tangles his fingers into your head of hair, tugging you away from his balls before readjusting his tip directly in front of your lips. he taps the cock head harshly against your swollen, spit-soddened lips and you open on his command. you wouldn’t dare not to.

“so obedient. you wanna be my good girl s’bad, don’t you?” he mocks and you cringe — refusing to deny.

you respond in slow, loving blinks, his cock lodged halfway into your throat already eliciting soft gags. he soothes them — sliding his large hand over your throat giving it a light squeeze. he feels the budge of his own tip through your soft skin, running a finger over the sensitive zone as you shiver. “so cute.” geto chuckles.

you work your mouth on him, letting spit pool in your mouth before you drag your warm throat further to take in more of him — the satisfaction of your nose finally nuzzling against his soft bush of hair. geto tosses his head back with a loud groan, the sweat gleaming across his skin and showing off his prominent adam’s apple. “shit,” he drags, “guess this makes up for you being such a dumb slut for my cock. at least you’re good at this.”

he mumbles with a sleazy smile, the grip in your head of hair growing tighter when he begins to set his pace.

[opt1mistic]

i physically can’t stop thinking about spiderman!rin….like hes rotting every part of my brain. so i thought i should share my thoughts..

you’re dangling.

actually dangling—off the jagged edge of a rusted fire escape, fingers torn raw from the grip you can barely hold. the wind nips at your skin. your breath stutters in your throat, lodged somewhere between a scream and a prayer. below, the alley yawns black and bottomless. one slip and you’re gone; smears of blood splattered over copper bricks. chunks of flesh, guts, and brains. a soundless body in the dark.

and then—thwip.

the world jerks and suddenly, you’re not falling anymore. your sweaty fingers arent slipping off the railing and a yelp escapes from your mouth. it was quick but filled with fear that you had slipped and are now flying to your death.

but no, you’re just flying.

well not actually—he’s flying, and you’re in his arms. holding on for dear life against his body.

his arm locked tight around your waist, the solid heat of his body bleeding through that cursed suit. spiderman—rin—pulls you out of gravity’s grip. the city blurs into streaks of light and metal, every swing a breathless snap, until you’re landed on a rooftop.

he hits the ground hard, feet touching concrete, but he doesn’t let go. not for a second.

he tears off his mask, jaw clenching like someone pissed him off. lips a thin, furious line. eyes wide—not with anger, but with worry and fear.

his hands are on your face before you can even inhale. tilting your head up. forcing your eyes to meet his.

“are you stupid?” he spits, voice low and shaking with something sharp. “you could’ve died.”

“i didn’t,” you breathe, barely audible. “you caught me.”

“that’s not the point.”

his fingers twitch against your jaw, holding you too tight. “you shouldn’t have been there. i told you to wait for me. why the fuck didn’t you—”

“i didn’t know…” you whisper, and it sounds too honest, too soft. broken.

“…i didn’t know they were following me.”

and something in him cracks. just a flicker. just for a breath. but it’s enough.

he exhales, pulling you into him so tight, until your head rests against him. his heartbeat is chaos. it’s thumping against his rib cage like a ticking bomb that’s ready to explode any second now.

“if i’d been even a second—one second later…”

“you weren’t.” you say it into him, into the place where his ribs cage his fear.

“you weren’t…” you repeated quieter.

his arms curl tighter around you, like he’s trying to suffocate you but not with hate or aggression—but with fear and worry of what could’ve happened.

he was never meant to need someone like this. but you’re not just someone. you’re you.

“i’m not losing you,” rin murmurs, voice rough and breathless, like he’s forcing it through his teeth.

“i’ll save you every time, i promise.”