#But you had to learn how to control it. That didn’t mean you let it trickle away. It meant you dammed it carefully

[mvnscloud]

flaws and all.

joshua isn’t just someone who stays with you when it rains, he’s the one who helps you plant a garden after.

pairing: joshua hong x reader (fem) warnings: flawed character (reader), conflict, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, angst if you squint ><, reader grew up in a toxic household, joshua humbles reader a lot lol. word count: 2.3k a/n: not proofread! it’s 4am my eye hurts :P

𖤓

you knew you had your lapses.

you knew you had your flaws — the sharpness of your words when you were hurt, the pride that made you push people away, the way you sometimes shut down without warning.

you had learned those habits young, growing up in a home where emotions were either swallowed or thrown, where apologies came too late or not at all.

so you grew up thinking that love was either something you earned by being easy to be with, or something that left when you became too much.

for a long time, you believed your mess made you hard to love. maybe even impossible. but joshua proved you wrong. he showed you that being flawed didn’t make you unlovable. it made you human.

but still, his love wasn’t blind. it didn’t mean he would excuse every mistake, or let you hurt him, or yourself without saying a word.

it didn’t mean he’d walk on eggshells around your baggage or worship your broken parts and leave them untouched.

joshua’s love meant seeing you completely and loving you enough to call you out when you needed it, to stand beside you not just in your best moments, but in the ones where you had to learn and unlearn.

he loved you enough not to leave you as you were, but to believe in the person you were becoming. and there were moments. quiet, hard, necessary moments where he proved that to you.

sometimes, it’s in the way you would invalidate other people’s feelings, without meaning it.

“i just don’t understand, is it so fucking difficult to talk to me about it? why avoid the situation?” you snapped, pacing the room with your arms crossed, frustration radiating off you.

you were talking about your friend. how she pulled away after a misunderstanding, how she never replied to your message, how the silence felt louder than the fight itself. it hurt. but more than that, it made you angry. because in your world, silence meant abandonment. avoidance felt like rejection.

joshua listened quietly from where he sat on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together. he didn’t interrupt you, not at first. he knew you needed to let it out.

but when you finally paused to catch your breath, he spoke, calm and steady, “baby… i know you’re hurt. and you have every right to be.”

you looked at him, arms still folded tightly.

“but not everyone knows how to handle conflict the way you do,” he continued. “and saying things like ‘is it so difficult’ might sound like you’re minimizing what she’s feeling.”

you blinked, the words hitting you like a cold splash of water.

“i’m not saying she’s right for not talking to you,” he added. “but maybe she’s scared. or confused. maybe she needs time to sort through it, just like you needed space before opening up to me that one time.”

you wanted to protest, say it’s not the same, but deep down, you knew he was right.

you hadn’t meant to invalidate your friend, you just didn’t know how to sit in the uncertainty of being misunderstood. and now, you were realizing that maybe this wasn’t just about her avoidance. maybe it was about your discomfort with not being in control of the outcome.

“you’re not the villain here,” joshua said gently. “but you’re not the only one hurting either.”

you sat down beside him, suddenly quiet. “i didn’t mean to sound like that…”

“i know,” he said, threading his fingers through yours. “but it’s good to ask yourself why it made you that angry.”

and you did. you didn’t have all the answers, but you had someone who helped you ask the right questions. someone who didn’t just take your side, but stood beside you. someone who loved you enough to tell you the truth, carefully, gently, but firmly, because he believed in the person you were trying to become.

he had this way of grounding you in perspective without making you feel small. of helping you take a step back without stepping away from you. he didn’t scold. he didn’t shame. he simply guided. like he trusted you’d get there, if someone just asked the right questions.

and joshua always knew how.

other times, it would be the way you’d lash out on someone dear to you.

it was past midnight. you were in the middle of reworking a paper you had already rewritten three times, eyes dry, head pounding, chest heavy from the weight of everything you’d been silently carrying for weeks.

you heard a soft knock on your door.

“can i come in?” your younger sibling asked.

you didn’t respond right away, but she opened the door anyway, a little hesitant.

“i was wondering if you could help me with something for school… it’s due tomorrow, and i’m kinda stuck.”

you looked up from your screen, the blinking cursor suddenly unbearable. something in you broke.

“you’re seriously asking for help now?” your voice cracked, louder than you meant. “you know i have a million things going on, right? or do you just assume i’ll always drop everything for you?”

your sibling blinked, clearly taken aback. “i didn’t mean to… i thought maybe you could spare just a few minutes…”

“yeah, well, i can’t.” you cut in. “i’m tired. i’m always tired. but no one seems to care as long as i keep showing up, right?”

your words were unstoppable, like a broken record player.

she stood there quietly for a few seconds before saying, “i just thought… if anyone understood how hard it gets, it’d be you.”

and then she left. no door slam. no attitude. just silence.

you stared at the doorway long after she was gone, heart pounding with guilt. because deep down, you knew she wasn’t being careless. she came to you because she trusted you. because she looked up to you.

but tonight, you were too deep in your own exhaustion to be kind. and instead of setting the weight down, you threw it at someone who didn’t deserve to carry it.

when you brought it up to joshua the next day, voice low, unsure if you even deserved comfort, he just listened. and then, with that calm steadiness you’d come to know so well,

“you’re not wrong for feeling tired. or angry. you’ve had to grow up faster than most. and that kind of weight doesn’t just disappear.”

you nodded, eyes stinging.

“but sometimes,” he added gently, “the hardest part about healing is realizing that the people closest to you aren't the cause of your pain, but they can still be the ones who get hit by it.”

and again, he did what he always did best.

he didn’t dismiss your pain. he didn’t defend your reaction.

he just handed you the truth with tenderness, helping you see the version of yourself that needed care and accountability.

not to shame you.

but to remind you that even the eldest daughters deserve softness, so they can learn to pass it on.

most times, it’s joshua who you pour all the mess into.

your exhaustion, your doubts, your quiet unravelings when everything feels like too much. and most times, he carries it with grace. never asking for much, never holding it against you.

but even the steadiest hands get tired when they’re holding something sharp.

that night, you were worn thin. deadlines, expectations, the endless mental load of trying to be everything to everyone. you'd barely slept. you hadn’t eaten properly in days. and when joshua came over with takeout and a gentle “let’s take a break tonight,” it didn’t land as love. it landed as pressure.

you were halfway through rereading a document you’d already rewritten three times when he spoke again, quieter this time.

“you don’t have to keep pushing like this, you know. you’re allowed to rest.”

you didn’t look at him. “i am resting.”

he chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. “baby, reading a 20-page report in silence isn’t rest.”

and maybe it was the word baby, or the softness in his voice, or just the timing, but something inside you snapped.

“can you stop acting like you know what’s best for me all the time?” you said, sharper than you intended. “i’m not your project. i don’t need saving.”

joshua’s smile faltered. you could see the shift in his eyes right away. not hurt. not shock. just… stillness. maybe a hint of disappointment.

he stood there for a few seconds before carefully setting the takeout bag down on the table.

“i’m not trying to fix you,” he said quietly. “i’m here because i love you. but love doesn’t mean i’m going to just sit back while you burn yourself out.”

you rolled your eyes, already regretting the words but too proud to take them back. “i didn’t ask for your opinion.”

he exhaled slowly. not angry. just tired.

“okay,” he said, stepping back. “then maybe I need to give you space until you do.”

he didn’t slam the door. didn’t make a scene. just walked out with that same calm grace you always admired, but now, it left an ache in his absence.

you sat there alone, heart pounding, the weight of your own words sinking in.

you could no longer focus on that report you were reading, instead you let yourself get consumed by your thoughts. this is it isn’t it. he got tired of me.

but he came back the next evening,

like he always does.

you didn’t expect him to. a part of you thought maybe that was it, maybe this time, you pushed too hard, said too much. you kept replaying your words like static in your head. i don’t need saving. you didn’t even mean it. not like that. but that’s the thing about sharp edges, you don’t always mean to cut, but the wounds stay anyway.

so when you heard a soft knock at the door, your chest ached.

you opened it slowly, and there he was, joshua, with no food in hand, no smile to cushion the silence. just him. still. quiet. steady.

“can we talk?” he asked gently.

you nodded and let him in, your throat already tightening.

he sat on the edge of the couch. not too close, not too far. the space between you carried every word you hadn’t said yesterday.

“i want to be here,” he started, “but i need to know that you’re not going to keep pushing me away every time you’re overwhelmed.”

you looked down at your hands, now cold in your lap. “i know,” you whispered. “i know i was out of line.”

you swallowed the knot forming in your throat, but the tears came anyway, slow, hesitant, like you were still trying not to be “too much” even in your apology.

“i didn’t mean any of it,” you said shakily. “i was just, tired. overwhelmed. and you were trying to help, and i—i took it out on you. again.”

your voice broke on that word. again.

“i hate that i do this. that you have to deal with it. with me.” you wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“and i’m scared that one day, you’ll get tired of me. of this. of this mess.”

you looked at him then, eyes rimmed red, your heart in your throat. “please don’t get tired of me, joshua.”

he didn’t speak right away. just looked at you with that same steady gaze, the one that had always made you feel safe, even when you didn’t think you deserved it.

then, quietly, he moved closer. not all the way. just enough.

“i’m not tired of you,” he said. “but i am tired of watching you carry everything alone and then punishing yourself for breaking under the weight.”

you closed your eyes, as if that truth stung more than anything.

“i love you,” he continued. “and part of loving someone means standing beside them even when it’s hard. but it also means drawing lines when things start to hurt.”

you nodded slowly. “i want to do better. i’m trying.”

he reached out this time, one hand brushing yours, slow and careful, like asking for permission.

“then we’ll try together,” he said.

and in that moment, you realized something: joshua didn’t love the perfect version of you. he loved the real you, the one still learning, still healing, still holding too much.

but what made his love different was he didn’t just stay. he challenged you.

he reminded you that care could come with boundaries.

and that real love isn’t loud or dramatic, it’s the quiet voice that says, i’m here… but i won’t let you lose yourself either.

without another word, he reached for you, pulling you into his arms in a way that made everything else fade into the background. his embrace was calm, steady, and it felt like everything you needed, like you could finally let go of the weight you’d been carrying.

you buried your face in his chest, letting the softness of his shirt ground you, feeling his heartbeat steady against yours. he didn’t try to fix you. he didn’t ask for apologies or explanations. he just held you, as if saying everything without saying a word.

you pulled back just slightly to look at him, your eyes still a little red but softened by the warmth of his gaze. you didn’t have all the answers, and you weren’t “fixed” but with him beside you, maybe that was enough for now.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice catching just a little. “for staying.”

he smiled, that familiar warmth in his eyes. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and as you sat there, wrapped in his arms, you realized that no matter how messy things got, you’d never be alone. because love wasn’t about being perfect, it was about showing up, every day, and choosing to be there for each other, flaws and all.

[rencissance]

He hated feeling like this. Really hated it. If he’d been raised any differently, maybe this would’ve gone another way. But his mom and dad had drilled one thing into him from the start — do the right thing, no matter what. And that meant saving someone, even if that someone had been trying to take him out not too long ago. Mike wasn’t even going to try to justify it, or figure out why he felt this way about him. He should’ve wanted to hit him. Hard. And it’s not like that would’ve been out of character. People could back that up — best friends, ex-friends, enemies, total strangers. No one was usually safe from his temper or his impulses. And yet... here he was. Not throwing punches. Not yelling. Instead, he was looking at him — really looking — and feeling something. Attraction of sorts. He wanted to protect him. Keep him safe. Which made zero sense. Just minutes ago, everything had felt different. But now, standing here next to him, something had shifted. Mike felt calm. Protected. Like, for once, he wasn’t the one watching his back. And somehow, deep down, he knew — this guy wasn’t going to hurt him. And he wasn’t going to let anyone else hurt him either.

People underestimated him all the time — figured he was just another jock who did dumb things and ran on pure impulse. What they didn’t realize was that Mike was a lot smarter than he let on. He just had to learn how to stay in control. When the other guy called him smart and pretty, he felt a little smug. Proud, even. But that didn’t stop the flush from rising to his cheeks. Stupid, charming jerk. “Do you have a cookie?” Mike quipped, eyebrows raised, playing it off like the cheeky smartass he was. “Maybe don’t go around underestimating people — or assume I’m one of those himbos or bimbos you usually chase down.” There was definitely some unspoken competition between them — like they were constantly trying to one-up each other. But it wasn’t hostile. It was… fun. “You can’t shut up. I’m just matching your energy.” ” he added with a playful eye roll. “Oh? Are you trying to impress me?” He tilted his head, teasing now. “Because those items were this close to hitting you if I hadn’t stepped in. But hey, I get it — didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of me. I’ll play along, save your ego some bruises.” Was this flirting? It felt like flirting. None of it made sense, but Mike couldn’t get enough. “I mean, you started this,” he said with a smirk, eyes flicking to the other boy’s face. “I just fell on you. I’m giving you what you clearly wanted. But hey—” he shifted slightly, deliberately — “I could always get off.”

Mike actually let out a laugh — not mocking, but surprised — when Brett got defensive. It was kind of adorable, honestly. Clearly, he’d struck a nerve, though Brett seemed more annoyed by the vow than by Mike himself. “I’m pretty sure that applies to, like, every moment of your life,” Mike teased, eyes flickering with amusement. “I mean, if there was a medical emergency, are you just gonna stand there or help out?” The banter was still there, but so was the tension — hot, electric, and undeniable. Whatever this thing was between them, Brett clearly needed it as much as he did. Being with him felt like finally drinking after being parched for days. Mike didn’t know why kissing Brett felt so right — just that it did. Like something he’d been craving without even realizing it. They weren’t exactly being careful. More like reckless and wired, like two teenagers who had no idea what to do with the heat building between them. When Brett grabbed his shirt and tore it open like it meant nothing, Mike gasped — sharp and startled. He should’ve been annoyed. It was one of his favorites. But the rush it sent through him? Worth it. Completely. He moaned at the roughness of it, a flicker of thrill shooting down his spine. He wanted to return the gesture — rip Brett’s shirt right off his smug self— but he couldn’t. Then came the press of Brett’s skin — cooler than his. Mike moaned again, louder, as the sensation pushed him further into the haze of heat and want. And then— Fingers around his throat. It should’ve scared him. Should’ve made him freeze. But it didn’t. He felt safe, weirdly safe, like Brett knew exactly how far to go, how much to take, how much Mike wanted to give. His breath stuttered as pleasure surged through him in waves, his body trembling from how much it was — how intense it all felt. Brett was driving him absolutely insane, in the best possible way. Their lips crashed together again, harder this time, messier. And when Brett pulled away, Mike let out a needy whine, chasing after him, not ready for the space between them. “I want it,” he said, voice low, ragged. “No— I need it. I need you to fuck me. I want to feel like I’m yours.”

normally, brett really didn't focus on who his type was. mainly because he didn't settle down long enough to date them or get to know them. he went out with them once, fucked them, and probably never saw them again. a complete one eighty to his brother rhett who was a serial monogamist. even as a werewolf, he seemed to be able to control his inhibitions. that was so boring. brett would much rather just think with his dick than any other body part. although everything that was happening with mike was surprising him and throwing him for a loop. he didn't want to just fuck and run or suck him dry. he wanted to see him again even if they didn't sleep together that same day. whatever this connection was started to freak him out a bit, not that he'd ever show it.

maybe mike was smarter than what he was giving him credit for. to be fair, the vampire had no real way of knowing that. he barely knew anything about the man aside from the fact that he wanted him. even that was confusing. did he want him as a blood bag or as a lover? as a victim or as someone to sink his cock into? if he thought about it too much, his head was going to start hurting. so he didn't. "whatever, so you're smart and have a pretty face. do you want a cookie or something? how the fuck was i supposed to know that i was after a nobel prize winner?" he groaned as mike continued to rant on. "i thought i was the one that couldn't shut up." he needed to keep teasing him even if it was just a little bit. never letting him get the last word. "for the record, i can run and fight better than most people you know. so dodging and fighting wouldn't be anything different from all of that." although with magic involved, brett didn't know just how much he could actually handle himself. the only reason why he was probably alive at all was because mike had a protective barrier against him. "you're thinking with your dick plenty right about now." again, he couldn't help but tease him a bit.

that damn oath was going to continue to ruin his life. although, he took it when he was a human and technically he was a vampire now. on some level, it probably no longer applied to him. "that's in regards to my patients. last i checked we weren't in an emergency room and you weren't a patient of mine." although he was probably a psychopath, that much was true, he wasn't going to admit it out loud. especially not when kissing mike felt so good. he felt the needy tugs on his shirt too and he knew that the man wanted this just as badly as he did. he moaned against the kiss, trying his best to keep his fangs locked up for now. brett brought his hands up to tear mike's shirt right down the middle, practically ripping it right off of him. his left hand moved over to his chest then, cold thumb running over his nipple. his right hand was wrapped around the man's throat, just so that he wouldn't be tempted to sink his teeth into his neck. brett's body continued to grind against him, like a freaking animal in heat. a breathy moan slipped into the man's mouth in a kiss before finding the will to pull away. "how badly do you want to fuck right now?" he'd do it if mike asked.

[p4nishers]

one of the most important things terry pratchett has taught me is that it's okay to be angry. no one has ever said that to me before. he taught me that anger was an engine. that you can use that anger. that it goes hand in hand with love. he taught me to never underestimate my anger, because it's one of my strongest points. he taught me genuine anger was one of the world’s great creative forces. he taught me i shouldn't be fighting my anger, but what caused it. he himself said rage underlines everything he wrote. i never heard anger talked about so openly like that before and it's freeing, i suppose, to realize you are truly, truly not alone in your rage at the world. you never were.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

－； SQUIRTING FOR THE FIRST TIME ?!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 paring : jing yuan, mydei, phainon, moze & sunday x f!reader

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 tws : nsfw/smut, reader is a hybrid kitty, creampie, chocking, cow-girl, doggy style, reader is implied to be chubby, Sunday is really mean in his part, Moze is gentle, hair pulling, reader licking jing yuans cheek, spanking, nipple play & hair pulling. /ᐠ > ˕ <マ

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 note : art banner is by rororo_mg on X! also not proof read.

＠ 𝒥ℐ𝒩𝒢 𝒴𝒰𝒜𝒩！

Jing Yuan had always known you were sensitive—his little kitty was always so easy to tease, so quick to melt under his touch. But tonight, he was learning just how sensitive you really were.

Your tail flicked wildly, ears twitching as he held you down, his cock stretching you open in a way that left you breathless. You were on your stomach, legs trembling as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with slow, deep thrusts. He was deliberate, as always, testing your reactions, watching your body shiver beneath him.

“Mm, you’re soaking me,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement as he rolled his hips into you. His fingers slid down between your thighs, pressing against your clit in lazy circles, making you whimper. “Are you getting this worked up just from me fucking you?”

You nodded desperately, but that wasn’t enough for him. A sharp slap landed on your ass, making you jolt. “Use your words, little one.”

“Y-Yes! ‘S too much, Yuan—feels s’good!” you mewled, your hands clawing at the sheets, your back arching to push yourself closer to him.

Jing Yuan chuckled, leaning down, his breath warm against your ear. “Good. Let it take over, kitten.” His pace quickened, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, until the wet sounds of your pussy filled the room.

And then—oh. Oh, something felt different. Your body tensed, a sudden, overwhelming pressure building low in your belly. It made your toes curl, your tail fluff up, your ears flatten as you gasped. “Y-Yuan, ‘m—s-something—”

He noticed immediately, his movements slowing just a little, teasing. “Something what, hm?”

You whined, shaking your head. You didn’t know what was happening—you just knew it was too much. “C-Can’t—gonna—!”

The coil snapped.

Your whole body jerked as the pressure burst, a wave of intense pleasure crashing through you. Heat flooded your core, and suddenly, you were gushing, clear liquid dripping down your thighs, soaking his cock, the sheets, everything.

Jing Yuan stilled for a moment, watching with wide, golden eyes as you squirted around him, your pussy pulsing erratically. And then, he groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, before fucking you through it, making you ride out every wave of your pleasure. “Ah, my little kitten is full of surprises,” he mused, voice teasing yet utterly proud.

You were trembling, panting, your body still twitching as you turned your head, eyes hazy. Instinctively, you leaned up and dragged your tongue over his cheek, nuzzling into him, a soft, dazed purr rumbling from your chest. “Mm… Jing Yuan…”

His hand came up to pet your head, fingers running through your hair, soothing you even as he continued to thrust, chasing his own high. “So cute,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But don’t think we’re done just yet, little one. Now that I know you can do that…”

He smirked.

“You’ll do it again for me, won’t you?”

＠ ℳ𝒴𝒟ℰℐℳ𝒪𝒮！

Mydei had always loved breaking you down—loved watching the way your body trembled under his touch, how easily you melted when he took control. And right now, you were a mess beneath him, arms weak as you tried to keep yourself up, plush thighs spread wide, your ass pressed against his hips as he fucked you from behind.

“You’re dripping all over me, pretty,” he rasped, voice thick with amusement. His hands gripped your plush hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as he dragged you back onto his cock, making you take every inch. “This needy already?”

Your tail flicked, ears twitching at the teasing lilt in his voice. You were panting, your body bouncing with each rough thrust, the lewd squelch of your soaked pussy filling the air. Your nipples tingled, heavy tits swaying with every movement, and then—smack!

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as Mydei’s hand landed on your chest, slapping your tits without warning. The sting sent a jolt straight to your clit, and you clenched around his cock, whining.

“Oh?” His chuckle was smug, fingers pinching your hardened nipples, rolling them between his fingers. “You like that, don’t you?” Another slap to your tit, then another, your sensitive skin left tingling, burning with pleasure. “Look at you, dripping even more just from this.”

You buried your face into the sheets, moaning helplessly as he played with your tits, tugging at your nipples while he kept fucking you, each thrust pushing you further into mindless bliss. His other hand snaked down between your thighs, rough fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, making your body jolt.

“F-Fuck—” Your voice was shaky, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your thighs quivered, that familiar, overwhelming pressure building deep in your core. You couldn’t hold it back—you couldn’t.

Mydei knew it, too. He could feel the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your breath hitched, body tensing like you were about to snap. “Go on,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “Let go for me, kitty.”

And you did.

Your back arched, mouth falling open as the pressure burst, liquid gushing from your pussy, soaking his cock, his hand, the sheets. Your vision blurred, pleasure crashing through you in waves, your body trembling under the force of it.

Mydei groaned, watching with dark, hungry eyes as you squirted all over him, his fingers still working your clit, dragging out every last bit of your orgasm. “So fucking messy,” he muttered, smirking as he gave your ass a sharp slap. “You gonna do that for me again?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was moving again, hips snapping forward, fucking you even harder.

“Good,” he murmured, voice full of wicked amusement. “I’m not done with you yet, kitty.”

Mydei didn’t give you time to recover. The moment your body slumped forward, spent and trembling from your orgasm, he yanked you back up, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Don't go all weak on me now, kitty,” he purred, wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging, forcing your back to arch. The sting sent a shiver down your spine, making your pussy clench around his cock, still stuffed deep inside you. “You can take more, can't you?”

You whimpered, barely able to form words, but that wasn’t the answer he wanted. His grip tightened, pulling your head back further, exposing your throat to him. “Say it.”

“Y-Yeah…” you gasped, voice breathy, needy. “I can—ah! I can take it!”

He chuckled, pleased, and rewarded you by rolling his hips deeper, his cock pressing against that sweet spot that had you seeing stars. His free hand slid up your body, over the curve of your plush belly, before wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

The pressure was intoxicating. His fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, cutting off just enough air to make your head feel light, your body even more sensitive. The lack of oxygen made every thrust, every slap of his hips against your ass, ten times more intense. Your pussy clenched tighter around him, your thighs shaking as pleasure coiled deep inside you again.

“Mm, look at you,” Mydei murmured, his voice thick with amusement. His grip tightened just a little more, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You get even tighter when I do this—such a filthy little thing.”

Your body was on fire, heat pooling in your belly, your clit throbbing as his cock dragged against your sweet spot over and over again. You could barely breathe, barely think—your world had narrowed down to him, to the rough grip in your hair, the hand around your throat, the brutal pace of his thrusts.

And then his fingers dipped down to your clit again, rubbing rough, messy circles over the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight through you. Your moans were broken, choked, your body trembling uncontrollably as another orgasm rushed over you.

The moment the pressure burst, you gushed, a fresh wave of liquid squirting out of you, drenching his cock, the sheets, your thighs. Your body convulsed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you cried out, overwhelmed.

“Fuck,” Mydei groaned, his own pace stuttering as he watched you fall apart again, utterly ruined. He let go of your throat, letting you gasp for air, but his grip on your hair didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled even —even harder, forcing your back to arch impossibly deep as he chased his own high.

“You just keep making a mess, huh?” Mydei groaned, his voice thick with lust, watching the way your body twitched from overstimulation. His cock was still buried inside you, stretching your dripping pussy as you clenched around him. His grip in your hair was relentless, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, while his free hand delivered a sharp slap to your ass. “So fucking greedy, squirting all over me like a desperate little thing.”

You could barely breathe, could barely think—your whole body was trembling, your thighs quivering from how hard he was fucking you. Your head spun from the mix of pain and pleasure, from the lingering pressure around your throat, from the way his cock dragged against your sweet spot with every brutal thrust.

Your moans were wrecked, broken, tears threatening to spill down your flushed cheeks. But Mydei wasn’t done yet. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “You’re not tapping out on me now, are you, kitty?”

You shook your head weakly, your voice coming out in a choked whimper. “N-No…”

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers slipping down to rub your swollen clit again, sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you. “Then come for me one more time.

It wasn’t a request—it was an order. And your body obeyed, even as it burned from overstimulation. Your vision blurred, the pressure in your belly snapping again, your walls fluttering around him as another gush of slick dripped down your thighs.

“That's it,” Mydei groaned, his grip on your hair finally loosening as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. A deep growl tore from his throat as he came, filling you up with thick, hot spurts, his hips jerking against yours. He let out a satisfied sigh, his hands smoothing over your trembling body as he finally slowed.

You slumped forward, completely wrecked, panting as you tried to catch your breath. Mydei chuckled, trailing his fingers over your ass, down to your dripping cunt. “Messy thing,” he murmured, pushing his cum deeper with two fingers, making you whimper. “Hope you didn’t think we were done. I'm not letting you off that easy.”

Even as you trembled, spent and overstimulated, you knew you were in for a long night.

＠ 𝒫ℋ𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒪𝒩！

Phainon's hands gripped your plush thighs tightly, guiding you as you bounced on his cock. His sharp blue eyes were locked onto you, drinking in the way your tits jiggled with every movement, the way your soft stomach tensed when he thrust up into you.

“You look perfect like this,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. His hands pressed into your skin, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you who was in control. “Taking me so well, riding me like you were made for it.”

Your thighs burned, but the pleasure outweighed everything. His cock stretched you so deep, rubbing against that perfect spot with every bounce, sending electric jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your hands clutched his chest for support, fingers digging into the smooth, otherworldly skin as you whimpered.

Phainon groaned, tilting his head back as your walls fluttered around him, sucking him in greedily. “You're so fucking wet,” he muttered, one hand sliding up to grab your tits, squeezing roughly before flicking your sensitive nipples. “Look at this—“ His other hand dipped between your thighs, fingers rubbing fast, messy circles on your clit.

A sharp cry left your lips, your body jerking at the overwhelming sensation. “P-Phai—!”

He smirked at your desperation, fingers never slowing. “You gonna come for me, pretty thing?” His hips snapped up, thrusting deeper just as he pinched your nipple, pushing you right over the edge.

Your body tensed, back arching as your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clamping down around his cock. Your vision blurred, breath hitching as pleasure consumed you. But Phainon didn't stop—he kept fucking into you, riding out your high, dragging you into overstimulation.

“That's it,” he growled, watching as you trembled, your juices dripping down onto his thighs. “You're milking me so fucking good—” His grip on your hips tightened, holding you down as he thrust up one last time, burying himself deep inside.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he came, filling you up with thick, hot spurts. His claws pressed into your skin as he held you there, making sure you took everything, making sure his cum stayed deep inside.

Your body slumped forward, completely spent, forehead resting against his shoulder as you panted. Phainon chuckled, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Not done yet, sweet thing,” he murmured, rolling his hips just enough to make you whimper. “You can give me another, can't you?”

Even as exhaustion weighed on you, you knew there was no escaping him—not when he still wanted more.

＠ ℳ𝒪𝒵ℰ！

Moze's hands were gentle as they rested on your hips, guiding you down on his cock slowly, making sure you were comfortable. His purple eyes stayed on you, calm but filled with something deeper, something hungry.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice soft but thick with desire. “Take your time, yeah?”

You nodded, breath shaky as you slowly sank all the way down, feeling his cock fill you up. It stretched you in all the right ways, and you could feel your pussy clenching around him, warm and tight.

“Feels s’ good,” you gasped, your hips lifting, starting to ride him, moving up and down at your own pace.

Moze groaned softly, his hands on your waist, guiding you just enough. “So tight, so perfect for me,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin, as his purple eyes stared at you.

His movements were slow, controlled, making you feel every inch of him as he slid in and out. Your pussy tightened around him with each thrust, and you couldn’t help but moan louder, the pleasure building up inside you.

“Ah... Moze,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as your pace picked up. “S’ good.”

Moze’s breath hitched as you started bouncing faster, his hands tightening on your hips. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. His hands slid up to your chest, fingers brushing over your soft tits before gently squeezing. “Sensitive, huh?”

You whimpered, biting your lip as your body trembled. “Mm-hm,” you mumbled, not able to form much more than that. The pressure in your stomach was building fast.

Moze let out a low growl, his cock pushing deeper, his thrusts getting a little harder, a little more urgent. “Come on, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

And that’s when it hit—your body clenched tightly around him, and you squirted, liquid rushing out of you as your walls spasmed. You cried out, your back arching as the orgasm washed over you.

Moze's eyes widened, shocked by how you gushed all over him. “Fuck, sweetheart...” He panted, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. “You— you did that for me?”

His thrusts slowed, but his hands were still tight on your waist, making sure he stayed buried deep inside as he let you ride out the aftershocks.

You nodded, breathless and flushed. “Y-Yeah... all for you.”

Moze chuckled softly, his hand brushing your hair out of your face. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, pulling you close. “You’re amazing.”

His gentle touch made your heart race, and you melted into his arms, your body still trembling from the aftereffects. Moze kissed your forehead, holding you close, his hands soothing as he waited for you to recover.

Moze held you close, his gentle touch still grounding you as the aftershocks of your orgasm faded. You were still panting, your breath coming out in soft, shaky bursts, but the feeling of his arms around you, holding you tight, calmed the storm inside you.

“You're okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his voice soothing. "You did so well.” he smiled softly, while gently scratching your fluffy ears.

You nodded, still too dazed to form many words, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. He was proud of you, and you were feeling that warmth inside you, deep down.

“Moze...” you murmured, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “I— I didn't know I could... do that.” You were still catching your breath, but there was a hint of embarrassment in your voice.

He smiled softly, his hand caressing your cheek. “You’re perfect, sweetheart. Never be embarrassed. You made me proud, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His fingers trailed down to your collarbone, slowly making their way to your chest, his touch so gentle, so tender.

You melted into his touch, feeling his warmth seep into you. It was calming, reassuring. Moze had a way of making you feel safe, loved, as if everything was okay. Even after everything, even after the intensity, he was right there, still gentle, still caring.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked, his voice low, but not pressuring. “I don’t wanna rush you, but if you’re ready... I can take care of you some more.”

You nodded, your confidence returning slowly, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you looked down at him. “Yeah, I want to... I want you.”

Moze chuckled softly, his hands moving back to your hips, guiding you gently as he helped you lift up before slowly lowering you back down onto him, taking his time to make sure everything felt just right. His cock slid in easily, the mix of his cum and your wetness making it feel even more intense.

“You're so good to me,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with need as you started moving again, the pleasure slowly building up again. “I... I want more.”

Moze groaned, his hands firmly on your hips, but his movements were controlled, never forcing, just helping you find your rhythm as you rode him. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on you, taking in every move, every twitch, as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. “Let go, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

With every thrust, every motion, the pleasure grew again, and you couldn’t stop yourself. It was like you were on fire, your body craving more, wanting to feel everything.

And when you came again, your body trembled, your voice breaking as you gasped, Moze groaned in response, his grip tightening as he let out a low, satisfied growl, filling you once more.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing over your shoulder. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. I love you.”

You smiled softly, your body still humming from the aftershocks of your orgasm. “I love you too, Moze.”

You stayed in each other’s arms for a long time after, savoring the quiet intimacy, the connection that felt like it could last forever.

＠ 𝒮𝒰𝒩𝒟𝒜𝒴！

Your face was hot, burning from the mix of pleasure and humiliation, but Sunday didn’t care. He never did. The way he handled you—like you were nothing more than a desperate, needy thing beneath him—only made the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Such a filthy little kitten,” he sneered, one hand tangled in your curls, yanking your head back so you couldn’t escape his gaze. His other hand cracked down against your ass, making you jolt, a whimper breaking past your swollen lips. “Think you deserve to be treated nice? After making all these messes on me?”

You barely had the chance to answer before he spanked you again, harder this time, the sting spreading through your body in sharp, electric pulses. Your tail flicked wildly, ears twitching as you squirmed beneath him.

“P-please,” you gasped, voice breaking as another hit landed.

Sunday only chuckled, deep and cruel, his gloved fingers trailing down to where you were soaked, dripping against him. He tsked. “Begging like you got any right to. You’re already so ruined, kitten. Just look at you.”

You couldn’t. Your head was spinning, body trembling from the way he forced you down, made you take every ruthless movement, every sharp pull and teasing squeeze against your throat. His grip tightened just enough to steal your breath, his lips ghosting over your ear. His cock thrusting deep into your pussy.

“What is it, huh?” he murmured, mockingly sweet. “Is it too much? Or do you like being used like this?”

You barely managed a whine, but something about the way he touched you, the way he bullied your body into submission, your walls clenching around his thick cock, had you unraveling faster than ever before. The pressure inside you coiled unbearably tight, different from any other time—hotter, messier, overwhelming.

“S-Sunday,” you gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your hips stuttering as a wave of heat built impossibly high. “S’ somethin’—feels—”

Sunday clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “Use your words, kitten.”

“C-can’t,” you slurred, barely able to think. “‘S too much—!”

And then it snapped.

The pleasure crashed into you, ripping through your body like a live wire. Your vision blurred as a helpless cry spilled from your lips, and before you could even process it, you were gushing, soaking everything beneath you. It was messy, uncontrollable, unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

Sunday froze. Just for a second. Then his sharp, breathy laughter filled the air, laced with something dark and thrilled.

“Well, well,” he mused, his grip on your hair tightening as he forced you to face the soaked sheets beneath you. “Didn’t know my little pet could do that.” His free hand slid down, fingers swiping through the evidence of your shame before delivering another sharp slap against your ass, making you yelp. “You’re so fucking desperate, you don’t even know what your own body can do, huh?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your body still trembling, too overstimulated to think straight. You tried to bury your face in the sheets, but Sunday wasn’t having it.

“Nuh-uh. No hiding from me now,” he growled, his palm cracking against your skin once more, sending another jolt of pleasure straight through your core. “You made a mess, kitten. You better get ready to clean it up.”

You were still shaking, thighs twitching from the aftershocks, but Sunday didn’t let up. If anything, your mess only seemed to amuse him more.

“Didn’t even know you could do that, huh?” he taunted, fingers trailing down to press against the soaked sheets beneath you before dragging them back up along your trembling thighs. “Poor, dumb kitten. What, did you think I’d let you off easy just ‘cause you made a mess?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pushing you back down, forcing your body to take everything he gave you. His cock throbbed against you, still buried deep, still relentless as he picked up his pace again, making you jolt with every sharp movement.

“N-no—can’t—” you whimpered, but Sunday only laughed, his grip tightening around your throat as he shoved your face into the soaked sheets.

“Don’t tell me you’re already givin’ up,” he mocked, voice dripping with condescension. “You wanted this, didn’t you? So take it.”

A choked gasp was all you managed, your body burning from the overstimulation, every nerve alight with the lingering aftershocks of what he’d forced out of you. It was too much—too sensitive—but Sunday didn’t care. He grinned at the way your body trembled, at the way you tried and failed to push against his grip.

“Look at you,” he murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “So fuckin’ desperate. So messy. You really are just my stupid little pet, huh?”

His hand slid down, past your stomach, fingers toying with your sensitive clit in cruel little circles, sending another helpless shudder through your body. You sobbed against the sheets, hips jerking involuntarily as the sensation sent another wave of unbearable heat through you.

Sunday only smirked. “What’s wrong? Too much for you?” His hips snapped forward, making you cry out. “Too bad, kitten. We’re not done until I say we are.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[ds-angel1]

dealer!rafe x brainwashed!reader

cw: mention of SMUT(18+), drugs and pills, rafe lowkey runs her life (and i need that(so so bad))

a/n: drabble that i literally got from a dream (if anyone has done something like this before and i´ve just forgotten, credits to them(can never trust my dreams))

Dealer!Rafe didn’t mean to keep you. Not at first at least.

The first time he saw you, it was supposed to be nothing. Another night, another party, another girl too pretty for her good. Your denim shorts rode too high on your thighs, a spaghetti strap slipping from your shoulder like an invitation, and you looked at him like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you had the slightest clue.

You didn’t.

He figured you’d be an easy score, a quick sell, a quicker fuck, someone to forget by morning. But then you pushed through the crowd, all honeyed laughter and half-lidded eyes, and asked him what he had. Not shy, not hesitant, but like you belonged in this world like you’d done this before.

Like you already belonged to him.

He should’ve known then. Should’ve clocked the way his pulse jumped when your fingers brushed his palm, the way his breath caught when you bit your lip, pupils already blown wide. But it wasn’t until you tossed back the pills without a second thought, no caution, no questions, that he realized what you were. Perfect.

It was a game. A pretty girl with a reckless streak, someone eager and pliant beneath him, high off whatever he fed you. But then he started learning things. About the mess you called home, the way you barely scraped by. How you were always searching, always aching for something just out of reach.

That’s when the idea took root.

Rafe could take care of you. Fix you. Own you.

So he reeled you in, slow and deliberate. He made sure you only bought from him, made sure the come-downs hit just hard enough that you came back, eyes wide and desperate. And when you started spending more time in his bed than your own, when your things started showing up at his place, one shirt, then a toothbrush, then a drawer full of clothes, you never even realized it was happening.

Until it was too late.

Until you needed him.

The day you moved in, there was no discussion, no formal agreement. Just a slow suffocation disguised as safety. He watched as you set your bags down, as your fate sealed itself with the quiet click of the door shutting behind you.

That’s when the rules became clear.

"Act up, and you get nothing," he told you, voice smooth, patient. Like he was doing you a favor. "No, ‘m serious, baby. You wanna misbehave? Then no blow. No pills. Nothin’."

And it worked.

Because when you were good, when you melted for him, hazy and pliant, when your lips parted on soft, gasping pleas when you stared up at him so far gone you barely remembered your name. Letting him do whatever his sick mind desired.

He controlled everything about you. Well he called it “takin’ care of my sweet girl.” He chose what you ate, what you wore, where you went. His own little doll.

He’d won. You were his and followed his every order, and he fucking loved it. He could turn you into a pliant free use puddle with only a few pills and puffs of whatever shit he was smoking, letting him fuck you so hard you were either almost sober or almost seizing.

Sure, your quality of life had declined rapidly since you’d met your so called “savour”, but you had structure and you had “love”. A sick, twisted, manipulative version of it, but when you were high off your mind and half naked in his bed you were able to convince yourself it was love.

[rmview]

hard to handle | san, m.

summary: san, a cocky boxer with a notorious temper, meets his match in his resilient physiotherapist who refuses to quit despite his antics. he does a good job keeping you at a distance, but during a playful bout, unintentional feelings surface and cause things to get a little physical.

pairing: boxer!choi san x physiotherapist f!reader

genre: boxing!au, pwp, tension, smut

words: 4.2k words

warnings: explicit & messy & unprotected sex, mean!san, cocky dom!san, big cock!san, sub!reader, size kink, pinning/restraining, teasing, clothed grinding, biting, praise, marking, fingering, clit play, orgasm control, edging, handjob, penetrative sex, choking, tears, creampie, almost public sex (?) and voyeurism themes — they’re in a public room with the door unlocked, interruptions.

minors do not interact! | masterlist | more ateez content

“you’re not allowed to quit.”

the words came sharp and sudden, slicing through the air with the same precision san delivered in the ring. you froze mid-stretch, hands stilling over his sore leg. slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, confused by the uncharacteristic weight in his tone.

“…okay,” you replied cautiously, trying to gauge his mood.

san’s brow furrowed deeper, and the irritation etched across his face didn’t waver. “coach kim told me you were planning to leave,” he pressed, voice edged with something almost accusatory.

you blinked, letting his words settle. with how insistent and demanding san was, it wouldn’t have surprised you if that rumor had sprouted legs and started running. after all, you weren’t the first physiotherapist to step into this circus — and judging by the quick turnover before you, most had found the door far more inviting than the job.

but you stayed.

why? it wasn’t some deep-seated need to prove yourself or a traumatic past molding you into a masochist. no, it was simpler than that: the paycheck was solid, and once you learned to see past san’s gruff exterior and insufferable tendencies, he was just… tolerable. like dealing with an overgrown five-year-old throwing tantrums in the body of a professional fighter.

“well, coach is wrong,” you said, shrugging as you resumed your careful movements on his leg. your voice was calm, steady, not betraying the flicker of amusement rising in you at his sudden concern.

but san wasn’t convinced. his dark eyes narrowed as if searching your face for a crack, a lie, a tell.

“he said you’re thinking about it,” he countered, his scowl deepening. “you can’t leave. i need you.”

it wasn’t romantic — far from it. his words came out firm, almost commanding, the way you’d expect from someone used to giving orders. someone used to winning.

still, something about this moment felt different. the commanding façade faltered ever so slightly, and there was a flicker of something raw in his voice. vulnerability, maybe? you weren’t sure. but it was there, buried under the frustration, and you couldn’t ignore it.

what was his deal? what was it about the idea of you leaving that got under his skin?

you paused again, letting your hands rest gently on his leg as you glanced up. his expression hadn’t softened, but you could see the edges weren’t as sharp. your lips twitched, a small smile creeping in despite yourself.

“are you sure coach kim wasn’t just teasing you?” you asked, your tone light as you tried to ease the tension. “you know, considering your, er, personality? because honestly, i haven’t thought about leaving.” even though it’s the saner option, you thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

san huffed, leaning back against the mat, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked at you for a long moment, his jaw clenching before he finally spoke. “are you calling me a problem?” his voice was low, sharp, and cold enough to send a chill down your spine.

your breath hitched as his piercing gaze locked onto you, unrelenting and unreadable. his tone alone made your stomach twist, but it was the way his leg pulled away from your hands that had you stiffening. the dismissal in his actions was clear — he didn’t want you there.

“i…” you faltered, feeling the weight of his words press against you. “of course not, san. you’re not the problem.”

your voice was soft, careful, an attempt to diffuse the tension. but his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, signaling that your words did little to soothe his frustration.

“then leave,” he snapped, turning his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest like a fortress. “i don’t need you.”

his dismissal stung more than you’d like to admit, but you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your tone hushed but steady, a small smile twitching on your lips. “i enjoy working with you too much.”

he scoffed, his lips curling into a mean sneer. “don’t bother lying, princess, you’re terrible at it.”

his words were biting, but the way he leaned slightly closer didn’t go unnoticed. he was testing you, waiting for you to crack under the weight of his intimidation.

“i’m not lying, i wasn’t lying.” you whispered, shaking your head. “just teasing…”

“well, stop it,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave. the air around you grew heavier as he glared at you. “it’s annoying. i don’t like it.”

“i know,” you murmured, your voice almost playful as you reached out, lightly brushing your fingers against his arm. “but that’s exactly why i do it. you’re kind of… cute when you’re like this.”

his eye twitched at your words, and the next thing you knew, he moved. with one swift motion, he shoved you back against the couch, his body towering over yours. his knee pressed into the cushion beside your hip, locking you in place, while his other hand braced against the armrest, boxing you in completely.

the weight of his presence stole the air from your lungs as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours. the glint in his eyes was sharp, teasing yet dangerous, and his lips curled into a sneer that sent a shiver down your spine.

“cute?” he repeated, his tone mocking as he pinned your wrists above your head. his grip was firm but not enough to hurt, though the dominance in his posture had your heart pounding.

you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny. “san…” you started, but your voice faltered.

he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “do you think you’re immune to being kicked to the curb just because you’ve been here the longest?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with warning.

your lips parted, a soft laugh escaping despite the way your body trembled under his. every part of you that he touched sent sparks flying through your veins, down your spine and between your legs. “you’d never. i’m your favorite,” you whispered, trying to mask your flustered state with a teasing edge, your words holding truth.

his expression hardened, but he didn’t pull away. instead, his grip on your wrists tightened slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “you wish,” he scoffed, though the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him. that and the subtle twitch of his cock in his shorts that you definitely felt from how you froze.

you weren’t sure whether to feel thrilled or terrified, but one thing was certain: you were treading dangerous waters, and san didn’t look like he was about to let you off easy.

“...this is a very risky, er, position,” you choked out softly, voice slightly strained. your gaze flickered between his narrowed brown eyes, to the door of the break room that you both were in, it’s door unlocked. your thighs rubbed together almost unknowingly and you resisted the urge to squirm. you were trapped.

“mhm.” san hummed dismissively, his gaze not leaving you. every twitch in your expression was noticed by him, especially the growing warmth on your cheeks and ears, that made him smirk. “and?”

“and coach could walk in...” you cleared your throat, mind fogging and something in the pit of your stomach clenching. you couldn’t imagine the look on the old man’s face if he walked in and saw you under the star fighter you were supposed to be healing. “it would be embarrassing.”

san chuckled, and your gaze snapped to his. it was mocking and you shivered — from fear or arousal, you didn’t know. “why? we aren’t doing anything... yet.”

“yet?” your heartbeat was wild, throbbing in your ears. you were sure san could hear it. if he was being so mean, he definitely could and was taking advantage of how meek you were. he knew you could never say no to him, not that you wanted to. “what do you — mmpf!”

the next thing you knew, you felt a tongue slipping past your lips, swirling inside your mouth. your breath was stolen from you, and with his free hand, san grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them to the couch, using his body to keep you in place.

it was a sloppy and dominating kiss. he explored and claimed every part of your mouth without pulling away. his body pressed against yours, and the kiss slowly grew more heated. his hand wandered down your sides, squeezing them softly for a moment before he pulled away from your lips, breaths mingled.

san studied your expression, eyes still narrowed in a cold glare. he smirked at how out of breath and dazed you looked, and pushed his knee between your thighs to part your legs. you were practically shaking and san didn’t even do anything yet.

“stupid.” he mutters out, tone rough and husky. leaning down to your neck, san began sucking on the sweet spot under your jaw that made you squeak.

his body pressed against you, almost uncomfortably, and you were practically trapped underneath him. your wrists were still pinned down, and you were hyperaware of every ridge and pane of his body on top of your curves. his broad chest, beefy arms, strong thighs and hard cock were suffocating you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“you’re so stupid and cute, i could eat you right now.” he rasped, lifting his head to look down at you. his face was inches from your own. san looked obsessed.

you shivered at the unusual glint in his piercing glare, his smirk almost evil and you flushed. “eat me?”

“every last bit.” his voice was rough. a stark contrast to his actions. his hands would rub up and down your sides gently, his face still close.

a low and sensual growl spilled from between his lips as he kissed you again, lips rougher. he brought one of his hands up to thread into the hair at the base of your neck, tilting your head so he could have more access to your lips. his arm wrapped around your waist, tugging your body as close to him as possible.

everything was fine — as fine as san eating your face off could be — until you felt something long and hard press right against your clothed clit. “ngh... san!”

he merely chuckled against your lips, sharp teeth tugging your bottom lip, and then smoothing the sting with his warm tongue. “what?”

“i’m...” you started, but were unable to continue, gasping when you felt his hips grind against yours once more. small sparks shot from your clit to your spine, and you arched softly, voice a pitch higher. your pussy clenched around nothing. “...sensitive.”

“i know.” san groaned in your neck, and you felt his thick fingers of his free hand undo the drawstrings on your uniform scrubs. he silenced any of your gasps with another kiss, slipping his fingers into the front of your pants to push past your panties. you barely had time to register his next actions, until you felt the rough pads of his calloused fingers run over your quivering clit and folds.

your wrists were still held down with one of his hands as you moaned shakily, eyes squeezing shut. you felt san’s long fingers smear your slick all over the folds of your cunt, cursing lowly under his breath.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he exhaled, his fingers circling your swollen clit and making you twitch. the feel of you writhing under him, feeling you squirm and hearing you moan, it only made san want more. he leaned down, his lips on your neck, nipping and sucking as he slipped a digit into your pulsing pussy, feeling your tight walls clench around him. “fuck.”

san gritted his teeth and, his body trembled with restraint.

“san... ah...” you squirmed softly as you felt his fingers pump and prod your spongy walls, gushing wetness the longer he stretched out your cunt. your eyes were glazed, and your arousal was dripping down his knuckles the longer he curled and scissored you open on the couch. “we... we shouldn’t be doing this.”

the sounds of your pretty voice, the feeling of your hips moving against his hand, the soft moans and gasps — san was losing himself in you. he added another finger, feeling the heat of your cunt around his digits, wanting to hear those sweet sounds of yours. “oh?”

“t-the door... it’s unlocked.” it was a miracle you could still think from how deliciously he played your cunt, but your ears were still hyperaware of the faint yells and sounds of sparring from the main gym. you throbbed around his fingers, almost in fear of being caught.

san grunted, reaching as deep as he could with the tips of his fingers before slowly pulling the digits out, and glancing down to see the way his skin glistened with your juices. “doesn’t matter.”

“but...” “but nothing.” san scoffed and sat back on his knees, undoing his shorts and pushing the cloth down along with his boxers so his hard cock sprung out. the veiny length was twitching and leaking precum from the angry red tip, and your flushed gaze was drawn to the sight while you rubbed your sore wrists. he used your slick smeared on his fingers to pump his hard cock, taking in the sight of you panting and sprawled half-naked on the break room sofa, thighs parted and folds glistening. “the only one coming in this room is you.”

your gaze met his smirking one and you tried to scowl softly, propping yourself up on your elbows shakily. “very funny.”

“i’m not done with you, princess.” san crawled back over you, pushing his face in your neck to nip at that spot that made you squirm, shifting between your legs.

you were so tired of him toying with you that you reached out to grasp his cock with your hands, experimentally stroking the hard length. your fingers couldn’t even wrap fully around the girth of his thick shaft, but that didn’t stop you. san let out a choked groan, his teeth gripping the flesh of your neck as you flicked your wrist at an agonizingly slow pace.

it was your first time fisting a cock and your hands were almost shaking. yet you loved the feeling of the large man practically turning into jelly above you from a few strokes. it only motivated you to try and squeeze tighter, pumping up and down, as your flustered gaze met his weak one. san was still trying to keep up his facade, but not for long.

san couldn’t hold back any longer. “that’s enough!” he hissed weakly, smacking your hand away and pulling you to lie back down on the couch, while he positioned the bulbous head of his thick cock at your entrance. “no more playing around.”

san was looking down at you, his eyes dark and focused, his body trembling with restraint that was held by a thread. he was so tightly wound and needed to cum now, before he actually lost it.

“o-okay...” your clit throbbed as he rubbed his cock against your wet folds a few times. your eyes were almost hazy from pleasure, and you pawed at the leather of the couch for stability. suddenly san couldn’t hold back any longer.

he grabbed one of your legs, to rest it over his shoulder, and pushed it up before he leaned over you, his body hovering above yours as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck. san’s hand gripped one of the small throw pillows for a moment, moving it underneath your hips, and then he slowly started to push his cock forward into your entrance.

as he sunk his thick shaft into your cunt inch by inch, the feeling of you clenching around him, the feeling of your breath catching in your throat, the way your body shook at the slow bottoming out — san’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

he grunted through his gritted teeth, his hand leaving the pillow by your hip to reach up and grasp your wrist, to hold it down again. san looked down at your face, his hips rocking slowly at first to get a feel of stretching out your small stretchy cunt, as his words came in short bursts. “god… ah… just like that…”

“san...” your voice was a soft breathless whimper, the sight of him above you making you quiver and clench more. all your dazed eyes could see was a beefy and sweaty san on top of you, jaw clenched and grunting, and you nearly came on the spot. “y-you... you... i hate you.”

he sight of you below him, so docile, flushed and soft, made his chest swell with something, his lips pulling into a slow mocking grin. “yeah?”

san was so desperate, so fucking hard at the thought of claiming you all night, to mark you and keep you under him. you had no idea how much he needed you. how could you, when he’d never said a word?

your cunt was so tight and warm. like nothing he’d ever had, or imagined in his long showers after training, eyes closed and fisting his cock for a quick release while he wished it was your cunt milking him instead. now, having you under him for real felt like a fever dream, and san’s hips had a mind of their own from the way his thrusts started to pick up pace.

“yeah.” your breath hitched softly, already forgetting your previous train of thought from the way san’s hips angled. the tip of his cock continued to repeatedly bully the spongy sensitive spot in you, making you see stars. “you’re so mean to me... all the time... a-and... and...”

you trailed off, eyes squeezing shut softly as you nearly found yourself cumming all over his cock. san was close too, and he just needed a few more thrusts before —

knock, knock.

fuck.

both you and san froze, and for a moment you felt your soul leave your body. whoever it was, could just twist the knob of the unlocked door and see you sprawled under san, with your leg over his shoulder, and his cock buried ten inches deep in your cervix.

“san, sparring practice in ten minutes!” coach kim called out cheerily from behind the door, unaware.

“we’ll be out soon.” san’s voice rumbled, and your wide-eyed gaze snapped to him, clenching almost in fear. san felt the twitch of your walls and glanced down at you, something almost evil lighting up in his eyes. “doc is still busy working on my bad leg, aren’t you doc?”

the color drained from your face when you felt san’s hips resume their thrusts, and you almost fearfully tried to push him away. shaking your head, you tried to stop him and whisper-yell, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to say a word without moaning shakily, so you stayed silent. something neither san, nor coach would let you do.

“is everything okay in there, doc?” coach kim asked, as you squirmed under san, his large palm holding your hip in place under him, and your ankle in place over his shoulder. his thrusts were still quick, aimed to make you and himself cum as soon as possible, whether coach walked in or not.

“answer him.” san’s lips brushed against your ear as he whispered hotly, smug. “you don’t want him to — fuck — come in, would you?”

it was hard to gather the courage to speak without screaming, especially when you opened your mouth, and the asshole above you took that as the exact moment to decide to rub your clit, coughing softly to disguise your noises. “i, uh, — ngh — we’ll be coming! in sometime... just... go on, coach... no need to — stop that! — wait up!”

you blurted between whimpers, trying to swat san’s wandering hands away as he pinched and rubbed all sensitive spots on your body, even dipping down to bite at your clothed nipples. you were still on edge as coach could walk in anytime, but that didn’t bother san. if fact, his hips pistoned into your cervix at a mind-numbing pace, all thoughts blown from your mind.

“you heard the man,” san grunted in your ear. his smooth skin was drenched in sweat, slight red marks left on his shoulders from your nails, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. “we have five minutes to finish.”

you let out a strangled noise when you felt the sudden onslaught of stimulation, his large palms grasping your hips as he fucked you hard. guiding your hips to match his, san made sure his hips were angled to fuck right up into your womb, smirking to himself when he noticed the slight outline of his cock bulging from your stomach. “t-there’s no way... that we can f-finish... in 5 minutes...”

“you wanna bet?” san rasped, forcing his mouth on yours, kissing you deep and slow, his own grunts and sighs barely muffled by his lips. san could feel you tightening around him, hear the breathy, soft pants coming from your lips.

how could he hold himself back when you responded so eagerly?

san pulled his lips away to look down at you, his hand leaving your leg to grasp at your throat, his calloused thumb resting on your jaw, and his grip firm. you looked so good under him like this.

“that’s it, princess,” san groaned, his hips pushing forward, his voice uneven from all the pleasure. he didn’t think he’d last the next 30 seconds, let alone 5 minutes.

but he wouldn’t cum before you. that would almost be insulting, making sure to use his free hand to fondle your swollen clit, bringing you to finish as soon as him.

“san!” you cried out, already feeling your release building. you tried to bite at your knuckles to keep yourself quiet and muffle all the whimpers and gasps that could reach outside the room. your nails dug into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut.

both of you were so close, san’s hips moving more erratically, and your body losing control. your voice was choked and a pitch higher, every noise you made streaming into soft sobs, tears blurring your eyes. you felt too good. “san... i’m gonna...”

san could feel your body trembling, your breathing getting shallower, and when you spoke, it only made him feel closer. he panted, his breath coming out in hot, uneven puffs, his nose rubbing against yours, his hand on your throat tightening.

“go on… squeeze that cunt of yours tight… i’m almost done.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, and when you squeezed so beautifully for him, san lost himself.

he came with a strangled groan, his movements stuttering, his hand squeezing on your throat for a moment. his eyes squeezed shut as white hot pleasure coursed through his veins, his mind blanking out and ears ringing. for a few moments, he thought he saw the pearly white gates of heaven, as he unsteadily pumped ropes after ropes of his hot cum into your pussy.

you could feel your insides being painted white while san grunted curses under his breath, the hot seed almost burning your walls. he made sure to thrust a few more times so his cum filled your insides snugly, fucking it deeper.

your overstimulated whimpers were what bought san back to reality, the ringing in his ears fading as he looked down at you, disheveled and naked waist down, his cock still buried deep in your cunt.

he was momentarily distracted by the sight of your puffy folds wrapped around the base of his cock, a creamy ring of cum around his shaft. he felt himself twitch, just barely suppressing the urge to fold you in a mating press and take you again.

“still hate me?” his voice was slightly strained. san couldn’t find it in himself to pull out yet. his gaze flickered down to your disheveled shirt stretched over your chest, and he couldn’t help but grasp your breast and squeeze. he’d play with them next time.

you were too out of breath to reply or swat his hand away, exhaling shakily as you slowly got down from your high. “i’m still deciding.” you needed a moment, or ten, to get your thoughts in order. “and you didn’t finish in 5 minutes, you took 8.”

“whatever.” san chuckled, nipping your cheek playfully.

he slowly pulled out, his muscles tired. but he wasn’t fast enough. because the next thing you knew, there was a soft click, and the two of you didn’t even have time to freeze, before the break room door swung open.

“san, you little shit, you’re late for — what the fuck!?”

author note: my first smut fic, yay! if this sounds familiar to you, it’s because this plot is heavily inspired by the love of my life, joo jaekyung from the bl manhwa jinx (he’s the best guy around)! please do interact and tell me what you think! also, i made the banner myself so pls show some love if you think it looks nice :3

tag list: @tsukisrants ; @dawn-iscozy ; @vixensss

[burningembers91]

On Display - The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to Freak of Nature

Synopsis: When you break your routine, the Salesman is forced to break his.

A/N: I'm still not sure how dark I want this to be. I mean, he's obviously certifiably insane, but I also want him to retain some likeability.

Warnings: 18+ only, The Salesman is a stalker, the MC has been crying.

Something was off. He sensed it the moment he sat down and spied the empty chair that was usually occupied by your perfect frame. You were never late, and today it was 4:08pm and you were nowhere to be seen. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his molars grinding together as his temples twitched. He didn’t like it when things didn’t go as expected. It was one of the reasons he liked you so much; you were predictable. He knew exactly where you’d be at all times, but today you’d thrown him off his schedule.

You always finished work at 3:30pm sharp. You took 15 minutes to have a catch up with your colleagues, 5 minutes to freshen up in the staff bathroom and then 10 minutes to walk from the school to the coffee house. He’d seen you through the staffroom window, had seen you smile as you spoke to your colleagues. Cursing himself, he adjusted his position on the park bench, smoothing down his grey blazer as he tried to abate his rising anger. He’d had such high hopes for you. You’d done everything exactly the way he'd wanted until today. Of course, you had no idea what it was that he wanted because you had no idea he existed, but that was the beauty of it. He could test you out from afar before deciding whether to approach you. You were so nearly perfect, but today you’d let him down.

He took another look at his watch: 4:11pm. He was a patient man, but even he had his limits. He knew you didn’t have any other plans today. The handy little tracker he’d implanted in your phone one day at the coffee house when you’d been in the bathroom gave him full access to your phone. Your diary was clear, as it always was on a weekday. So where were you? He checked again, staring at your blank calendar as seething rage consumed him. Why, why did you have to break your routine?

His hands began to shake, and he closed his eyes, taking deeps breaths as he counted to ten. Therapy hadn’t been a complete waste of time; he’d learned a few coping mechanisms to help when he felt himself losing control. There had to be an explanation for why you weren’t here. Something must have changed.

Reaching 10, he opened his eyes. And there you were. Your eyes were red, your makeup smudged with tears. You’d been crying. He’d never cried before, could never understand why people did. Nothing in life was worth crying over as far as he was concerned. But something had obviously upset you. Was it your boss? He knew from your work emails that he’d been giving you a hard time. Maybe he needed to pay the man a little visit…

He watched through the window as you dumped your belongings in your usual seat, haphazardly wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands, which only smudged your mascara more. You looked beautiful like this; so vulnerable and soft. He wondered what you sounded like when you cried, whether your sobs were soft and gentle, or whether your body wracked with the tears you shed. He hoped you weren’t an ugly crier; it would be such a shame if you were. He needed to get to the bottom of this, needed to find out who had done this to you.

Picking up his briefcase, he marched into the coffee house. He needed to be careful about how he approached you; the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off. Not after he’d worked so hard to learn everything about you. You were the next in line to order, and he slotted himself behind you with a quiet ease. This was the first time he’d been this close to you, so close he could touch you. The familiar scent of your perfume wrapped him in a comforting blanket. Of course, he’d tracked down the scent and bought himself a bottle, spraying it whenever he couldn’t be near you. You were shorter than him, as he’d expected, but perfect in absolutely every way. He chastised himself for the anger he’d felt for you earlier. Someone else had made you late, had made you cry, and whoever it was would pay.

“One latte please,” you said to the barista, your voice hoarse with tears. He clenched his fist at the sound of your voice, the usual melodic tones now scratchy and gruff. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. “Please.” He stepped forward without thinking, his default smile plastered to his face. “Let me pay.” You looked up at him, your red rimmed eyes filled with confusion. He watched you take in his appearance, watched the tip of your tongue dart out to wet your lips. He fought to control himself as he watched you, wondering how it would feel to for him to do it, to run his tongue over your lips before biting down until you moaned at him to stop.

He coughed, ridding the overly erotic image from his mind. He’d pictured you in a thousand positions, in a thousand different scenarios, but somehow the simple act of you licking your lips had put him into overdrive. He was struggling to concentrate, losing control of himself. He didn’t like to lose control.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your perfect eyes meeting his. “That’s very kind.” He smiled at you, brushing past you to pay for your coffee, adding his own order. The smell of your perfume was overwhelming, memories of long nights spent inhaling the scent he’d sprayed on his pillows as he pleasured himself to thoughts of you.

What was happening to him? He could feel his stomach dropping, feel a wave of nausea pass through him. Is this what panic felt like? “Would you like to join me?” you asked, taking your coffee from the barista. “Yes,” he managed to say, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead as he followed you and that damned perfume trail to the seat by the window. He was in over his head. He needed to get away.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said to him, as you sat down. “You like to sit on the bench.” You pointed to his usual vantage point, eyeing him curiously. “Yes,” he smiled, “I like to sit and watch the world go by.” He hadn’t realised you’d noticed him; you were always so engrossed in your work. There was that stomach dropping feeling again, but this time it was accompanied by the most delicious feeling, like his stomach was fizzing. His shirt felt too tight, his tie a little too snug around his neck. What the hell was happening to him? Was he losing his edge?

“You like to people watch?” you smiled, “so do I. It’s why I sit here. I find people fascinating.” He was trying to concentrate on what you were saying, but your mascara-streaked cheeks were such a distraction. He wanted to wipe them clean, to remove the inky black stains that spoiled your perfect skin. He wanted to lick away the tear streaks from your face, to tie you down and fuck you until the tears you cried were for him.

You watched him, maintained eye contact as you waited for him to speak. He was so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t remember what you’d said. “You’ve been crying,” he observed instead. “Why?” You laughed nervously, wiping at your makeup-stained face. “Oh, just ex-boyfriends,” you laughed, “nothing serious.”

Nothing serious?! In all the meticulous research he’d done, there had been no mention of an ex-boyfriend. How serious had it been? Was he still in the picture? Evidently, he was, if he was still able to make you cry. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he managed to say, barely clinging to his polite persona. He wanted to tear this man apart, whoever he was. He wanted to make him feel agonising pain in every inch of his body. You were his, and his alone. He managed to maintain his composure for the rest of your chat, his mind drifting between your perfect features, thoughts of fucking you until you begged him to stop, and thoughts of ripping apart the man who had made you cry. The time was approaching 6:00pm. You’d be heading home soon, to cook some dinner and watch some Netflix, or read a book. He’d have to be content to watch you from the restaurant across the road, your figure outlined in your cream curtain against the soft glow of your lamps.

“You know,” you turned to him as you pulled your coat on, “you don’t have to watch me from the window. If you wanted to talk to me, you could just come and sit down.” You smiled slyly, and left the coffee house without a further word. Never in his life had he been left speechless. He thought he knew you, thought he had you all figured out. He’d spent months learning all there was to know about you. He knew the names of your parents, knew how much money you had in your bank account, knew the name of your first-grade teacher, but you’d blindsided him in a single sentence. You knew he’d been watching you at the coffee house. You knew and you chose to stay in that same spot and let him stare at you every day. You knew what you were doing when you sat in front of the window at 4:00pm each afternoon. You were enticing him. You wanted him to play with you. You put yourself on display for him.

As he followed you to your apartment, a good few meters apart so you didn’t catch on, he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, after all this time he’d finally met his match.

[bytemee]

RECOVERY — YU JIMIN.

“learned a lot through trial and error, tryna make it right.”

synopsis. karina’s been holding onto her pride for so long, but seeing you with someone else? it hits hard. and she doesn’t know how to handle it.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). angst, jealous!karina, she's very toxic, miscommunication, mentions of drinking, and um let me know if there's more

words. 3.6k

authors note. jealous karina!!! everyone celebrates in sync while jumping up and down

navigation. main masterlist. series masterlist. prev. next.

being wrong? yeah, karina would never admit it. she always had to be right, even when the evidence clearly proved otherwise. it was frustrating trying to have a rational conversation with her because she would never back down from her stance, no matter how illogical it seemed.

it was the way she crossed her arms and set her jaw like a locked safe. or the way her eyes narrowed into slits and her nostrils flared. it was the way her lips pursed and the way her body stiffened, like she was preparing for a fight.

but with you? you were different. you didn’t argue for the sake of winning. you wanted understanding, compromise. that’s what made it all worse. you had been patient with karina for so long, more patient than she ever deserved. and now, after everything, after all that patience, she had finally managed to chase you away.

who she chased you away to? that was the worst part.

karina saw you walking into the sorority house after months of silence. her heart nearly stopped. you hadn’t been back here since the last fight—the one where everything between you had shattered.

but now you were back for her, right? obviously.

karina’s lips twitched into a smug smile. you finally came to your senses. you must have realized you’d overreacted, that you couldn’t stay away forever. maybe you were here to apologize. maybe you were here to grovel.

her chest filled with anticipation when your eyes locked across the crowded room. that familiar ache bloomed inside her chest—the look you used to give her, the one that made her feel like the only person in the world. she felt her confidence returning.

but then, just as quickly, the air brushed past her.

wonyoung’s dark hair bounced as she skipped up to you, throwing her arms around your neck. she laughed before her lips pressed against your cheek in a kiss that karina felt like a dagger in her chest.

you didn’t pull away. instead, your eyes softened, and your hands came to rest on wonyoung's hips, pulling her close. you spoke, but the music and the distance were too loud for karina to hear what was said. all she could do was watch, helpless, as she laced her fingers with yours before leading you down the hall.

now wonyoung had you.

karina’s sorority sister. the same wonyoung who had run against her for president last year, who always seemed to be just one step behind her—or, depending on the day, ahead. they’d made peace for the sake of appearances, for the sake of the sorority. but there was always an underlying tension. a competition.

you had been karina's loyal puppy for quite a while, and she'd thrown it all away. she was too stubborn to realize what she'd had until it was too late. and now, as karina watched you and wonyoung together from afar, her heart twisted in her chest.

she missed you. she was furious at you. but more than anything, she was jealous. jealous that wonyoung had been the one to steal you away. jealous that wonyoung would be the one who got to keep you.

karina hated feeling out of control. and jealousy? that was the worst kind of chaos.

the next morning, she walked into the kitchen of the sorority house to find you standing at the counter with wonyoung.

you were chopping fruit—distracted, slow, like your thoughts were somewhere else. wonyoung stood beside you, leaning against the counter with her head tilted, watching you with a lazy, amused smile. she kept nudging you with her shoulder every few moments, drawing small chuckles from you.

karina's heart squeezed in her chest. this wasn't fair.

her gaze darkened when wonyoung reached out, snagging a strawberry from the bowl you’d just filled. “hey!” you protested, but she simply grinned before popping it in her mouth. “i spent, like, a whole minute cutting that.”

“and you can cut another,” wonyoung teased.

“morning.” she didn’t mean to sound curt, but the word came out harsh. your eyes lifted, and her heart stopped. you looked good. really good. like the months away from her had done you some good.

then, you went back to cutting fruit like she didn't even exist.

that hurt more than she expected.

“hope you didn’t ruin the kitchen,” karina said tightly, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and leaning into your personal space. your shoulders were tense, your eyes were focused on the cutting board, and your mouth was pressed into a thin line.

wonyoung arched a brow. “you mean we’re not allowed to eat strawberries in here? i must’ve missed the rule.”

the two locked eyes for a long, tense beat.

“i don’t remember anyone asking you to be part of this conversation,” karina shot back.

your brows furrowed, and you turned to wonyoung.

a smirk twisted her lips. the brunette took a step closer to you, her hand coming up to play with a strand of your hair. her voice was light and playful. "do i need permission from the president?"

karina’s eyes narrowed. she had no time for this little game. not today. not ever.

karina turned her gaze back to the fridge, grabbing the juice and pouring herself a glass. then, without a word, she swept past the two of you, leaving the kitchen.

later that week, karina saw you again. this time, you were sitting on the sorority house’s front porch, stretched out on the bench swing with your laptop open. wonyoung sat next to you, head resting on your shoulder while you scrolled through whatever was on the screen.

karina tried not to look. she really did. but her feet refused to keep moving, and her eyes refused to leave the sight of you.

it was supposed to be her sitting beside you.

supposed to be her fingers brushing against yours as you scrolled through playlists, talking about which songs to add to your shared playlist.

wonyoung wasn’t part of the picture. she shouldn’t be.

her fists clenched again, and before she could stop herself, karina stormed over.

"what the hell are you doing?"

you glanced up, confused."i'm not supposed to use the front porch?"

"don’t play dumb," karina snapped, her eyes darting between you and wonyoung. "i’m talking about this."

wonyoung slowly lifted her head from your shoulder, arching a brow. “last i checked, we don’t need your permission to sit here.”

you looked between them, clearly confused.

karina didn't care.

"well, this is the official property of our sorority. and i'm the president. so, if i say no, no one gets to sit here. not even you."

wonyoung leaned back, rolling her eyes. "so, you're the president, and therefore the dictator. is that how it works?"

karina ignored her, crossing her arms over her chest. her eyes landed on you, and her throat tightened. "get up."

you blinked.

"excuse me?"

"did i stutter? i said get up. you're not supposed to be here."

you exchanged a glance with wonyoung. a look that said, what's gotten into her? she knew that look. she'd seen it a thousand times before.

"this is the best spot for wi-fi," you argued, closing your laptop and rising to your feet. "and no one said we can't be here."

"well, i'm saying it now," karina bit back.

"oh, come on."

"i'm serious."

wonyoung rose too, taking a step toward karina. "no one's making you stay. go be the president somewhere else. you're ruining the mood."

karina's lips curled into a smile. "that's cute, that you think you can tell me what to do."

you stepped between them. "look, let's not do this. i'll go inside, okay?"

"no," wonyoung cut in. "i'm not letting her walk all over us like that. why are you letting her tell you what to do? the way she’s bothered is so pathetic.”

your eyes widened.

"pathetic? you have no idea what pathetic is. you've had your foot on my back since the day we met, and now that you finally got the upper hand, you can't stop gloating." karina snapped back.

wonyoung tilted her chin up, defiant. "if i'm so far below you, then why can't you just let us be?"

the words caught in her throat. she didn't have an answer. she wanted an excuse. an explanation.

because this isn't fair.

because y/n’s mine.

but the words never came.

instead, karina felt her cheeks burn. she was humiliated. again. in front of the one person she couldn't afford to look weak in front of.

karina’s silence was louder than any retort she could have thrown back. wonyoung’s question hung heavy in the air, the weight of it pressing down on all of you.

you shifted uncomfortably, watching karina’s face twist with emotions she couldn’t seem to hide. for once, the perfectly composed, untouchable sorority president looked completely lost.

“karina—” you started softly, but she cut you off with a sharp shake of her head.

“don’t,” she said, her voice raw.

before you could say another word, she turned and stalked away, disappearing back into the sorority house. the slam of the door echoed across the front lawn.

“she’s used to getting what she wants,” wonyoung muttered. “let her walk away.”

but you weren’t sure it was that simple. you weren’t sure karina wanted to walk away at all.

the confrontation came two days later.

the study lounge was quiet, save for the soft hum of music in your earbuds. you sat at a small table, flipping through notes and tapping your pen rhythmically on the edge of your notebook. occasionally, you hummed along, lost in thought.

that is, until the chair across from you scraped against the floor. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

karina settled down in the chair, tossing her bag on the table. you kept your gaze on the papers spread out in front of you. you couldn't avoid this forever. you didn't look up or say anything.

but she did.

"i thought you were better than this."

her words were sharp enough to pierce through your focus, but you didn’t react right away. instead, you finished writing the sentence you were on, letting the silence stretch out.

"better than what?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.

"wonyoung." karina’s tone turned brittle. “why are you still hanging around her?”

you finally looked up, your brows knitting together. “not that it’s any of your business, but we’re hanging out.”

karina’s eyes narrowed. her leg bounced under the table, restless and agitated. “you think i don’t see what you’re doing?”

your head tilted slightly, incredulity rising. “what i’m doing?”

“yes.” her jaw tightened as if holding back something explosive. “you’re parading around with her like—like—”

your expression flattened, unimpressed. “like what, karina? just say it.”

karina was quiet for a moment. it wasn't like her to hold her tongue. when she spoke, her voice was low, and her eyes flashed dark. "you're trying to get back at me."

it’s funny, you said the same thing to her on that fateful night. and she’s finally beginning to understand how you felt.

“unbelievable,” you muttered. “you can’t stand the idea of not being in control, can you? you pushed me away, karina. you didn’t want me—”

she scoffed, but you continued before she could interrupt.

“—and now, just because someone else might actually give me the time of day, you’re throwing a fit.”

her face twisted. “it’s not like that.”

“then what is it like?” you challenged. “explain it to me.”

karina paused, her hands curling into fists. she looked conflicted. like she wanted to say something but was struggling to get the words out. finally, her gaze dropped, and her voice softened. "i miss you."

you froze, eyes widening. that was not what you expected to hear.

"i miss you, and i want you back." this was the closest karina had ever come to admitting that she'd made a mistake. her confession hung heavy in the air, waiting for a response.

you stared at her.

"oh, you miss me? how long did it take for you to finally admit that?"

karina's expression hardened.

"are you still mad about the videos?"

"how could i not be?"

"it's not like it meant anything," karina snapped.

"it was humiliating," you shot back.

"i was drunk."

"no excuse."

"you disappeared," karina retorted, her eyes narrowing. "you left without a word. i needed you, and you weren't there. what did you expect me to do?"

your throat tightened. "i told you it was a family emergency. i thought—" you stopped, shaking your head. "it doesn't matter. we're done, karina. you made sure of that."

karina's nostrils flared. "don't act like you're the victim. if anyone's the victim here, it's me."

"you're unbelievable."

"i'm the victim," karina insisted, her voice rising. "you're the one who abandoned me when i needed you the most. you're the one who walked away and decided to start over with someone else. i never asked for any of this."

your anger faded, replaced by a heavy, tired sadness. “you treated me like a toy, karina. i was always there when you needed something. and when you didn’t, i was discarded like trash.”

“you were never trash,” karina said through gritted teeth.

“yeah? well, you made me feel like it.”

karina’s anger simmered, but there was something else beneath it now—hurt. “how dare you say that. i never treated you like trash. you’re the one who left me. you’re the one who chose wonyoung.”

“i didn’t choose anyone,” you shot back, slamming your hand on the table. “i left because i was hurt. i’m not going to take responsibility for your decisions. i was done being treated like shit. you have no idea how much it hurts to love someone who turns their back on you.”

you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. “i’m done with this conversation.”

she stared at you, speechless.

the valentine’s day movie night was supposed to be a tradition. last year, it was one of karina’s favorite memories—the two of you sharing a blanket, fingers laced under the covers, sneaking kisses when no one was looking. now she was walking into the same room alone; well, she had a bottle of wine in hand to keep her company.

when she spotted you walking in with wonyoung, something inside her cracked. wonyoung was practically glued to your side, her arm looped through yours and her head resting on your shoulder.

she couldn’t even focus on the movie.

all she could see was the way wonyoung snuggled into your side, the way you whispered in her ear and brushed a strand of hair from her face. the way wonyoung reached out, tracing a fingertip over your jawline, drawing a small, private smile from you.

it was almost too much. so she drank.

one glass. two. three.

by the time the movie ended, wonyoung leaned over to yujin, murmuring something about their plans for the next day. the crowd thinned out, but karina stayed glued to her seat, her eyes fixed on the paused ending credits. she stared, unmoving, lost in thought, her shoulders drooping, and her cheeks and glassy eyes made it clear she’d had too much.

it didn't take long for someone to notice.

“karina.” you approached cautiously, your eyes lingering on the empty wine bottle. you didn’t mean to stare, but it was a stark contrast to the poised, controlled karina that everyone else knew. the sorority president blinked, raising her gaze. it took her a moment to recognize you. she didn’t respond.

you stood in front of her, studying her face. your expression was unreadable. she tried not to wince.

karina cleared her throat, straightening up.

"what?" she croaked, her voice rough from disuse.

"you look like you could use some help," you said, reaching a hand out. she didn’t know why, but the gesture felt like an olive branch. her eyes darted between your face and your hand. she hesitated, then nodded, taking your hand.

her body felt heavy, but the touch sent sparks up her arm. your skin was warm—soft, familiar. karina stumbled slightly, and your other hand instinctively wrapped around her waist, steadying her.

her breath hitched.

you guided her to her room, careful to avoid the rest of the girls scattered throughout the house, drinking and celebrating. the lights were off, the room shrouded in silence. karina sank onto the bed, her body slumping as exhaustion weighed her down.

without a word, she reached out and grabbed your hand, her fingers trembling. then the tears came.

“i’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “i—i’m so sorry. i was wrong.”

her sobs wracked her small frame as she clung to your hand. “i was selfish. i pushed you away because i didn’t know how to handle how much i needed you. and then i saw you with her, and it hurt so much, but it was my fault.”

you sighed again, softer this time. “karina—”

“please,” she interrupted, her eyes pleading. “please forgive me. i know i messed everything up, but i can’t stand this anymore. i miss you. i miss us.”

before you could even think about leaving, she stood up and buried her face in your shoulder, her sobs muffled by the fabric of your hoodie. your hand instinctively found her back, rubbing slow circles as she tried to steady her breathing.

"please don't go," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. the silence stretched out, and for a moment, you were tempted to pull away and leave her. it would be easier that way. but when you looked at her face, her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes, you couldn't find the will to walk away. “come on,” you murmured gently. “let’s get you cleaned up.”

leading her to the bathroom, you turned on the tap, letting her wash her tear-streaked face. she winced at her reflection in the mirror, eyes swollen and red, but didn’t say anything as you handed her a towel. you stayed beside her while she brushed her teeth, holding her steady when she swayed slightly.

when she finished, you helped her sit down on the edge of the sink counter. for a moment, neither of you spoke. karina stared at her hands. her throat was dry, and her head was still fuzzy from the wine.

“i’m not…with wonyoung,” you said finally, breaking the quiet. “we’re just two people who happen to spend time together. there’s nothing romantic going on.”

karina’s head snapped up, her eyes filled with both surprise and relief. “but you—”

“she’s a friend,” you cut in firmly. “that’s all. no one ever took your place.”

her lips trembled, but she didn’t cry again. instead, she reached for your hand once more. “i’m sorry i hurt you. i never meant to do that. i was scared. i am scared. i don't want to lose you. not to anyone else."

"karina—"

"i'm serious."

"i know."

she squeezed her eyes shut. "i'm so stupid."

"yes, you are." you nodded slowly, if karina wasn’t so tipsy she would’ve shot a glare your way. then you exhaled, “i left because i was hurt. i needed space to figure things out. and i still need time, okay? but… i'm not going anywhere."

her shoulders slumped. "promise?"

"promise." you leaned forward, brushing her hair behind her ear. your thumb caressed her cheek. her heart fluttered. "you're too pretty to cry."

her face flushed. she couldn’t meet your eyes, but she didn't pull away. her gaze dropped to your lips. you could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"come here." you reached out and wrapped her arms around your neck.

"what are you doing?"

"putting you to bed. you need to sleep off the wine."

"but i don't want to sleep," she whispered. her hands slid under your jacket, her fingertips trailing along the bare skin of your lower back. the feeling sent a shiver down your spine. "what do you want?" you asked softly.

"for you to stay," she murmured.

your eyes fluttered closed. "i can't."

"why?"

"because it's not a good idea."

"it's always been a good idea."

you chuckled lightly, opening your eyes to meet hers. they were wide and pleading, and she couldn't hide the hope in them. her gaze softened, but you stayed firm. "sleep first, karina. we'll talk more when you wake up."

reluctantly, she nodded. you helped her lie down, pulling the blanket over her. she shifted slightly, watching you as you slid into the bed beside her. without a word, she scooted closer, resting her head against your chest. her hair tickled your skin.

"this is what you want, right?"

"yes," she murmured, closing her eyes. she snuggled into your side. her body was inviting and light. her fingers trailed lazily across your stomach, drawing patterns on the fabric of your shirt. "can you hold me, please?"

your hand traced along the curve of her spine, coming to rest on her hip. she hummed quietly, nuzzling her cheek against your chest. your heart pounded. her breathing slowed, evening out as sleep finally claimed her. you stayed there, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns on her skin, until the softness of her body against yours and the rhythmic sound of her breathing lulled you to sleep.

when karina woke up, the sunlight streaming through the window made her squint. she reached out, but her hand met an empty space. her heart dropped for a moment, panic settling in—until the door creaked open.

you walked in, hair messy from sleep, wearing a loose shirt and boxers, two steaming cups of coffee in hand. "morning," you greeted softly.

she sat up, pushing her hair back. "you stayed?"

"of course i did." you handed her a cup, settling on the edge of the bed. she took a sip, her hands still a little shaky.

“wonyoung texted you,” you mentioned casually, setting your coffee down on the nightstand.

her brow furrowed. she grabbed her phone. sure enough, there was a new text waiting for her.

wonyoung: she was my stray :(

karina: you must’ve been feeding her cheap treats. she’s back where she belongs. hope you’re doing well!

she rolled her eyes. "stupid."

"hey."

"not you." she smiled at you.

you stared at her for a few moments before humming. “so…we should talk."

she nodded.

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[girlgenius1111]

learning curve part 4

alexia putellas x reader [& r's nephew] will has a better day at school, and r continues to spiral. alexia tries to help. will takes a rough fall at the park. angst & fluff!

—

Will’s backpack thumped against his back as he sprinted towards you and Alexia. Your girlfriend had insisted on joining you in picking Will up for school, just as concerned as you were about him having another bad day. He zoomed towards the two of you, and just as you were about to bend down and open your arms for him, he called Alexia’s name, his gaze fixed on her. 

“Ale, Ale I did it!” He shouted excitedly, leaping into her arms as she lifted him into the air. “I made a friend!” 

“Of course you did!” Alexia replied. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Will beamed, squirming in Alexia’s arms as he reached for you. You smiled back, brushing off the anxiety you were now feeling wash over you in favor of holding Will tight against you. 

“So proud of you.” You echoed, more than relieved at the difference in how Will had come out of school today versus the day before. 

“His name is Jordi, and he’s 5 like me and he likes dinosaurs! And he only speaks Spanish and-and Cat-a-lan but I used my Spanish words and asked him to be my friend and he said si! And si means yes!” Will rambled, once again squirming, this time to be let down. You placed him on the ground and he reached for both your hand and Alexia’s, still rambling away about Jordi and his cool blue shoes

You and Alexia exchanged amused glances, starting in the direction of the car. Will was practically skipping in between the two of you, until Alexia asked a question. 

“Mi niño, did you understand your teacher more?” 

At this, Will’s forehead crinkled, and his skipping slowed to a walk. “No. She talks really fast. And I only know some of the words she says.” 

“That’s okay! It’ll take time to adjust.” You reassured him. “The important thing is that you try your best.” 

“Sí, cariño. And maybe speaking more Spanish at home could help?” Alexia added, opening the back passenger door and lifting Will into his seat. You watched as she buckled him in, at how her brows furrowed in concentration and how she raised a hand to try to smooth the messy way his hair sat. There was a glint in her eye as she shut the door and chastly kissed you on the lips, a glint that told you she had an idea. 

—

Will had been exhausted from his day at school, falling asleep on the couch even as he insisted he didn’t need a nap. Less than twenty minutes after you tucked him in under a blanket on the couch with a snack, he was out cold. You’d retreated to the bedroom to fold laundry, and to try to get your emotions under control.

It wasn’t that you were bothered that Will and Alexia were bonding, not at all. It made your heart melt, made everything feel warm in a way you’d never experienced before. Alexia was perfect, everything you could have ever asked for in a partner you were raising a child with. There was just something… something about how easily Alexia loved that made you doubt yourself. Alexia was whole, and you were…well,  if not broken, missing a piece. What she’d grown up with, you’d never experienced. She knew family, and you didn’t. And you weren’t sure how you could be enough for Will when you didn’t know how to be a part of a family. 

“Mi amor?” 

You jumped, dropping the shirt you were trying to fold back on the bed. You turned, finding Alexia standing in the doorway, her face twisted with concern. She moved closer, reaching for you. 

“What’s up?” Forcing a smile, you allowed your girlfriend to grab one of your hands and cradle your cheek with the other. 

Alexia didn’t reply right away, her eyes flitting over your face as she studied you. “Are you okay? You seem… I don’t know, something seems off.” 

You allowed yourself to lean into her, pressing your face into the cozy sweatshirt she was wearing. She wrapped her arms around you, kissing the side of your head a few times. 

“I’m okay. I think I’m just trying to adjust.” 

Alexia hummed her understanding, her hug still tight as she spoke. “That is understandable, completely. It is a lot.” 

“I’m just so… so worried about him and all of this and–” 

“Tia?” You and Alexia broke apart, finding Will in the doorway where Alexia had been standing just moments ago. 

He had woken, apparently,  now shuffling adorably into your bedroom where you and Alexia stood. He was sleepy, rubbing his eye with his fist. 

“Hi bud,” You smiled, feeling Alexia’s eyes on you even as you crouched down to Will’s level and opened your arms. He moved closer, stopping just short of giving you a hug. 

“What’s for dinner?” He wondered. 

You laughed, standing and ruffling his hair. “I’m not sure–”

“Dinner will be here in a little bit.” Alexia interrupted, winking at you mysteriously and  heading back out to the living room. 

Will looked at you, confused, and you shrugged, moving to follow Alexia. 

Alexia’s idea entered the house with a flurry of activity, both Eli and Alba carrying two bags each, containing what you assumed to be dinner. 

Alexia lifted Will into her arms, the boy growing a bit shy as she reminded him to say hello. You greeted Eli and Alba, too, grabbing some of the bags and leading them into the kitchen. 

“Sorry about the mess, I would have cleaned, but Ale didn’t tell me anyone was coming.” The kitchen wasn’t really messy, but it wasn’t clean enough to meet your standards for guests. 

Eli tutted, unloading several dishes from one of the bags as Alba disappeared into the living room. “I told her to tell you! She does not listen, she never has. Anyway, mija, it is not messy in here, do not give it another thought.” 

You smiled at her gratefully, allowing her to pull you into a hug. Eli was a good hugger, made you feel relaxed in a way you normally didn’t when you had guests over. Whatever she’d brought with her smelled incredible, and you weren’t sure you could put into words how relieved you were to not have to worry about cooking dinner.  

“Tia!” Will shouted from the living room, his voice much too loud for the indoors but he sounded so excited you didn't mind. 

“Go!” Eli encouraged, gently pushing you in the direction of the living room. It always amazed you, how overwhelmingly kind Eli always was to you. She’d been that way from the first time she’d met you, and it had all clicked, that day. Alexia was the kind, perfect person she was because of the people that had raised her. Eli treated you like her own even when you and Alexia had just gotten together, and now, she was bringing dinner and doting over Will like he was her own, too. 

Walking into the living room, a small stuffed dinosaur was waved in your direction, Will skipping around excitedly with his new toy in hand. “Tia! Look what Alba got me!” 

Unlike the first time he’d met Alexia’s family, Will was already completely out of his shell, the quiet shy version of your nephew nowhere to be seen. Alexia and Alba were sitting on the sofa next to each other, sporting matching grins and you couldn’t help but think about how much they looked alike. The same smile, the same eyes, the same mannerisms. It reminded you of Leo, of how everyone always asked if you were twins. Pushing away the pang of hurt at the reminder, you bent down to get a closer look at Will’s new toy. 

“Wow! That’s so cool, buddy. Did you say thank you?” 

Will nodded, his brown hair flopping onto his forehead as he did so. 

“He said thank you in Spanish.” Alexia said proudly. 

“I did! Alba said she’ll help me with my Spanish, Tia!” Will informed you, grabbing your sleeve and pulling on it as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. He looked so genuinely happy, you could have cried. You settled instead on giving Alba a meaningful look and mouthing thank you. Alba just nodded, gesturing to her sister next to her, and you knew then what Alexia’s plan had been all along. Alba was a teacher, could help Will with his Spanish much more effectively than either of you could. Your girlfriend… was one of the most thoughtful, intentional, and kind people you’d ever met, and as you returned her smile, too, you made a note to tell her so later. 

Alexia gestured you over to her as Alba headed into the kitchen to help her mother, but you hesitated. 

“I should help your Mami–” 

“No! You two stay right in there!” Eli shouted from the kitchen. 

Alexia shook her head fondly, wrapping an arm around you as you joined her on the couch. 

“Next time you invite people over, tell me in advance.” You murmured, barely audible as you felt Alexia tense next to you. 

“Sí, of course. Sorry. I wanted it to be a surprise but I should have told you. I will not do it again.” She promised, squeezing you closer to her and pressing a kiss into your hair. 

“Thank you.” For whatever reason, you hadn't been very mad at Alexia to begin with, recognizing that she’d just been trying to do something nice to take some of the pressure off you for an evening. You knew that, and you believed her when she said she wouldn’t do it again. 

The house felt so full of life and love, it was easy to let your mind wander to dinner alone with Leo at the kitchen table. He’d always tried his best to cook if no one else was doing it. He also always made sure you ate your vegetables, even when he was just a few years older than you and hated them just as much.  

Alexia nudged you, and you forced the memories away, following her gaze over to your nephew. Will was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, just admiring his new dinosaur. 

“He is so sweet.” Alexia murmured, pulling you in closer to her as you both watched him. You hummed your agreement, marvelling at how excited he was over another plush dinosaur. He already had dozens, but he treated each new one like a special, one of a kind, toy. Will was so thoughtful, and though you knew it didn’t make much sense given the short time he’d been living here, you liked to think of it as bits of Alexia rubbing off on him. 

“The sweetest, most wonderful boy.” You replied, gesturing Will closer as he looked up and blushed, realizing you were talking about him. He brought his dinosaur over, leaning into you as you kissed the top of his head. 

“Does your new friend have a name?” You asked, and Will gasped, realizing he hadn’t, in fact, named it yet. 

“It has to be a good one. What about… Albert?” Alexia suggested, her lip twitching as she imagined her sister’s dismay at the name. Will didn’t dignify that idea with a response, which made you almost laugh. 

The small boy looked intently at the stuffed animal for a moment, staring into its eyes as if waiting for it to say something. Finally, he looked up with a grin, squishing the dinosaur to his chest in a hug. 

“Franklin!” Will said excitedly. “His name is Franklin.” 

“Franklin!” Alba cheered, appearing and holding out her hand for Will to take. “Un nombre perfecto. Do you want to help me set the table?” 

“Yeah!” Will replied, getting to his feet and grabbing Alba’s hand. You and Alexia watched incredulously, as he normally dragged his feet and complained when he had to set the table. 

“Now, cari, what do we need for dinner?” 

“Umm… we need… platos!” 

As Will and Alba around the corner and into the kitchen, you leaned further into your girlfriend, inhaling deeply. 

“She’s so sweet to do this. And your Mami bringing dinner. I just… they’re so thoughtful. They didn’t have to do all this.” 

Alexia frowned, tucking your hair behind your ear and tilting your face in her direction. “Of course they did. This is what family does, amor.” 

Something about the way your girlfriend was looking at you, like she couldn’t understand how you didn’t understand. This is what family does. You weren’t sure what a family did or didn’t do because you’d never really had one. Mortifyingly, your eyes began to sting with tears and you tried to stand, blinking rapidly. 

“Hey, hey, come back.” Alexia insisted, tugging on your hand until you sat back down next to her. “What is it?” 

You sighed, your chest feeling tight, and Alexia’s concern only seemed to grow, her eyebrows pulling together and her lips pursing. 

“I’m just not used to this. Having people that care.” You explained shakily, your voice breaking. It was a massive understatement, but you weren’t sure how to put everything else into words. The midfielder frowned further, her thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek. You leaned into her hand, into her comfort, even though you weren’t sure you were worth it. 

“Well, you will need to get used to it. Because they care, and I care. You have a family, both you and Will have a family.” Alexia insisted, her voice so earnest you could have cried again. Instead you just buried your face in her neck, feeling her arms snake around your back and hold you tight. 

Alexia was always so convincing, your fears and anxieties almost all went away. Almost. 

—

Alexia could understand that you needed some time to yourself. It made sense; the transition from living in a relatively quiet house with just her was quite different from living with a 5 year old. As Will got more comfortable, he grew more energetic and loud, and it was a lot to adjust to. You’d seemed on edge all morning; something was clearly off, and Alexia assumed you just needed time alone, in the quiet. 

So, with a soft kiss to your cheek, Alexia informed you that she was taking Will to the park for an hour, and she wanted you to relax while she was gone. 

Alexia was right. Something was off. But the issue wasn’t that you needed time to yourself. You were… drowning in insecurity and doubt. It had been lingering in the background ever since Will came to live with you, but in the past 24 hours it had grabbed you by the throat. You didn’t want to feel the way you felt; you didn’t want to be jealous of your girlfriend who was just being an incredible person and treating your nephew as if he was her own. 

But here you were. Fighting back tears as you curled up on the couch, thinking about how you were failing. Alexia was the only thing keeping you and Will afloat. You weren’t enough, and you weren’t sure how you ever thought you could be. Alexia knew love and family and warmth, and those were all things you’d only gotten a glimpse of as you’d grown up. You’d learned independence, learned to be quiet. You’d learned not to show weakness, to push your feelings down until they exploded. 

What came naturally to Alexia was not instinctual for you. When Will cried, you never really knew what to say. When he refused to eat his vegetables, you didn’t know how to get him to eat them. When he’d had a nightmare, you hadn’t even woken up. Alexia had. Alexia always knew what to say and what to do. It made sense that Alexia was better at this than you, but it wasn’t fair to Will that he was stuck with one functional, emotionally intelligent adult, and you. 

You weren’t sure how to be better for him, how to be what he needed. You weren’t sure what you’d done to deserve Alexia in your life. Most of all, you weren’t sure how to keep going when you were so confident that you were doing everything completely and entirely wrong. 

Wallowing in self pity on the couch for an hour seemed like the best possible option, though, given the circumstances. At least with Will safely with Alexia, you could be sure you wouldn’t mess anything up. 

Alexia, meanwhile, was trying to decide whether or not she could still do the monkey bars at the playground. She was pretty sure her feet would touch the ground, but if she bent her knees… it might be possible. Watching a kid play at the park was pretty boring, it turned out. She kept an eye on Will as her mind wandered, his soft blue quarter zip making him easy to spot. She’d found herself really enjoying buying him the most adorable clothes. 

With little nikes, small sweatshirts, and everything in between filling his closet, Will had more than enough choice in his wardrobe. He always seemed to gravitate to the softer things, which is how he found himself a quarter zip that was all soft and cuddly on the outside. He thought it made his hugs better. 

Will was an only child, and pretty independent as a result. He could entertain himself, play by himself and be completely content with just his imagination to keep him company. He’d darted up the stairs of the playset as soon as Alexia had let go of his hand, already imagining the wood chips under his feet as hot lava and the other kids as monsters. But then, a rather tall ‘monster’ bumped into him right at the top of the stairs, and sent Will tumbling down into the ‘hot lava’. 

With a yelp, Will landed in the wood chips in a heap. Alexia saw the whole thing from her spot on the bench next to the playset, yet she forced herself to remain frozen for a moment, waiting to see if Will would pop up uninjured. 

When he did sit up, though, he was cradling his arm close to his chest, tears already beginning to stream down his cheeks as he looked around frantically for help. 

“Alexia!” He cried, ignoring the hurried apologies of the boy that had pushed him and the stares of the other kids that had stopped to stare. Alexia was off her bench in a heartbeat, sprinting across the playground to the small boy. 

“Hey, hey, I’m here. You’re okay.” Alexia soothed, crouching down next to him, hands hovering anxiously over his small body. “Tell me what hurts.” 

“My-my arm.” Will sobbed, turning his whole body away from Alexia when she reached out to take a look. “Don’t touch! I want my Tia!” 

Alexia was practically frozen with fear. Did she call you? Her Mami? An ambulance? The military? She didn’t know how bad this was, didn’t know how to help Will when he was so insistent that she not touch him. The poor kid was hysterical, gasping for breath in between his cries. Alexia forced herself to focus; she could call you in a moment. Right now, she was the only one here and that meant she had to know what to do. There was no other option. 

“Cariño, look at me.” Alexia instructed softly. Will peaked at her, still warily holding his arm close to his chest. “I will not touch it, bebé, I promise. I just want you to look at me and try to take a deep breath, vale?” 

Will hesitated, but the frantic feeling in his chest, like he couldn’t get enough air in, made him turn further towards Alexia. He did as she instructed, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Then another. And another. Slowly, his chest stopped stuttering and he didn’t feel so scared anymore. Alexia was with him; there was nothing to be scared of. 

“Hurts.” He whimpered, allowing Alexia to gently brush the tears of his cheeks with her thumbs. 

“I know it does. You’re being so brave, so so brave. Can you let me see your arm, sweetheart?” 

Will frowned, leaning away from her once more. “No. Don’t touch.” 

Alexia suppressed a sigh. Though she wanted to scoop him into her arms and head straight home, or maybe to the hospital, she didn’t. “I don’t have to touch it–”

“No.” Will cried stubbornly. “I want my Tia.” 

Though the tears had never really stopped, Alexia could see them gathering in the boy’s eyes rapidly once again. The park was only a block away from home. 

“Okay, bebé. Should I call your Tia and have her come here? Or should we go to her?” 

Will didn’t even think about it, sniffling as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Wanna go home, please.” 

Nodding, Alexia got to her feet, wincing at the feeling of woodchips falling from where they’d embedded themselves in her skin. She had no idea how she was going to get Will home when he wouldn’t let her touch him, but as soon as he got to his feet, his face paled. Silently, pleadingly, he lifted his good arm and looked up at Alexia. She didn’t hesitate, carefully lifting him, taking care to keep his injured arm away from her body, so it wouldn’t be jostled or bumped. She’d taken a single step in the direction of home before Will gave a soft cry at the movement. It was going to be a long walk home. 

—

Alexia’s text was brief. 

Will fell, hurt his arm. Bringing him home. Might need a doctor. 

Brief, yet sent a chill down your spine and a wave of anxiety washing over you. The park wasn’t far, and you hadn’t seen the text right away, so Alexia should be arriving with Will… any minute. Sure enough, you could hear his loud sobs from down the hall as soon as the elevator doors opened. You rushed to the door, throwing it open just as Alexia turned the corner, awkwardly holding a very squirmy Will in her arms. The fluorescent lighting of the hall made both Alexia and Will look oddly pale, though that could have just been the situation. 

“Tia! I want my Tia!” Will whimpered, still holding his arm close to his body even as he tried to escape Alexia’s grasp. Your heart was racing as you took in the scene in front of you, panic and fear like you’d never felt it before squeezing your chest. 

In the time it had taken for Alexia to walk from the park back to your building and up to the apartment, Will’s pain had seemed to only increase, every step torture as she fought back tears of her own. Every step, every cry from Will was tearing at her heart. 

“She’s right here, cariño.” Alexia promised, walking closer and carefully placing Will into your outstretched arms. You were careful not to bump his arm, and he curled into you immediately. His small body shook with sobs as you carried him back into the apartment. 

“It hurts, Tia, it hurts.” 

“I know, baby. You’re being so brave.” 

You settled on the couch with him sideways on your lap, his tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. Completely at a loss of what to do, you looked helplessly at your girlfriend. Somehow, though, she seemed more panicked than you, wringing her hands together as she sat on the edge of the wooden coffee table. 

“Okay. Okay,” you said, trying to calm yourself and your nephew down. Leaning back you tilted Will’s face up to face you. His eyes were red and puffy, her lip quivering sadly as he cried. “Can I see your arm, Will?” 

Very hesitantly, Will nodded, finally extending his arm away from his chest. His hand was trembling, but there was no obvious bruising or swelling, no odd bumps that would indicate he’d broken something. Alexia leaned closer, until her head was almost bumping into yours. You waited until she was done studying Will’s arm, and she looked up at you. No words were needed for you to know Alexia had come to the same conclusion that you had. 

“Can you wiggle all your fingers for me?” Will did as you asked, moving his fingers and then rotating his wrist. There was only a small wince as he did so, but his range of motion seemed completely fine. 

“I don’t think it’s broken, bud.” You declared. 

Will sniffled. “It doesn’t feel broken,” he said weakly. You and Alexia smiled at him, Alexia’s hand gently running through his hair as he leaned in closer to rest his head against your chest. 

“Does it still hurt a lot? Or does it feel better now?” Alexia asked. 

“Better.” 

At this, you finally relaxed, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m so glad. That was pretty scary, huh?” 

Will nodded into you, his hand grabbing a fistfull of your shirt. He seemed so small in that moment, and the feeling to protect this little boy was so strong you could have fallen over. You held him tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“But you’re okay now. We’ve got you, buddy.” 

Alexia hummed her agreement, tucking a blanket around Will as he relaxed into you, his eyes fluttering shut. It was no surprise the day had tired him out, and you were more than happy to act as a pillow for him if it meant he wasn’t in pain and he wasn’t crying any more. Alexia slid onto the couch, pulling you into her as Will began to drift off.

It was only an hour later, once Will had completely fallen asleep in your arms, that you had a second to breathe and think. Alexia’s chest rose and fell rhythmically and you allowed it to calm you, with your body reclined back into hers. Her breath was warm against your ear, one of her hands gently rubbing up and down Will’s back. 

“He just wanted you.” She murmured finally. The sun was about to dip below the horizon, a soft orange light washing over the room, making the moment feel even cozier. You were fighting sleep yourself when Alexia spoke, but you turned your head slightly, confused. “When he got hurt. He just wanted you. All the way from the playground back here, he just wanted you, amor.” 

You weren’t really sure what to do with that, or what her point was. It made you feel better, at least, that Will had wanted you, not that you were happy he’d gotten hurt. But you didn’t understand what Alexia was trying to get you to see, especially because you hadn’t your insecurities with her. 

She seemed to sense your confusion, kissing your temple gently. “He loves you. You are so important to him, and you are doing a great job. You must be, if he relies on you so much, no? When he was hurt and scared, he wanted you to make him feel safe. He needs you.” 

You felt a tear slide down your cheek as you took in her words, letting your head fall back onto her shoulder. Alexia could read you like a book, and you shouldn’t have been surprised to know that she’d known what was going on in your head all along. That’s what made her such a perfect partner to do this with, you supposed. Will loved her, yes. But she loved you, too, and she always knew what you needed to hear. 

“Thank you.” You whispered back finally. It was stark, the contrast between how you’d felt before Will and Ale had arrived home to now. With Will soundly asleep in your arms, and Alexia holding you close to her, everything felt less overwhelming. 

Laying there, watching the sun set over the city, everything felt an inch easier. Step by step, Alexia had said that the day you brought Will home. One day at a time. With your family.

—

:) have a few more thoughts for this series but i'd love to hear whatever you're thinking. i hope you enjoyed 🫶🏻

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, negative self-talk, therapy, LandoLOG format, some time skips.

Notes — The championship tension is rising you guys. I’m literally on the beach in a bikini rn btw (not to brag :p)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

Chapter Twenty-Two  (Turkey — Saudi Arabia)

The flight to Istanbul was quiet.

Lando had fallen asleep somewhere over central Europe, curled against the window with his hoodie pulled up over his head. Amelia sat stiffly in her seat, notebook open on her lap, a pen twirling between her fingers. She wasn’t writing anything, though. She was thinking.

About him. About all of it.

Turkey could be a reset, if they let it. She’d witnessed McLaren spend the last week doing damage control after Sochi; shifting the narrative away from Lando’s heartbreak, framing the race as a learning experience instead of a failure. 

He’d said all the right things publicly. But privately…

Privately, Lando was still carrying it like a fresh wound.

He hated himself for it. No—no, hated was too strong. Lando didn’t hate himself. Not exactly. But he turned all his sharpest knives inward when something went wrong. A relentless critic, a perfectionist with nowhere to put all that anger but his own reflection.

Amelia had seen it happen before, smaller instances, little mistakes. But Sochi had been the biggest yet. His shot at his first win, taken away by rain and a split-second decision that nobody should have been expected to make in the heat of that moment.

And, of course, he blamed himself for all of it.

She felt a little nauseous as she watched him sleep, peaceful for the first time in days. She let the pen fall to her notebook and turned her head, staring out at the endless stretch of clouds. 

Maybe she should have seen this coming. Maybe she should have pushed harder, weeks ago, months ago. Every driver had their pressure points. Their ways of coping. Max raged. Daniel laughed. Fernando withdrew.

But Lando? Lando just punished himself. Quietly. Slowly.

She thought about how he’d been that night in Italy. How he’d tried to smile when she called it a perfect drive. How he’d apologised to her — her, like she was the one who’d lost something — and how it had taken everything in her not to cry when he’d finally let her hold him, sagging against her like he had no energy left to even stand. 

It wasn’t sustainable. She knew that. He couldn’t keep treating himself like this.

And maybe it wasn’t her place — he had a sports psychologist, didn’t he? Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be her responsibility as his girlfriend. But… she loved him. And if she couldn’t stop the rain, or change the strategy calls, or rewrite the outcome of Sochi, maybe she could at least help him carry the consequences of it. 

She thumbed her phone open, scrolled to her calendar. Her therapist offered virtual sessions and she’d been meaning to book a new one anyway. It would be a bit messy, timing-wise, with the media schedule and free practice, but—

“Whatcha doing, baby?” His voice was rough with sleep. Amelia jumped slightly, and turned to find Lando blinking blearily at her, his hair a mess under the hood.

“Nothing,” she said instinctively, then sighed. “Booking something.”

He leaned over to see her phone, squinting slightly at the brightness. “Therapy?”

She nodded, slipping the phone back into her lap. “Yeah.”

He was silent for a second, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You alright?”

It was such a Lando thing to ask — genuine concern, even half-asleep, even after everything. 

She smiled a little sadly. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s for you.”

He froze, hand half-raised toward his coffee. Slowly, he looked over at her, brow furrowed. “Me?”

“Yes.” She affirmed. 

His mouth opened, then shut. He flopped back against the headrest, pulling his hood tighter over his head like he could hide from the conversation.

Amelia didn’t let him. “Lando,” she sighed. “I’m not going to… force you into It or anything. I know you have your own therapist and stuff, but—” She paused, searching for the words. “I think the way that you handle your bad days is really unhealthy.”

Lando just stared at the seat in front of him, jaw tight.

“Obviously, you’re allowed to be upset,” she continued, with a nod. “And you’re allowed to be mad. But you punish yourself for things that are out of your control. That’s not healthy. And according to my therapist, it’s not normal.”

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. 

“I’m not saying you’re broken. Or that you need fixing. You’re—" she paused again, voice softening. "You’re you. And I love you. Exactly as you are.”

That got his attention. He turned his head slightly, just enough that she could see the faint, startled look in his eyes.

“But loving you also means wanting you to stop hurting yourself every time something goes wrong," she finished.

Silence stretched between them. 

Amelia forced herself to sit back, giving him space to think, even if every instinct screamed at her to fill the silence.

After what felt like forever, Lando let out a slow breath. “I don’t need therapy.”

Yeah. She expected that. She didn’t flinch.

“Maybe,” she said. “But you should go anyway.”

He looked at her again, properly this time, and whatever snarky retort he’d been planning died in his throat. He saw it on her face, how serious she was. How scared, even, in that quiet way she tried not to show anyone.

Finally, Lando shifted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter now. “Would it… make things easier for you? If I went?”

Amelia blinked, surprised by the shift. “This isn’t about me.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “But it is, a bit. Isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached over, covering his hand with hers. “It would help both of us,” she said simply. “I feel anxious because I’m constantly worried that you’re not okay. That’s all.”

He stared at their joined hands for a moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.“Alright,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. One session.”

Relief flooded through her so fast she had to blink back sudden, unexpected tears.

“Good,” she nodded, trying for lightness. “I would probably have tricked you into it, if you’d said no.”

He huffed a laugh, half-way between exasperated and genuinely amused. “You’re scary when you’re determined, you know that?”

“Hm.” She hummed, with a shrug. 

He smiled, a real one this time, soft and a little sheepish, and sat back, closing his eyes again.

Amelia picked up her pen once more and tapped it against her notebook. The seatbelt light pinged above them as they started their descent into Istanbul. Below the clouds, she could see the sprawling city, the Bosphorus shimmering like a ribbon of silver in the afternoon sun.

They had a long weekend ahead of them. FP1, FP2, media obligations, the race itself. More pressure, more chances for things to go wrong.

Amelia tucked her notebook away, fastened her seatbelt, and glanced at Lando.

Already asleep again. Perfect in so many ways — still a little broken in places.

But hers. 

—

They landed just after sunrise.

The sky outside was a muted gray, the roads slick with overnight rain. The air smelled wet. 

The hotel was clean and quiet, the lobby still half-asleep when Lando’s team pushed their cases inside. Amelia barely remembered the check-in; she stood back and let them handle it, her mind somewhere else entirely. Half on the weekend ahead, half on the looming therapy call they’d scheduled for later that day. 

Their room was beautiful, more of a suite. 

“You want to go get breakfast, baby?” Lando asked. 

She nodded. "Yeah. Before I crawl into bed and sleep for sixteen hours.”

He huffed a soft laugh and then reached out to grab her hand, entwining their fingers together. 

They headed down to the hotel restaurant, one of those sterile, modern spaces that looked the same in every city, and found Daniel already there, sitting at a table by the window, sunglasses shoved into his messy curls even though it was still grey outside.

He grinned wide when he spotted them, lifting his coffee in greeting. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Amelia dropped into one of the seats across from him with a sigh. "You're very awake.”

Daniel smirked. Shrugged. "Slept the whole flight. Like a professional sloth."

Lando slid into the seat beside her, slouching low. 

Daniel raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "You two look like you’re about to get executed."

Amelia made a face at him before squinting at the menu. “Why would that happen? We’re not criminals.”

Lando pulled a face, raking a hand through his hair.

Daniel leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something between a whisper and a bad stage voice. “Are the children grouchy?” He teased. 

Neither of them answered, but the silence was confirmation enough. Daniel just nodded. Then he poured them both coffee from the jug without asking and passed the mugs over like offerings.

“Oh. I need sugar,” Amelia told him, but still accepted the cup.

“Of course you do,” Daniel said with a grin, reaching around to grab one of the sugar packets from the table behind them and then flicking it at her. 

Amelia made a low, unimpressed sound and ripped her croissant in half. Then she picked up the sugar packet and put it into her coffee — because she was exhausted, and she needed caffeine immediately. 

They ordered, pastries, eggs, endless rounds of coffee, and Daniel, kept things light. He told stories about the last media day disaster, about how a cameraman tripped over his own feet trying to get a slow-mo shot of Lando walking. 

Amelia let herself laugh, cramming a bite of croissant into her mouth.

At one point, Daniel leaned back in his chair, looked at Lando with a cocked brow. "You reckon the new floor’s gonna hold up? Heard the lads were still tweaking it yesterday."

Lando shifted properly for the first time, straightening a little. "It should. They made the sidepod adjustment less aggressive, apparently. Should give us a bit more stability through Turn 8 than we had on the sim. Hope so, anyway. It was fucking awful.”

Daniel nodded in grim agreement. "Still reckon it’s gonna slide like shit if it rains."

Lando grimaced. "Yeah, well." He shrugged. 

Amelia glanced at him, worrying her bottom lip. 

Daniel rallied on, looping easily back into real shop talk. They started debating tire pressures for the cooler temperatures forecasted for qualifying, and Amelia sat there, chewing and sipping and letting their voices wash over her. Jumping in every now and then when Lando fumbled a technical term or Daniel started talking about "vibes" instead of tangible data.

"You two are hopeless," she muttered at one point, half under her breath.

Daniel leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his own. “Yeah, but we’re your hopeless idiots, ay?”

She didn’t smile, exactly, too tired for that, but her mouth twitched a little. She liked Daniel. He was fun, easygoing, a genuinely talented driver.

Her mind flickered, unbidden, to Oscar — to all the promises Alpine were making, all the big words about his future. In a way, she hoped they would follow through, give him the seat he deserved and the platform to build something extraordinary.

And in another, more selfish way, she hoped they wouldn’t.

When the breakfast plates were empty and the coffee was long gone, Daniel gave Lando a long look across the table.

"You’ll smash it, mate," he said. No jokes, no grin this time. Just honest, quiet faith.

Amelia felt her chest ache a little at the way Lando ducked his head, like he didn’t believe it yet.

Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder, light but firm. "You’ve got this."

They said goodbye, promises to catch up before FP1 tossed into the air between them, and Amelia followed Lando out of the restaurant, the cool hotel air whispering around them.

Upstairs, in the quiet of their hotel room, the nerves started creeping back in. Amelia pulled her laptop out, her fingers steady even as her stomach twisted.

"You okay?" Lando asked, standing awkwardly near the window, arms crossed.

She looked at him, at the tired set of his mouth, the way his eyes flicked to the laptop like it was a threat.

"Yeah," she said.

Because she was tired, but she wasn’t scared.

Not anymore.

"Come here," she added, patting the couch beside her.

He sat down, careful like he thought he might break something.

She touched his cheek, running the tip of her nail across his cheekbone. “I love you.” She promised. 

— 

The call connected with a faint chime, and the therapist’s calm, smiling face appeared on Amelia’s laptop screen.

Lando shifted beside her on the hotel room couch, visibly tense, one knee bouncing in a restless rhythm. Amelia resisted the urge to pin it down with her hand. She wanted him here because he wanted to be, not because he felt caged. She understood the difference all too well.

"Hi, Amelia. Hi, Lando," the therapist said warmly. "It’s great to see you both."

Amelia gave a small nod. Lando mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'hi,' his hands twisting the hem of his hoodie.

The therapist didn’t even blink. She just carried on, patient and calm, the way she always was, the perfect kind of voice that never tried too hard, never felt fake.

“So, Lando, I know Amelia and I have spoken a few times before," she started, smiling lightly, "but since this is your first session with me, why don't we start simple?"

Lando swallowed, clearly uncomfortable under the attention. Amelia watched him out of the corner of her eye, the set of his shoulders too rigid, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

He had been the one to ask, awkwardly, sheepishly, if she would sit with him during his appointment. "Just for the first one," he’d said in the back of the car, on their way from the airport to the hotel. "It’ll be easier if you’re there, I think.”

Amelia had agreed immediately. Of course she had. He never asked for help, so it would have been ridiculous to deny him when he finally did.

"I guess... yeah," Lando said now, rubbing the back of his neck. "Simple’s good."

The therapist smiled, like she could see exactly how hard he was trying. "Perfect. So, how are you feeling today, Lando?"

There was a beat. Lando’s fingers dug harder into the fabric of his hoodie.

Amelia gave him a sidelong glance, deliberate but light. You can say anything, she thought, and it won’t change anything between us.

"Stupid," Lando muttered finally, voice barely above a whisper. "For… this."

The therapist’s face stayed soft. She shook her head gently. "There’s nothing stupid about needing support. Especially in a profession as demanding as yours."

Amelia’s jaw tensed before she spoke. "And for the record," she added bluntly, "you’re not stupid. You’re stubborn. There’s a difference."

Lando cracked a tiny, unwilling smile at that. His knee stopped bouncing.

"Thanks," he said, his voice rough but real.

The therapist nodded, almost like she’d expected Amelia’s bluntness to land exactly where she intended it to.

"Let’s not worry about being perfect or saying the ‘right’ thing today," she said easily. "This is about learning to notice what’s actually going on in your head, not what you think you're supposed to feel."

Lando seemed to digest that for a moment, eyes lowered.

Amelia leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms. She could feel how tightly wound he was, even from here, but he was trying. 

God, he was trying.

"I’m fine at first," Lando said eventually, voice gaining steadiness. “Start of the weekend. I’m excited, full of adrenaline, feel like I can handle anything that’s thrown at me. Then... when I mess up, or when it feels like I’ve messed up, I can’t let go of it. I just keep thinking about it. Over and over." His voice had gone tight around the edges. Shame bleeding out before he could catch it.

Amelia exhaled slowly through her nose. She knew that loop well. It was like picking at a wound because the hurt felt more familiar than the healing.

"You’re allowed to be upset when things go wrong," the therapist said. "What we’re trying to avoid is punishing yourself for being human."

"Feels like weakness," Lando admitted.

Amelia pursed her lips. “It’s not.” She couldn’t help herself, she had to say it, had to be the one to remind him that for what felt like the fiftieth time in a week. 

Lando glanced at her. The smallest flicker of something crossed his face, gratitude, maybe. Or just… fondness.

The session continued, the conversation meandering through the tight, uncomfortable spaces of Lando’s self-criticism. He was careful at first, tentative, like every word was being weighed before it could leave his mouth. But he didn’t shut down. He didn’t pull away.

When the therapist wrapped up, reminding them both that progress wasn't linear and perfection wasn’t the goal, Amelia felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

It was hope. Not the kind she usually reserved for numbers and data sheets and strategy calls. A different kind. Messier. Stronger.

Lando closed the laptop and they sat in silence for a beat.

Then he shifted closer to her, bumping his shoulder into hers.

"Sorry for being such a mess.” He mumbled.

Amelia shuffled into his lap, pressing into him, holding him. Letting him hold her. Feeling him all but melt under the weight of her body on-top of his. “Don’t say sorry. I’m a mess too, just in a different way.” 

He pressed his face into her hair. "New race weekend," he said after a while, like he was reminding himself. "Fresh start."

"Fresh start," she nodded. "And if it falls apart again, we deal with it in a healthy way. No more being cruel to yourself. I won’t let it happen.”

Simple. Blunt. True.

Lando just held her tighter. 

— 

Amelia walked into the garage, eyes scanning the team members packing up, her mind already calculating the race data from the day. The weekend had been hard on everyone; a bitter P2 finish when they had walked into the race with their eyes on another victory. 

Max was more than just disappointed. He looked drained, eyes slitted, jaw tight. 

She found him in the corner, leaning against the wall. He didn't notice her approach, his mind still somewhere out on the track, lost in his thoughts.

“Hey,” she said, stepping into his line of sight. His eyes lifted to meet hers, but there was nothing but weariness in them. "You okay?”

He scoffed. "No. Not good. You saw it out there." His hands clenched at his sides. "I'm losing this fucking championship, Amelia. There's no way I can catch up now."

“That’s not true. You absolutely can catch up. Look at the numbers. You can still win. The gap isn’t as big as you think." She told him. Then she took a deep breath and started ticking off the facts, breaking it down as methodically as she always did. “We’ve got multiple race weekends left. You’re behind, but the points difference isn’t insurmountable. If you keep executing like you did earlier today, you’ll close the gap. It’s about consistency, and you’ve got that in spades. But if you lose hope now, start being sad instead of angry, you’ll just be handing it over to him.”

“I’m making too many mistakes.” He snapped. 

She nodded slowly. “Yes, because you’re pushing the car to the limit. And that’s what makes you better than the rest.” 

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes still on the floor, processing. But eventually, he let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I need to figure it out. I need to get my head straight.”

She nodded. 

“Thanks” he said quietly. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Amelia told him. “Become a world championship first. Then you can thank me.”

Max’s lips twitched into a half-smile. 

— 

LandoLOG #4 | Let’s Do This

Uploaded on 23rd November, 2021

[LANDO POV — United States GP]

The vlog kicks off with a zoom-in of Lando’s car in the McLaren garage—mechanics adjusting the setup, wheels spinning. The camera quickly cuts to Daniel, arms spread wide, shouting, “Yee-haw!” in a loud, exaggerated cowboy voice.

[Cold cut to Amelia]

She’s sitting in McLaren hospitality, not a hint of amusement on her face. Wearing a MV33 bomber jacket and an orange LN4 McLaren cap.

Lando’s voice breaks in.

“Alright, guys, let’s focus. Car’s feeling good. I’m feeling good. Let’s do this.”

The camera flicks to Lando walking toward the garage in his race suit. Amelia’s in the Red Bull pit area, her eyes scanning her iPad. The paddock is alive, cars roaring, crew members buzzing with activity. Amelia briefly looks up, catching Lando’s gaze. He gives a thumbs-up.

[Race Prep - Qualifying]

The camera cuts to the grid. Lando’s helmet’s on now, and the camera stays focused as the mechanics buzz around him. He’s laser-focused, blocking out the noise.

Post-Qualifying

[Cut to Lando walking back to the garage]

He’s clearly frustrated. The camera follows him as he flips it on, his voice flat. “Well, that was... not great. P5. We had the pace, but something didn’t click in that last sector. Not happy, but we move on.”

[Hotel Room - Post-Qualifying]

The scene shifts to the hotel room. Lando paces, clearly agitated, while Amelia sits on the bed, working through her iPad, a stim toy in hand. Her focus is intense, but her voice cuts through as she speaks to him.

“It’s that stupid second sector. Everyone struggled with that last corner exit, even Max.”

Lando sighs, sitting next to her. “Yeah, I know. Just... frustrating.” He leans back, rubbing his face in frustration.

Later, it cuts to them at dinner. Amelia’s holding the camera, directing it at Lando.

“Tell them what you did,” she teases.

Lando groans, rolling his eyes. “Baby…”

“He accidentally ordered fish,” she laughs, shaking the camera slightly.

Lando glares but can’t suppress a soft, grimacing smile.

[Race Highlights - United States GP]

Quick cuts of Lando on the track. His car weaves through traffic, taking tight corners with precision. Amelia’s briefly shown on the pit wall, her concentration clear as she analyses Max's data.

[Post-Race]

The camera cuts back to the McLaren garage. Lando’s sitting with a towel draped over his shoulders, sweat dripping from his face. The garage is slowly clearing out. He looks exhausted but calm now.

“P5. Could’ve been better, but we’ll take it. At least we got points.” His voice lacks excitement.

Amelia walks in, standing beside him. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he smiles at the camera. 

Text Overlay: Rest & Recharge

[Home in Monaco]

The video cuts to a scene of them in their Monaco apartment. Lando lounges on the couch, editing footage on his laptop, scrolling through social media. Amelia’s curled up with a blanket beside him, clearly content.

Lando’s voice is laid-back as he talks to the camera. “I didn’t get any sleep last night. So, today’s all about being lazy. Gonna order food, maybe watch a movie, just rest up a bit.”

Amelia looks at him, smiling over the camera. “We’re couch potatoes today — Lan, did I use that right?”

[LANDO POV — Mexican GP]

Lando’s walking down the pit lane with Daniel. The stadium section is packed with fans, the energy palpable. Lando’s voice comes through, upbeat despite the tension.

“Mexico’s always crazy, but I’m feeling good today. The car’s fast, the atmosphere’s unreal. Let’s see what we can do in qualifying.”

[Race Highlights - Mexican GP]

Cut to race footage; Lando pushing his car, making overtakes, keeping up the fight. In the background, Amelia’s pacing, muttering to herself as she goes over Max's data. When Max crosses the line, she beams, her focus momentarily shifting away. Jon, with the camera, catches the moment and gives her a thumbs-up.

[Post-Race - Mexican GP]

Post-race, Lando and Daniel are standing by their cars. Both are sweaty, but there’s a sense of satisfaction. Lando wipes his face, and speaks to the camera.

“Well, that was solid. P4. Not ideal, but we’re getting closer.”

Amelia walks over. When she sees Lando, she smiles. The couple share a quick, tight hug. She pecks him on the cheek, leaving a smudge of lipgloss.

[LANDO POV — Brazilian GP]

Cut to Lando prepping for the Brazilian GP, checking tire pressures, walking through the garage, the atmosphere high-energy. Lando’s pumped, the mood light.

Back at the hotel, Lando turns the camera to Amelia. “Here’s my girl, she’s got everything under control. Smartest person in the world.” He grins at the camera.

Amelia rolls her eyes, her cheeks flushing with a slight embarrassment. “Stop it.”

[LANDO POV — Qatar GP]

The camera shifts. The vibe’s different now. Lando’s face is tense, his jaw tight. The camera cuts to him on the grid, helmet in hand, his expression serious.

“Pressure’s on for everyone today,” his voice is calm but serious.

Amelia’s voice enters the background. “It’s going to be tricky with this heat.” She sounds calm, steady as always, but her tone holds a layer of underlying tension.

[Race Clips - Qatar GP]

Quick cuts show Lando on track, his car weaving through the desert-like circuit, gaining positions, making calculated moves.

[Post-Race - Qatar GP]

Lando stands in front of his car, towel over his shoulders, his expression hard. “P4. Could’ve been better, but... yeah. Good enough for today.” He’s not unhappy, but it’s clear this was not the result he hoped for.

The camera cuts to Lando and Amelia in their hotel room. Amelia’s curled up on his chest, a soft, intimate moment. There’s a quiet sense of exhaustion between them, but also a quiet understanding.

Text Overlay: Now onto the final stretch.

— 

Amelia sat in the strategy room in Saudi Arabia, her posture stiff, hands resting on the table, but her mind was miles away. The hum of the room buzzed around her—the quiet chatter of engineers, the occasional rustle of papers, the sharp clicks of a laptop. Jos sat at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the data, while the rest of the team worked in focused silence. But Amelia felt herself barely holding it together.

Her fingers curled around her stim toy, hidden just beneath the table. It had become a constant companion lately, grounding her when her thoughts raced and anxiety crept in. Every squeeze calmed her pulse, but it did little to ease the storm inside.

The pressure was building—the championship was coming down to the final two races of the season. Amelia’s focus was entirely on Max. The weight of it all was overwhelming.

Her gaze flicked to him. Max sat a few seats away, leaning back in his chair with an air of calm that seemed unaffected by the chaos around them. When their eyes met, the quiet reassurance in his gaze helped her center herself.

"Amelia," GP’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp and focused. "We’re ready for your input on strategy. We’ve gone over the options, but I want to hear what you think."

Her heart skipped, but she steadied herself. "Right," she said, her voice firm, though tinged with strain. Her pulse quickened again, the stress creeping up her spine, but she gripped the stim toy harder, focusing on its calming pressure.

Max, noticing the shift in her demeanour, gave her a small, reassuring nod. A silent reminder to breathe. The tension in her chest eased.

She turned back to the board, her mind sharpening. Focus on the data. Focus on Max. He can win this. As she assessed the tire strategies, weather forecasts, and available options, the path forward became clearer. This was the moment to make it count.

"I think we should risk the undercut," Amelia said, her voice steady now. Confidence surged through her. "If Max pushes on the in-lap, we can leapfrog the others. The tire wear will be crucial in the second half, and we need to capitalise on that."

Christian leaned forward, studying the data on the screen. "You’re confident?"

"Yes," Amelia replied without hesitation. "It’s our best shot at maximum points."

Max’s gaze stayed on her, unwavering, as the room hummed with quiet agreement. The strategy was beginning to take shape. Despite the nerves twisting inside her, Amelia’s mind had snapped into focus.

When the meeting wrapped up, Max was the first to approach. He didn’t say anything immediately, just walked up beside her, his presence a quiet comfort.

"You did well," he said quietly, his voice warm. "You’ve been incredible this year. I wouldn’t be this close without you." He nudged her lightly, his smile small but genuine.

Amelia let out a slow breath, leaning into his touch. "I want this for you so badly, Max," she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

Max’s expression softened. He crouched beside her, his voice dropping to something more intimate, just between the two of them. “Okay. I need to say this. Amelia, if it doesn’t happen, if I somehow mess this up... don’t blame yourself, alright? You’ve given me a championship-winning car. You’ve made me a better driver. That doesn’t change just because I—" He paused, looking for the right words. "—don’t win it."

She shook her head, a firm resolve settling in. "You will win it," she told him, her voice unwavering.

Max smiled at her, though it wasn’t his usual grin. He was just as nervous, just as desperate. "Yeah. Okay. Want to go find Lando?" he asked, his voice soft.

Amelia nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. "Let’s go."

— 

Jos slammed his headset onto the table as Max crossed the line in second.

Lewis had beaten him.

But still, the fight wasn’t over.

It was official now — Max and Lewis would enter the final race of the season dead even on points.

Winner takes all.

The garage buzzed with tension, but Amelia sat frozen, the noise around her fading into a dull roar.

She squeezed her stim toy so tightly her knuckles turned white, forcing herself to take five slow, deliberate breaths.

There was no margin for error anymore.

They had one more chance. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter eight: carnations & chisels

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. soooo sorry for the long wait but originally I had only 11 chapters planned and already wrote some of them. then decided to change things and make joel grovel/like show his feelings more.

Joel deserved this.

Hell, he deserved worse. If you had screamed at him, thrown something, cursed his name until your voice broke—maybe then, the guilt wouldn’t be sitting so heavy in his chest. But you hadn’t. You just looked at him, eyes filled with something quiet and aching, before calmly asking him to leave.

That hurt the most, how you could care so much and so little at the same time.

He left like you wanted, but that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you. In fact, he couldn’t stop. It gnawed at him, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and prevented him from eating anything more than a few bites before his stomach twisted. The memory of your face, the way your voice stayed so steady even while your eyes gave you away—it haunted him.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew why he had pushed you away. It was the same reason he always did.

Loving someone meant losing them.

Maybe not right away, but eventually. One way or another, life had a way of taking. Joel had learned that lesson the hard way, learned it the day he held Sarah’s lifeless body in his arms, her blood soaking into his hands, his shirt, his skin—like if he just held on tight enough, maybe he could keep her here. Perhaps she wouldn’t slip through his fingers like everything else.

But she did, and he had never really let go of her.

Sarah had been his whole damn world. The center of everything. Sure, he had Tommy. And yeah, he loved his brother—would take a bullet for him without hesitation. But Sarah? She was different. She was his little girl, his reason for waking up every morning, the best thing he’d ever done.

Until he blinked, and she wasn’t so little anymore.

Time had slipped through his fingers too fast, moving in ways he couldn’t control. One minute, he was teaching her how to ride a bike, his hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to catch her. The next, she was sixteen, holding her brand-new driver's license with that big, proud grin, which made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

He could still hear her voice sometimes. Dad, can I drive? C’mon, you gotta let me practice. She was terrible at first, stopping too hard at red lights, overcorrecting on turns. But she got better. He always knew she would.

Now she’d never drive again.

It hit him like a punch to the gut every time he thought about the things she never got to do. The things she’d been looking forward to. The things he’d been looking forward to.

He wondered what kind of woman she would’ve become. Would she have gone off to college like she’d always talked about? Would she have stayed close to home, still calling him every day just to check in?

Would she have liked you?

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes.

Sarah would’ve liked you. Hell, she probably would’ve loved you. She would’ve teased him about how soft he’d gotten, about how much he smiled when you were around.

Maybe that’s why this all hurt so much.

Because as much as he fought it, as much as he tried to keep people at arm’s length, he had started to imagine a future again. A life that wasn’t just about surviving but living. And now, thanks to his own damn stubbornness, he was watching it slip away.

Just like he had with Sarah.

The grief sat heavy in his chest, familiar and suffocating. It never really left him. He just got better at carrying it. But right now, it was pressing down on him with full force, reminding him of everything he’d lost—and everything he was about to lose again if he didn’t do something about it.

That loss had settled into his bones, making a home inside him, whispering in the back of his mind whenever something good came into his life. It told him to keep people at a distance. It told him that caring too much, letting himself get comfortable, was just asking for it to be ripped away.

But then you came along with Ellie. Suddenly, he had something to lose again.

That scared the hell out of him.

So he did what he always did: He pushed, built up walls, and chose the comfort of old habits over the terrifying unknown of letting himself be happy.

Now he was alone.

Joel had spent years surviving, convincing himself that was enough. But now he wasn’t so sure. Because as much as he wanted to believe that losing you would be easier than loving you, his empty bed, his sleepless nights, and the hollowness in his chest told him otherwise.

____________

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Tommy’s voice carried through the dimly lit room as he leaned back against Joel’s worn-out couch, a beer resting lazily in his grip. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was full of exasperation, like he’d finally been waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be told.

Joel didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back with some sarcastic remark like he usually would. He just sat there, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held all the answers he’d been too damn scared to find.

Tommy took a sip of his beer, watching him. When Joel still said nothing, he exhaled and shook his head. “No witty remark? Nothin’?”

Joel just gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders slumped, his whole damn body looking tired.

And that’s when Tommy sat up a little straighter, his teasing edge fading.

“Shit, man.” He ran a hand over his beard, eyes narrowing as he studied his older brother. “I knew you liked her, but this is worse than I realized.”

Joel let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t about what I feel.”

Tommy scoffed. “Like hell it ain’t. You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here? You think I don’t know you, Joel? You’re pushin’ her away ‘cause you’re scared.”

Joel’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it.

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Man, I know you. I know how you get. You think if you keep people at arm’s length, it’ll hurt less when they leave. But you’re wrong. It just means you end up alone.”

Joel exhaled slowly, gripping his beer tighter. He hated that Tommy was right.

“I lost Sarah.” His voice was quieter now, rough, like the words were scraping his throat on their way out. “And I—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Tommy sighed, setting his beer down on the coffee table with a small thud. “I know you did, Joel.” His voice softened. “And I know that kinda loss—it doesn’t ever go away. But she’s not Sarah. Neither is Ellie. They ain’t replacin’ her.”

Joel swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

Tommy sighed again, but he wasn’t as frustrated this time. “Listen, man… You think you’re protectin’ yourself. Maybe even protectin’ them. But all you’re doin’ is makin’ everyone miserable—including yourself.” He shook his head. “She likes you, Joel. And if you don’t do somethin’ about it, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep, trying to keep himself together.

Tommy leaned back again, taking another sip of his beer before muttering under his breath, “Dumbass.”

Joel let out a small, bitter chuckle. “Yeah.”

Tommy glanced at him. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel didn’t have an answer. Hell, he wasn’t sure there was an answer.

It had been two days since you asked him to leave your shop—two days of silence, of walking around with a weight in his chest that wouldn’t let up. He’d thought giving you space was the right thing to do, but all it had done was leave him stewing in his own regrets.

What was there to do?

Showing up unannounced felt wrong. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready to talk to him. Didn’t want to make you feel like he was forcing himself back into your life when you’d been so damn clear about needing him out of it.

But at the same time…

The thought of doing nothing was unbearable.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I dunno, Tommy.” His voice came out rough, tired. “She doesn’t wanna see me. Ain’t like I can just waltz in and—” He gestured vaguely. “Fix it.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Joel, I know this is hard for you, but you gotta quit makin’ excuses.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy wasn’t wrong.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses.” He clenched his jaw, looking away. “Just don’t wanna make it worse.”

Tommy scoffed. “Worse than sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Because, yeah. Maybe Tommy had a point.

Maybe he hadn’t gone to you yet because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face you. Wasn’t sure he could handle whatever look you’d give him—whether it was anger, disappointment, or worse… indifference.

He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

“Look, man.” Tommy’s voice softened. “I ain’t sayin’ you gotta show up at her door with a grand speech or some shit. But you love her, don’t you?”

Joel’s grip on his beer tightened. The word made his chest ache. Love.

Like it was something he could have again. Something he deserved.

Tommy saw the hesitation in his brother’s eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta say it. I already know. But if you sit around waitin’ for the perfect moment, you’re gonna miss your chance.”

Joel stayed quiet, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Tommy sighed again, standing up and clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Think about it, man.”

____________

Three days.

Three days since you told Joel to leave.

You had needed to do it. It was the right thing.

So why did it feel so goddamn awful?

The first day, you told yourself you were fine. You pushed through work, kept your head down, and ignored how your chest ached every time the door opened, but it wasn’t him. By the second day, Ellie had noticed something was wrong. She asked why Joel hadn’t stopped by, why you kept staring at your phone like you were expecting a message you’d never actually get. You made up an excuse about him being busy with work, but she wasn’t stupid.

By day three, the ache had settled in, deep and constant, and you hated it. Hated that despite everything, part of you missed him.

Because you shouldn’t.

Joel had spent years making it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. He glowered at you from across the room, spoke in clipped, dismissive sentences, and acted like your kindness was something he had to tolerate. You didn’t owe him anything.

Yet…

You curled your fingers around the counter, gripping it like it could anchor you and prevent you from sinking into this mess of feelings you didn’t want to deal with.

The truth was, you’d always liked Joel even when he was gruff, even when every conversation felt like pulling teeth. Even when you told yourself you didn’t.

There was something about him. Something steady. He had that quiet kind of strength that made people trust him without realizing they were doing it.

Joel was a good man. A good man. Even if he’d never shown you that side of himself.

Until he did.

Suddenly, he was fixing your floor without hesitation—without complaints, without a smug told-you-so attitude—until he kept finding more things to fix, as if he wanted a reason to stick around. Until he sat with Ellie, humoring her endless questions and listening as if what she said actually mattered.

And God—Ellie.

Your daughter had never warmed up to anyone so fast.

She wasn’t shy, but she was cautious. She tested people first, observed, and waited before she trusted them. But with Joel?

It was like she knew.

Like she’d been waiting for him just as long as you had.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

No.

You shut the thought down because this thing with Joel—whatever it was, whatever it could’ve been—was complicated. Messy.

Yet, standing there in the quiet, with the hum of the shop settling around you, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache curling deep in your chest.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe Joel hadn’t just been fixing things to make himself feel better. Perhaps he’d been trying—really trying—to make it up to you. To make room for you.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter's edge like it could steady the spiral of thoughts spinning in your head.

Because the truth was, if you let yourself believe that… if you allowed yourself hope…and you were wrong? It would break something in you that might not be fixable.

But hadn’t Joel already cracked something open inside you?

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that you didn’t like him—that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter but then he started showing up. Not just in small ways, but significant ways.

Maybe, deep down, he’d always cared. Perhaps he just didn’t know how to show it.

You rubbed at your temple, frustration bubbling up because nothing was simple. Joel had spent years keeping you at a distance. Years convincing you that getting close to him wasn’t an option. That he didn’t want it.

So what changed?

What if this wasn’t real? What if he thought he wanted this, but deep down, it was just guilt or obligation?

God, you didn’t know what was worse—the possibility that you had let yourself get pulled into something doomed from the start, or the thought that maybe…Joel had finally figured out he wanted you too.

____________

You hadn’t planned on running into Tommy.

When you walked into the diner to grab lunch, you knew there was a chance. Knew this was his usual spot. Knew there was a slim possibility Joel could be here too.

But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. You weren’t here for them.

Yet, Tommy was sitting in his usual booth with a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon in front of him.

You tried to be subtle, to slip past before he noticed, but it was too late.

He was already sliding out of the booth, heading straight for you.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Don’t." You put up a hand before he could even open his mouth. "I don’t care what Joel told you—"

"I ain’t gonna defend him." Tommy’s voice was even, firm.

That made you blink. You had expected him to try to smooth things over, offer some kind of excuse, and “That’s just how he is” nonsense.

Instead, he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Trust me, I ain’t here to say he handled things right. He’s an idiot. Always has been."

That… surprised you. Your arms slowly lowered as you hesitated, watching him warily.

Tommy exhaled, glancing toward the window before looking back at you. "Look… Joel’s an odd one. Always has been. He’s never been good at bein’ open with how he feels, even before—"

He stopped himself, jaw tightening. You knew what he was going to say.

Even before Sarah.

Your stomach twisted.

Tommy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "But I know him. And I know he wouldn’t have offered to fix your shop’s floor if he didn’t want to."

That made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for because, deep down, you knew that.

Joel wasn’t the type to do anything he didn’t want to. He sure as hell wouldn’t have spent all that time fixing your shop, eating lunch with you, answering Ellie’s endless questions if he hadn’t wanted to.

But then why had he said what he said?

Why had he made it sound like your kindness was the problem?

"He didn’t just shut me out, Tommy." Your voice was quiet, but the hurt bled through. "He made me feel like I was too much. Like being nice to him was some kind of…burden."

Tommy sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know." He hesitated before continuing, his voice lower now. "Joel’s scared of shit he can’t control. And you… you make him feel things he doesn’t know what to do with."

You swallowed hard.

"That ain’t an excuse," Tommy added quickly, shaking his head. "He messed up. But I also know my brother. And if you think he ain’t been beatin’ himself up over it the last three days, you’re dead wrong."

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel bad for Joel after what he’d said.

You inhaled deeply, staring at the floor before glancing back at Tommy. "What do you think I should do?"

Tommy just raised a brow. "Ain’t my decision to make, darlin’."

You chewed on your lip, torn, emotions warring inside you.

You could walk away. Let this go. Pretend none of it mattered.

Or—

You could find out if Joel still had anything left to say.

____________

You barely recognized yourself. You had actually done it. Asked Tommy to send Joel to the shop—had lied to get him here.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms clammy as you gripped the counter, trying—and failing—to steady your breath.

Your phone buzzed—a message from Tommy.

He’s on his way. Thinks the back door fell off the hinges. Don’t be too hard on him.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t just a lie.

It was a trap.

The bell above the shop door chimed, and your stomach twisted.

Joel stepped inside, brow furrowed, toolbox in hand. His flannel was slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and dust lingering on his jeans like he’d been in the middle of another job. His sharp eyes swept the shop before landing on you.

"Where is it?" he asked gruffly, nodding toward the back, already moving like he didn’t want to waste time.

Your fingers curled into the edge of the counter. "Joel." Something in your voice made him pause.

His shoulders stiffened, his back straightening as he turned to face you fully. "There’s nothing wrong with the door, is there?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "No."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the toolbox down with a thud. His jaw tightened like he was already bracing for whatever was coming.

"So why am I here?" His voice was low, guarded.

"Because I needed to talk to you."

Joel was still. Unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed. "Look—if this is about the other day—"

"Of course, it’s about the other day, Joel." You stepped around the counter, arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me."

The words hung heavy in the air between you.

Joel flinched barely, but you caught it.

"I know," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I was an ass. Always have been."

"I don’t need an apology, Joel. I need to understand." You swallowed, your voice softer now. "You said you didn’t like that I was kind. That it bothered you." You exhaled slowly. "Why?"

Joel dragged a hand through his hair, looking away, tension bracketing his shoulders.

You waited. You wouldn’t push him, but you wouldn’t let him run either.

After a long moment, Joel sighed. "‘Cause it made me feel somethin’ I didn’t want to feel."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Joel's fingers flexed at his sides like he was wrestling with the words before he forced them out.

"I spent years keepin’ people at arm’s length. Safer that way. Easier. And then you came along—" He huffed humorlessly, shaking his head. "All sunshine and patience and...just wouldn’t quit, no matter how much of a bastard I was to you."

Your throat felt tight. "And you hated that?"

"No." His voice cracked, and that did something to you.

His eyes met yours, and Joel Miller looked wrecked for the first time since you’d met him. "I was scared of it." 

The confession sat heavy between you, raw and real.

You took a slow step closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

Joel hesitated. “Sarah.”

Your heart clenched. You’d known. Tommy had told you. But Joel had never said her name before.

His voice was rough, like it scraped against something inside him. "She was sixteen. Had just gotten her license. Was drivin’ with a friend. Some asshole ran a red light." His throat bobbed, jaw clenched. "She didn’t make it."

A breath shuddered through you.

"Joel."

He shook his head like he didn’t want sympathy. Like he couldn’t take it.

"After that, I told myself I wasn’t gonna feel that kinda loss again. So I kept my distance. Didn’t let people get too close." His voice went even lower. "Then you show up. And Ellie—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "And suddenly, I got this ache in my chest I don’t know what to do with."

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for his hand.

Joel tensed at first—like the touch was foreign, like he wasn’t used to being comforted—but he didn’t pull away.

"Let me be here for you." Your voice was soft and steady. "As a friend. As someone to lean on."

Joel's gaze flickered downward, settling where your hand rested against his.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, his fingers curled around yours—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold onto anything good. But he didn’t let go.

His hand was warm and rough, with calluses, but you squeezed it anyway, offering something solid and real.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t deserve comfort."

Your chest ached at how he said it—like it was fact, like it was something he’d told himself so many times it had become a part of him.

"That’s not true."

"It is." His voice was quiet but firm. "I failed her."

"Joel." You squeezed his hand tighter, forcing him to look at you. "It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have changed what happened."

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering with something raw—something close to breaking.

"I was supposed to protect her." His voice was hoarse like the words were physically painful to say. "I was her damn father."

You swallowed hard, stepping closer, letting your free hand rest lightly against his forearm.

"And you loved her," you murmured. "With everything you had. And I know she knew that."

Joel let out a slow, shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

You watched him carefully, giving him a moment, letting him process.

Then, barely above a whisper. "You remind me of her." Joel’s eyes stayed on yours, searching like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said that out loud.

"Not that you’re the same," he added quickly, shaking his head. "But the way you…care. How warm you are. How you make people feel safe just by bein’ around." He exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "It scared the hell outta me."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back.

"I never wanted to scare you, Joel."

"I know." He sighed, glancing down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed absently against your skin, and you weren’t sure he even realized he was doing it.

You gave him a small, sad smile. "I see you. And I know what it’s like to carry something heavy alone."

Joel’s throat bobbed, his grip on you steady—solid in a way that felt grounding, like he wasn’t just holding your hand but holding you there, keeping you from slipping away.

For so long, he had only seen one version of you. The warm, unwavering light, the person who always had a kind word, a soft smile, a gentle touch.

But there was more to you.

You inhaled slowly, gaze dropping for a second before you looked back at him, something fragile in your expression. "I may seem like I have it all together, but..." Your voice wavered, fingers tightening slightly around his. "I’m not always sunshine and rainbows, Joel."

His brows furrowed, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I have moments where I feel like I’m failing Ellie. Like I’m not enough."

Joel stilled. That was a side of you he had never seen before.

Not once had he heard you doubt yourself. Not once had he seen that uncertainty in your eyes. You were always sure, always certain about everything, about everyone.

He had spent years pushing you away, thinking you were too good, too bright, too much of something he couldn’t handle.

But you weren’t invincible, and that realization wrecked him.

"I don’t always know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I try my best, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If I’m enough."

Joel shook his head immediately, as if the idea alone was wrong. "You are."

You exhaled, blinking quickly. "You don’t know that."

"I do." His voice was firm, with no hesitation. "You love that girl more than anythin’. And she knows it. That’s enough."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, looking away for a second. "You sound so sure."

"‘Cause I am."

The silence stretched thick with something unspoken and tender.

"She was like you. Strong. Always put everyone else first." His lips pressed into a thin line. "I used to tell her she worried too much about other people. She’d just smile and say, ‘Somebody has to, Dad.’"

Something inside you broke at that. 

You blinked, caught off guard. "Sarah?"

Joel nodded, exhaling slowly. "She would’ve liked you," Joel added, his voice quieter now.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you pushed through them, stepping a little closer. "I would’ve liked her too."

Joel swallowed hard, his hand still wrapped around yours. 

"Guess this makes us friends?" Your voice was light and teasing—an attempt to break the tension and bring back some of that familiar warmth between you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No."

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected some grand declaration, but that? That hurt more than it should have. 

You started to pull back, put some space between you, and guard yourself the way he always had, but then Joel’s grip on your hand tightened.

"You’re more than that."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t look at you at first, just ran a rough thumb over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, like he was still getting used to the feeling of holding on.

"I don’t do this. Don’t talk about things. Don’t let people get close." His voice was low, as if he was admitting something he didn’t quite have the words for. "But you…"

His gaze lifted, finally meeting yours.

"You got under my skin. Drove me crazy, always bein’ so damn warm. Always smilin’, always makin’ sure everyone else was all alright." He huffed, shaking his head. "I told myself I hated it. Hated you."

His thumb kept moving over your skin, slow and steady, as it grounded him.

"But I never hated you."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and warm all at once.

You swallowed hard, searching his face, trying to piece together what this was, what he was saying. "What does this mean?"

Joel exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours like he was afraid to let go. "It means… I wanna try. If you’ll have me."

Your breath hitched.

"I mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting slightly. "If you feel the same. I don’t wanna push you or—"

"Joel." You smiled—soft, reassuring.

His eyes flicked to yours, cautious, uncertain.

"I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t feel the same."

Something shifted in him, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening, his jaw unclenching.

His gaze dropped briefly, like he needed a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Then let me take you out." His voice was quiet but steady, rough around the edges in that Joel way, but full of something real. "A real date. Nothin’ fancy, just… me and you. See where this goes."

Your chest ached in the best way.

"You’re really askin’ me on a date, Miller?" you teased lightly, but there was a tremor of genuine emotion beneath your words.

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Damn right, I am."

Your fingers curled around his, a warmth spreading through you.

"Okay."

Joel blinked, like maybe he hadn’t let himself believe you’d actually say yes.

Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth tugged upward—not quite a full smile, but enough to make your heart stutter.

"Okay." He echoed, his voice quieter now, as if he was letting himself have this moment.

Like he was letting himself have you.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock, @forpunishers, @yallgotkik, @cuteanimalmama, @worhols

[mehtallee]

Pumping Dumb

Troy wasn’t exactly the sharpest guy when we first met, but back then, at least he could form full sentences. He was my college roommate—a six-foot-four, gym-obsessed wall of muscle who somehow balanced his protein-shake-fueled lifestyle with being a student. Well, tried to, anyway. It didn’t take long before he started asking me for “help.”

“Bro, I need to get bigger,” he had groaned one night, staring at himself in our dorm mirror, flexing his arms. “But, like, I dunno, bro… I feel like I ain’t doing enough, y’know?”

I adjusted my glasses and leaned back in my chair, hiding my smirk. Oh, I know. I had been waiting for this moment.

“You need a system, Troy,” I said. “Someone to guide you. Someone… smart.”

His eyes lit up. “Like you, bro?”

I nodded. “Exactly like me.”

And just like that, I had him.

The plan was subtle at first. I started with supplements—my own special mix, designed to boost his energy, accelerate his gains, and, well… gently suppress his higher thinking. The changes crept in slowly, so Troy never noticed. But I did.

He stopped questioning things. If I told him to do something, he’d do it—no hesitation.

“Drink this.”

“Okay, bro.”

“Do one more set.”

“Hell yeah, bro.”

“Skip that lecture. You don’t need it.”

“Yeah, bro, waste of time.”

Each day, he lifted heavier weights while his thoughts got lighter. His sentences got shorter. His vocabulary shrank. But he felt great, and that’s all that mattered to him.

----------------------------------------------

At first, I had to be careful. There were still traces of thought left in that thick skull of his. I learned that the hard way when I got too bold too soon.

One day, while he was sitting on his bed scrolling through his phone, I took the opportunity to get a little… hands-on.

“Damn, Troy,” I murmured, moving closer. “You’ve really packed on some size.”

He smirked, flexing his arm. “Hell yeah, bro. Feels tight.”

I reached out, letting my fingers graze over his biceps, testing their firmness. Perfect.

But then—

“Uh, dude?” His expression shifted, uncomfortable. He pulled his arm away. “Kinda weird, man. Like, chill.”

I forced a laugh, raising my hands. “Hey, just admiring the work, dude.”

He gave me a wary look, then shrugged it off, going back to his phone. But I made a mental note. Too soon. There was still something in him that resisted. I’d have to fix that.

---------------------------------------

By the time we hit week three, Troy was skipping every single class. His idea, of course—or so he thought.

“Dude,” I said one morning, watching him struggle to put on a tank top that barely fit his swelling torso. “College isn’t really for guys like you, y’know?”

He frowned, his thick brows scrunching. “Huh?”

“I mean, look at you, Troy. You were born to lift, to grow. You really think wasting time in lectures is gonna help you get swole?”

His lips moved slightly, like he was trying to process what I’d said, but I could see the gears in his head turning slower than before.

“Uh… yeah, bro,” he finally said, nodding. “Yeah! You right! I gotta, like… focus, bro. Just—just LIFT. Get BIG.”

I grinned. “Exactly.”

And just like that, Troy stopped attending College entirely.

-----------------------------------------------------

By week five, he had completely surrendered his decision-making to me without realizing it. He thought he was in control.

“Bro, should I eat this?”

“What do you think, Troy?”

His blank stare lasted a second too long. Then: “Uh… I think… I dunno, bro. You think for me.”

“I do, don’t I?”

He nodded, beaming, completely unaware of how empty his own head had become. I had done it. Troy wasn’t just dumb anymore. He was mine.

------------------------------------------------

6 months has passed since then, and now? Now I could touch him as much as I wanted.

“Hey, Troy,” I murmured, running my fingers along his thick arm. “You cool with this?”

Troy blinked, his dopey grin unwavering. “Huh? Uh… yeah, bro. I don’t mind.”

I squeezed his bicep, watching the way his muscle flexed under my grip. Perfection. “Why’s that?”

He tilted his head, slow to process. “’Cause… uh… I’m just… muscle, bro.”

I smirked. “That’s right. You’re just muscle. Just a big, strong body. No need to think, right?”

Troy’s lips parted slightly. “Yeah, bro. Just… body.”

I ran a hand down his chest, pressing into his pecs, feeling their firm weight. No resistance. Nothing but dumb compliance. My fingers brushed under his arm, grazing the warm, musky skin of his armpit. The scent hit me instantly—strong, masculine, overpowering.

“Man, you really are just a muscle,” I murmured, inhaling deeply. “Crazy, right? You used to think this was weird.”

Troy’s slack expression didn’t change. “Huh? Uh… nah, bro. Ain’t weird.”

I chuckled. “Oh, but you did think it was weird before. Remember?”

His forehead scrunched slightly, trying to think. “Uh… nah, bro. I don’t… remember.”

I grinned, giving his pec a playful squeeze. “Of course you don’t. Because a muscle doesn’t need memories.”

Troy nodded slowly. “Yeah, bro… just muscle.”

“Just a muscle that belongs to me, huh?”

There was a pause. Then, with a slow, stupid nod: “Yeah, bro. Yours.”

I smirked and grabbed the hem of his shirt. “You don’t need this, do you?”

Troy blinked, watching as I pulled it up over his head and tossed it aside. His bare torso gleamed under the light, thick with sweat, pulsing with heat.

“Just a big, dumb toy for me to play with,” I murmured, trailing my hands across his chest, his stomach, his arms. “And you’re fine with that, aren’t you?”

Troy’s lips curled into a mindless smile. “Yeah, bro… fine with it.”

“Good boy.”

I dug my fingers into his flexed bicep, relishing the way he didn’t even flinch as I placed my fingers dip into the crevices of his bicep to his armpits...

This dumb muscle hunk is really far gone. all his work, all his excursion, all his efforts to build this majestic body, all of it is all mine.

[spicyspiders]

old man logan part 2

3.1k words

logan isn't as mean in this, but there are still moments when he is, like when he forces the reader to drink a glass of whisky he poured for him because he doesn't want him to waste it.

part 1

You wanted to give the guy a chance, but fuck, you just weren’t interested. You thought it’d be a good idea, after all, your mother told you she didn’t want you spending your whole summer at home. You assumed what she meant was a summer job, but you thought going on a date would be more entertaining. 

It wasn’t really the guy’s fault though, your mind was much too occupied by the thought of Logan. It has been two weeks since then and your mind hasn’t stopped thinking about it since that day. The only interaction you’ve had with him since then was nods and glances when you saw him outside. 

A week after that day, you learned of his change of heart. It became much louder outside after Logan returned all of the lost toys in his backyard, much happier. You even made a comment about it to your date. 

“That was sweet of him,” the man said from across the table at the bar. 

“Yeah. It sure was,” you responded, trying not to smile too hard. 

“Why do you think he had a change of heart?” Your date asked. 

You quickly changed the subject after he asked, not wanting to give anymore details away. “Sorry,” you pointed to one of your ears, “it’s pretty loud in here.”

”Do you wanna,” he pointed at the door, his eyes bright under the light of the bar. 

You nodded and gathered your things to pay your tab, the sweet taste of the drink you had earlier was still at the back of your throat. Only having one drink at the bar meant it was easy to come up with another excuse to get in your car and drive home. 

The man looked disappointed, but he quickly perked up after you pressed a kiss to his cheek with the promise of next time whispered into his ear. 

“How was your date?” Logan asked when you got out of your car, “not so good I guess since you’re home before sundown,” he let out a cruel laugh. 

“It was just one drink,” you responded as you shut your car door. 

“What,” he tossed the rag he had just cleaned his motorcycle with over his shoulder, “he not want to invite you inside for a nightcap?”

”A nightcap?” You grimaced, “how old are you?”

Logan chuckled, “don’t get mad at me,” he said, stepping closer and into your driveway, “I’m sure he would’ve invited you in if he knew how easy you were,” he said quietly, not close enough for you to smell the cleaner on the rag. 

“Next time he’ll know,” you said, crossing your arms. 

The laugh Logan lets out is loud and booming, much too loud for the time of evening it was, “you’re telling me,” Logan says once he’s gotten his laughing under control, “you don’t put out on the first day?”

“I do when I want to. My mind’s been just a little,” you pause, looking away from Logan’s eyes and definitely not down to his lips, “occupied.”

“Why don’t we go inside and talk about it,” Logan whispers. 

Logan wastes no time getting his hands on you once you’re behind his door. His hands are warm on your hips as he presses you into the door. The kiss is not at all like the one you pressed to your date’s cheek earlier, it’s rough and messy and just what you expected. 

“What’d you drink earlier?” Logan panted after pullings away from the kiss, “it tastes like you swallowed a pound of candy,” he says, looking disgusted. 

“That’s how I like my drinks. Besides, I only had one,” you watched as Logan stepped back and walked to his kitchen, “it shouldn’t be that bad!” You yelled at his back. 

You could hear the sound of cabinets slamming and glass hitting the counter before Logan’s voice followed he sound, “get in here.” He spoke again after you were beside him leaning against the countertop, “I’m putting you on the good stuff. None of that sugary bullshit,” he said as he poured a glass of whisky. 

“I think you just wanted an excuse to drink,” you said as he moved to the second glass. 

“I don’t need an excuse to drink. I’m a grown man, and so are you. You’re too old for that-”

”Sugary bullshit,” you say, cutting him off, rolling your eyes, “I know.”

“A toast,” Logan says after picking up his glass, “to trying new things.” 

You weren’t going to tell Logan you’ve had whisky before, but you play up your reaction just to save his ego. You cough even though you’re used to the burn and make a face of disgust even though you’re used to the taste. 

With a laugh, Logan claps a hand on your back, “it’s not a shot, you’re supposed to savor it,” which was ironic for him to say given how quickly he drank his. With his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, he looked at you expectantly.

”What,” you snapped. 

“Drink it,” Logan commanded, “you don’t waste my whiskey.”

“You drink it,” you said back.

Slowly, Logan takes the glass as he steps in front of you and crowds you up against the counter. His eyes stay locked to yours as he takes the rest of what was in your glass into his mouth. You wait for him to swallow, but instead he wraps his other hand around the back of your neck and gets in real close. 

“Open,” he says around the liquid in his mouth. 

You have no choice but to comply, especially when his hand tightens on the back of his neck. The whisky trickles into your mouth, along your tongue, and then down your throat in a warm path. You lick your lips, the tip touching Logan’s as you try to gather the bit that fell from the side of your mouth. 

Logan’s thumb gathers it before he pushes it into your mouth, “good boy,” he murmurs when you suck the taste from his skin. 

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and then back down your chin where the liquid had dripped, leaving another wet trail. He kisses you again, this time much slower. His tongue runs along yours and all you can taste is a mix of whisky and something that is all Logan. 

“You really are easy,” Logan says when he pulls away from the kiss, one of his hands moving to your hard cock tenting your pants, “look at how hard you are,” he says like he’s in awe of a brilliant discovery. “Bedroom?” He asks with a smirk.

“Wouldn’t standing for too long hurt your back?” You respond, biting back your smile as you watch his smirk fall. 

“Little fuckin’ smartass,” Logan grumbles as he hoists you over his shoulder, “I gotcha,” he says at your noise of surprise, making sure to pat your ass for good measure. 

“I can walk,” you say to him after you’re thrown onto his bed.

”Not after this,” Logan responds, swooping down to mash your lips together. With his knee, he made space between your legs for his body and used his hands to lift your legs and get them around his waist. 

You moaned into the next kiss Logan initiated as he rolled his hips to grind your cocks together. For what felt like hours, Logan thrust your cocks together through your clothes. It made you feel like a teenager again, especially with how close you felt when Logan finally pulled away to pull his shirt off. 

You wanted to look over to see if you could see into Logan’s closet to see if tank tops were all he wore. You’d give him props though if they were at least different colors. It’s too bad Logan’s chest was too distracting. 

You ran your fingers up Logan’s chest, gliding through his dark chest hair until you reached his broad shoulders. You used them as a sturdy purchase to pull yourself up to get your mouth against his again. You ran your nails down Logan’s back and he pulled back and let out a noise of pain which had your cock throbbing. 

Free from the kiss, you leaned down to the expanse of Logan's neck to bite at the skin. Above you, Logan moaned when you ran your tongue along the mark you just bit into his skin, the flesh tasting like sweat. 

Logan pulled you back face to face with a hand on the back of your neck. His breaths hit your face as he panted from the pleasure, his eyes dark and full of lust. He pressed a chaste kiss to your kiss before pulling away again to get your clothes off. 

“No underwear?” He asked, a smile stretching out across his face. 

“You didn’t have any on either,” you responded. Logan’s hard cock bobbed in the air between your bodies, but he didn’t let you touch it as he pushed you back down onto the bed once your shirt was off. 

“I’m in my own home,” Logan said as he wrestled your pants off and threw them into the pile of your clothes. 

“You were outside when I got home,” you said, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss. 

“I was waiting for you,” Logan said against your mouth after he pulled away, “you’ve been ignoring me,” he said, nipping at your bottom lip.

”I’ve been busy,” you said before grabbing two handfuls of Logan’s ass to get your cock against his. Your head fell back into one of the pillows on Logan’s bed as your cocks rubbed together, making a mess of precum.

”Whoring yourself out,” Logan said into the column of your neck before he bit harshly into the skin. He held himself up on his forearm, his other being used to go between your legs, past your cock and to your hole. 

He groaned around the skin between his teeth as he circled the pad of his finger around the tight furl of your hole, “you’re fuckin’ killing me,” Logan said, his forehead falling to your neck. “This all for me?” He asked, almost mockingly. 

“Sometimes I like doing the shower if I’m home alone,” you say with a groan when Logan rubs your cocks together again. 

“Yeah? You gotta go fast before mommy and daddy get home?” Logan asks as he presses the edge of his finger to the opening. “Who were you thinkin’ about hmm?” He asks, looking at you with his dark eyes. 

“You thinkin’ about that guy you were gonna go on a date with as you took your shower this morning?” Logan asked, his finger touching your hole, but not yet pressing inside. “Or me? Cause you already knew he wasn’t going to satisfy you,” Logan says, finally pressing his finger inside. 

Logan’s finger met the remnants of the lube you weren’t able to wash from your hole, slicking the way so that his finger could go all the way to the hilt. He moved his finger slowly, not pulling it out, but instead moving it around enough for you to become accustomed to it. 

He leaned down to kiss you just as slowly as he worked his finger, his tongue moving to the rhythm of his finger as he mapped out your mouth. He pulled his tongue from your mouth as his finger left and swallowed the soft noise you let out. 

Quickly Logan left and came back with a bottle of lube after rifling through his nightstand. Back on the bed, he got behind you and got you onto your side and lifted one of your legs up and rested it against his muscular bicep.

His finger, now wet with lube, touched the edge of your hole, spreading lube along the skin. It glided inside as Logan pressed his lips to yours. He kissed and kissed and kissed you as he got you ready for his cock that laid on his thigh. 

The only interruption to your lips was when Logan found your prostate with his two fingers. “There we are,” Logan whispered after he pulled away. For a moment, he fucked his two fingers into your prostate, milking the bundle of nerves until your cock gushed precum. 

You felt full by the third finger, not thinking you could take more, but when you looked down at Logan’s cock, everything in you wanted to try. Logan’s fingers went to your chin to turn your face away and back to kiss him, and all you could focus on was pleasure as his fingers on your prostate turned your brain to mush.

After Logan pulled his fingers free from your hole, he rolled you onto your stomach. He pressed kisses to the side of your neck, right on your hammering pulse as he slicked up his cock. Logan pressed his sweaty forehead to the back of your head as he lined his cock up to your hole. 

You bit into the pillow as the head of Logan’s cock entered your hole. If it felt intense, the rest of the length of cock was damn near overwhelming. You sobbed into the pillow when Logan bottomed out, clenching on his cock as you tried to adjust. 

“Fuckin’ hell, bub,” Logan groaned as he let his weight fall on top of you. 

“Don’t,” you started, but your words fell into a moan when Logan circled his hips, “call me bub while your dick is inside me.”

“What should I call you then? Boy?” He asked, his breaths hitting your ear, “you gonna be a good boy and take my cock?” He questioned, pulling his cock from your hole. “Or should I call you my bitch,” he said as he bottomed out again, “you already take me so well and we’ve just gotten started.”

Every time Logan pulled out and thrust back in, you could swear you could feel his cock in your stomach, like he was carving out a spot inside you just for him. His hips slapped against your ass as he held you down with his hands on your hips, selfishly taking his pleasure through the use of your body.

“Fuckin, wanted you since I first saw you,” Logan said after he thrust all the way inside and ground his hips on your ass, getting his cock as deep as it could go, “knew you would take my cock so well,” he said, biting into your shoulder. 

He roughly flipped you over and placed one of your legs on his shoulder. His cock was back inside with a swift thrust, Logan’s hand on the ankle on his shoulder. Once all the way in, he pressed his lips to your ankle and then nearly bent you in half to get his lips on yours again. 

Again and again Logan pulled his cock from your body to thrust it back inside, and again and again Logan’s cock would nail your prostate. Since the brush of his fingers, there was a burn in your stomach, one that Logan made grow brighter and hotter. 

“This everything you wanted?” Logan asked, not even giving you the chance to answer before he had his lips on yours. You moaned into each other’s mouths when Logan’s hand wrapped around your hard cock and stroked to the thrusts of his hips. 

Your orgasm hit you like a wave of the coldest water, washing over the burn Logan started. The force of it had your back arching off the bed into Logan’s body as stripes of white spurted messily over his fist and between your bodies. 

Logan answered the moans you let out with ones of his own as you clenched down on his cock over and over again, and it wasn’t long until his thrusts came to a halt. Logan came with a shout, his arms wrapping around your body as he let his weight fall on top of you once more. His body gave involuntary twitches as the aftershocks hit and whimpers of pleasure fell from his mouth and into the crook of your neck where his head was buried. 

You raised a hand and ran your fingers through Logan’s sweaty hair, the man raising his head at the contact. He kissed you softly, taking in the soft noise you let out as he shifted and his cock slipped free. After one last kiss, he lifted himself up and walked from the room. 

You stretched out like a cat on Logan’s bed, your cock twitching when you felt Logan’s cum leak from your hole. 

“Comfortable?” Logan asked after he returned, your face smushed into a pillow. 

Like earlier, you could hear the clink of glasses being set down, but new was the sensation of a warm cloth on your skin. You just hoped it wasn’t the one he used to clean his motorcycle earlier. 

“Should I clean you with this?” Logan asked, his lips dragging along your neck. Warm drops hit your back, making you gasp, “or my mouth?”

”What type of lube did you use? Strawberry lube doesn’t taste too bad,” you said tiredly into the pillow. 

“Slut,” Logan responded, sounding almost fond as he wiped you down. “I should take a picture before I clean you up,” he said to himself but loud enough for you to hear after spreading your asscheeks to look at your fucked out hole.   

You rolled over when Logan turned you over with a hand on your hip to get your front. You hissed as the wet warmth came into contact with your soft cock. “Ah,” you moaned at the overstimulation. 

“Hush,” Logan commanded, “you can take it,” he whispered, his body inching closer when your hips came off the bed. “That’s my boy,” Logan praised once you relaxed back onto the bed. 

He left once more to toss the rag away before he joined you back on the bed. He reached onto the bedside table for the bottle of whisky and glasses he brought up. It was quiet for a few moments as he poured you each a glass, save for the hum of the air conditioner. 

“You gonna see him again?” Logan asked after he took a sip. 

You glanced over at Logan, watching how his eyes were trained on the sloshing liquid in the glass, “something came up,” you responded, smiling down into your glass before you raised it and took a sip. 

Logan shifted closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He raised his glass and you clinked yours with his before you both took another sip.

[grimmweepers-archive]

— ★ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: afab!reader. dry humping. premature cumming. ok it’s his first time, he’s trying. reader is a tease. 0.8k words. MDNI. 18+ only.| masterlist

Virgin!Alhaitham who is known for being one of the brightest minds to come out of the Akademiya in years. A genius in his own right who can speak over 20 languages and executes everything he tries to perfection. But still has one thing that’s completely out of his realm: sex. 

He acts like it’s no big deal, shrugging off the idea of casual flings just to get his dick wet. It was beneath him, a pointless distraction from his personal goals. Instead, he turned to erotic literature, dissecting it for information like he would any other subject. It’s still educational, he reasons, a way to learn without getting tangled in something that would just waste his time. 

But then Virgin!Alhaitham starts dating you, and suddenly everything he’s learned doesn’t seem so abstract anymore. He’s thorough, methodical— he thinks he knows enough to ensure his first time with you goes off without a hitch. And yet. 

The first time you grind on his clothed cock, he was unprepared for the intensity, the friction, the heat— before he knew it he was already twitching and soiling his pants, his face flushing with embarrassment as he squeezes his eyes shut, white-knuckling your thighs at the realisation that he just came prematurely. 

“Did you just cum?” You ask with a playful lilt in your voice.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters, slightly mortified.

But really, who could blame him? You’re too much for him. Too beautiful. Too sharp. Too incredible with just the right amount of taunting. The way you look at him is overwhelming. Every touch leaves him on edge and every kiss is so sloppy because he wants you so badly, he can barely think straight. 

It happens again and then again after that. No matter how much he tries to keep his cool, to stay calm and focused, he can’t handle it. You make his brain fog up, his thoughts scatter, and he curses himself because all he wants to do is fuck you without cumming at just the sight of your pussy. 

However, you don’t let him off the hook that easily. After he’s ruined his boxers, you love to tug down the waistband and admire the mess he’s made, smearing his seed on your fingers and licking it clean with a grin. Just give it a minute and his cock will be hard as rock all over again. 

When he finally manages to put it in you, it’s with one big, unexpected thrust. He can’t help it— the way your walls gripped the tip sent his hip jerking forward as it moved on instinct. 

“I’m… sorry,” he breathes out, though there was no regret in the way his cock throbbed in you. 

And the worst part? You know exactly what you’re doing to him. You bat those pretty lashes at him, feigning innocence while you’re driving him wild, watching him try not to nut just from groping your tits and hearing you sigh his name with that breathy, sweet voice. 

He’s in over his head and you’ve completely flipped the script. Alhaitham has spent his whole life being the one in charge, always knowing what to do, but with you, he’s just a bundle of raw, needy energy. 

And now— he burns with a desperate need to fuck you harder, faster, to feel every inch of you clenching around him that he’s completely lost in it. You’ve made him realise how much he’s been holding back and now he’s ready to give you everything he’s got. 

So when he starts thrusting, it’s deep and unsteady, driven by hunger he’s never felt before. And poor Alhaitham, so out of his element, feels his usual self-control slipping away with each thrust. He thinks the least he can do is stay quiet, to maintain some semblance of composure. But then you whisper in his ear, telling him he can be as loud as he wants. 

And the moment those words reach him, he breaks, unable to hold back the sounds that had been clawing at his throat. He lets out strings of groans and grunts, each one rougher than the last, filling up the room with his lewd noises. 

He’s determined to keep going, to fuck you senseless but you’re so wet and tight, you’re damn near milking him. Between your occasional praise and begging him for more, he finally snaps with a guttural moan, burying himself inside you. His body trembles as he spills into you but even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, slower now, to savour every last second, despite the sensitivity.

When it's all over, he collapses on top of you, so utterly spent. All those late nights he allowed himself to indulge by jerking off at the thought of you, feeling a little guilty while trying to imagine what it would be like, was nothing compared to the real thing. 

As he lays there, panting and dazed, he tells himself that this will be a problem.

Because now he can’t do it any other way. If this is what he wanted, he was going to have to get better at it. And being the diligent person that he is, there is only one way to improve: practice. 

And who better to practice on than you?

a/n: the idea of virgin!alhaitham has me breathing into a paper bag

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[sangwookisser]

EARNED IT | SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

cw: grumpy! simon riley x dumbass recruit! reader, dumbification, smut, size kinks, fem! reader, MDNI

synopsis: simon likes order. what happens when a cute little recruit comes in and messes it all up?

Simon is used to the recruits being obedient and a little clumsy. They'd stumble over their words when talking to him, scramble to follow orders, maybe mess up once or twice, but they'd learn because they had to in an environment like this. It's either adapt or get thrown out, or worse, killed. But you were something else.

From the moment you stepped onto the training grounds, he knew you were going to be a problem. It wasn't because you didn't have the drive, because he clearly saw that look of determination and resilience on your face when you stood in ranks on day one, with your face all scrunched up in focus, up until you mixed up a left turn with a right and bumped into the guy behind you head on.

Yeah, he determined pretty quick that you're kind of a ditz.

"Rookie, where's your rifle?" Simon asks one early morning right after breakfast. You hate waking up early, but being in the military kinda forces you to wake up at the ass crack of dawn for PT or other sorts of training. You're half asleep as your HULKING officer towers over you as you stand in ranks; he just has to walk a few steps to get up to you now since he made you move to the front middle so he can monitor you at all times.

You blink up at him, big doe eyes shiny with confusion and sleepiness. Your gaze drops to your shoulders, where your rifle would rest on a sling, but to your dismay, there's nothing there.

"...Shit."

Simon exhales slow and shaky through his nose, trying to calm himself. This kind of shit seems to happen to you every day. He's tired of you and the way your mind seems to always be floating in the clouds and not focused on the world around you. You just smile sheepishly, shifting on your feet like you're only mildly concerned about the fact that the entire platoon is staring at you fuck up yet again. "Rookie..." He warns, his temper wavering.

"It's, uh. It’s not gone, sir!" You try to explain quickly, looking around the damp morning environment nervously. "I just... I might’ve left it in the mess hall, I-I think? Otherwise it might be in my locker, or maybe by the range-"

He stares at you. You stare back, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights. He's furious. What do you mean you don't know the exact location of your firearm? It's not a toy or something little you can easily misplace. "Go get it. Now." He just about sneers at you, eyes dark and pissed.

"Yes, sir!" Your voice is now not so tired, more chirpy, eager to impress. It grates on Simon's nerves how ridiculous you are and how everything just seems to be a game for you. He's not sure why he keeps letting you get away with your bullshit. He's benched recruits for doing things much less aggravating than you. You're very lucky you're cute, or you wouldn't be out here with the rest of the platoon right now.

After too many fucked up missions and slip up on your part, Simon decides he can't control you and decides to cut you loose while he dragged you to his barracks for a talk. He crosses his arms. "You’re done, rookie. Out of here. Can't take any more screwups, you're holding me back by being a shit soldier."

Your face falls and you swear your heart starts pounding a mile a minute as you hear his words. You stare up at him, in your civilian clothes as you were about to head to the mess hall, when he dragged you to the private room. You feel so small talking to him. Your top of your head doesn't even skim his broad shoulders. "D-done?" You whimper.

"With this. Training. The team. All of it." His voice is clipped. "You’ve been a liability since day one. I’ve got enough headaches without adding you to the list. You’re off the roster starting tomorrow."

"Is this because I lost my goggles during the simulation? It didn’t even affect the outcome that bad, sir..."

His eyes lock on yours, beefy arms crossing over one another as he glares down at you like you're no more than some whiny kid. "No. It’s because you treat this like a fucking joke."

You look at him with that weird expression again, the one that always messes with his head. Not angry. Not crying. Just... confused. A little bit sad. The fucking big sparkly eyes that make his chest ache.

"You can’t just..!" you start, then cut yourself off with a frustrated whine. You're panting softly, clearly worked up by all this. You don't want to leave! You've been giving this place your all, even if it didn't look like it all the time.

"I’ve been trying, okay? It’s not like I don’t care! I’m just… I don’t know, okay?" You shove your hair out of your face, your hands twitching with the need to do something. "You can't just kick me out because I screwed up one simulation!"

"You’ve screwed up more than one, rookie." His voice is firm and very annoyed. He steps closer, making you crane your neck up to look at him. Your footing wavers a bit as you instinctively step back.

"Yeah, well, I’m still trying, aren’t I?" You glare at him defiantly. "You think I like embarrassing myself in front of everyone?" You gather the courage to step closer to him, now shouting. "I’ll prove to you I can do this. Just give me a chance and i’ll show you I can keep up, alright? I need this."

Simon looks at you, his expression unreadable. He scoffs, shaking his head lowly. “Cute. You think you’re some kinda miracle worker?”

You shake your head quickly, looking up at him with your pretty face all flushed from the comment. "No! Don't mock me. I don't wanna be kicked out. I'll do anything to prove I can handle this." You stand there, waiting for him to say something else, and for a long moment, Simon just watches you with that same stern, smoldering gaze.

"Fine. C'mere."

༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

"Harder, brat," Simon says, giving your ass a firm slap as you bounce dumbly on his cock. He grips your hips bruisingly tight, thick fingers digging into your soft flesh as watches your pussy suck in his cock with each bounce.

You let out a sharp gasp, your hips jerking forward involuntarily as Simon's firm slap stings your sensitive skin. "Fuck! y-yes sir! hngh..." you cry out, clenching your teeth and doubling your efforts to ride him without any help. Your tits bounce with each rough thrust, sweat dripping down your cleavage as you put every ounce of energy into pleasing him and showing him you'll do whatever it takes to stay here.

You feel his heavy balls slapping up against the curve of your ass with each thrust. It's so fucking big, and from the angle you're in, you feel so full each time he buries himself inside you. You squeak softly, tears of overstimulation pricking at your waterline as you struggle to take him all in, and you have to ease yourself down on his cock, your pussy stretching around his length to all of him.

"Atta girl." He hums lazily, not helping you at all. Since you said you'd do anything to prove yourself, then he wanted you to prove you could adapt and handle any challenge you're given, and your current challenge is fucking yourself onto his huge cock.

He grabs a fistful of your hair so he can look at your face while he fucks you dumb, and he admires your swollen lips and glassy eyes. You moan, hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life.

"Aw. Look at you. Fucked so dumb on my cock that you're crying, hm?" He laughs, looking down to see how his dick disappears into your pussy. For someone so small you take him so well, like you were made for him. "You know, if you wanna tap out, you can, pretty girl."

You whine, shaking your head insistently. you manage to shuffle down far enough to sink down onto most of his cock, and he groans loudly, hands finally flying down to grab your hips to pull you down and fill you to the hilt. "Ah, fuck-" He grunts, holding you still. "Haa, shit, so fucking tight, you're squeezing me hard, sweetheart, can feel all of you."

You bury your face in his neck and wrap your arms around him for comfort as you struggle to take him in, causing his cock to push against your guts with every little movement, gouging its way in and rubbing against your sweet spot. Simon looks down to see the notable bulge where his huge dick rests deep inside you while also helping you bounce slowly onto him.

He copies you, pushing his face into your hair to inhale that dreamy, delicious shampoo you wear, he moves his face down to your pulse point and bites down, laving his tongue over where your pheromones are the strongest. "S-sir, Simon... feels s'good," You croon, pressing your lips onto his and putting little kisses on his mouth.

Experimentally, he snakes his palm between the two of you and pushes down on the bump causing you to flinch hard and bounce so good on his cock. Your moans happen loudly and at the same time. "S-sir! T-too much, oh fuck..." you whimper, lip wobbling as you pinch your eyes shut tightly.

He glides his huge hands over the sensitive flesh on the backs of your thighs. You let out a quiet mewl as he takes control, bouncing you onto his cock like you're a fuck doll.

Simon fucks into you, bullying his fat cock into your sopping pussy by bucking his hips up to meet your downward little bounces, and you can feel every thick inch of his massive cock stretching you open.

"Fuck, your hungry little pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight, sweetheart," He growls, "Can feel every lil' clench as you try to milk my cock. Such a needy, girl, isn't that right?"

He buries himself in you once more, bottoming in and out. Your moans get louder, and you have half a mind to wonder why he isn't shutting you up. Surely barracks aren't soundproof, and everyone must be coming back from dinner by now.

Simon doesn't seem to care about anything but you right now. His cheeks are so flushed and his eyes are dark and dilated. "Look at you, so fucking pretty when you're on my cock." You can only whimper and sob in response, your mind too fucked out to form coherent words. "Fuck, 'm cumming, okay? 'm gonna cum inside you right now, beautiful. Gonna breed you."

With a roar, Simon slams your body down, burying his cock to the hilt inside you as thick, hot ropes of his cum erupt from his throbbing, flared tip. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling of his hot cum flooding your womb, marking you as his.

You feel each pulse and twitch of his cock as he empties his heavy balls deep inside your spasming cunt, your belly swelling slightly from the sheer volume of his release. He helps you chase your own orgasm, pushing down on your belly some more and angling your body so his cock hits your g-spot incessantly, the heel of his hand brushing against your swollen clit. "There you go. Good girl, it's right there. Can feel you pulsing. Cum for me, pretty."

That's all it takes for you to feel that warm, fuzzy feeling of pleasure as you finish around his cock, moaning as you sink down on him and rock your way through your orgasm, pressing your mouth to his and shoving the hulking beast of a man onto the mattress with his cock still in you so you can kiss him, and then do it all again.

[rabbitinashell]

Here is the 'next thing' I was talking abt, and don't beat me with your slippers, and some kind anon told me the artist of the art: @/tappeee on X(previously Twitter)

The moment the door shut behind you, a shiver ran down your spine. Not from fear—no, not quite. It was the weight of their presence, the realization that you were utterly at their mercy.

Mydei was the first to step forward, the low click of his boots against the floor setting a rhythm that made your breath hitch. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze—sharp, calculating, burning with something far more dangerous than simple desire.

“You walked in here willingly,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “How bold.”

Behind you, Phainon moved just as smoothly, his presence a shadow curling around you, inevitable and inescapable. His lips ghosted along the shell of your ear, his voice softer but no less commanding. “Do you understand what that means, little one?”

Your lips parted, but no words came. Mydei chuckled, low and indulgent, as if your silence pleased him more than any answer you could give. His grip on your chin tightened, just enough to keep you still. “She doesn’t. Not yet.”

Phainon’s fingers traced down your spine, deliberate, slow. “Then we’ll make sure she learns.”

Your body tensed between them, caught in the heat of their attention, in the space where control had never been yours to begin with. Mydei didn’t rush. He wanted you to feel it—the weight of anticipation, the awareness of just how helpless you were against them. Phainon, ever patient, let his fingers ghost over your skin, coaxing a shudder, a gasp, a reaction he would undoubtedly use against you later.

“You’re trembling already,” Mydei noted, tilting his head as if studying you. “Did you think we’d be gentle?”

Phainon’s chuckle was dark, edged with something almost cruel. “Poor thing. She still thinks she has a choice.”

The realization struck in full force then, the full scope of what it meant to be here, between them. They weren’t merely going to take you. They were going to ruin you, piece by piece, until you forgot what it even meant to resist.

And the worst part? You didn’t want to fight it.

Mydei’s fingers trailed down your throat, pressing just enough to remind you who was in control. His smirk deepened when your pulse leaped beneath his touch. “Good,” he murmured. “Let’s begin.”

Phainon’s grip tightened at your waist, pulling you back against him, his breath hot against the side of your neck. "No need to hold back," he whispered, his fingers dancing over your skin with an unbearable slowness. "We want to hear every sound you make."

Mydei’s lips curled as he watched the way your body responded, the sharp intake of breath, the way your hands clenched as if trying to grasp onto something—anything—to ground yourself. "Already at a loss for control?" His voice was laced with cruel amusement. "You’re proving to be quite the quick learner."

Phainon’s chuckle rumbled against your back, his fingers tracing idle patterns that sent shivers racing down your spine. "She’ll break beautifully," he mused, pressing a lingering kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Won’t you, little one?"

Mydei’s fingers brushed lower, teasing, testing, ensuring that every breath you took was shallow, every thought clouded with anticipation. "But breaking you isn’t enough," he murmured, voice silk over steel. "We’ll rebuild you—piece by piece—until the only thing left is what we want you to be."

Phainon smirked, tilting your head back against his shoulder, eyes glinting with something dangerously satisfied. "And you’ll thank us for it. Eventually."

They didn’t rush. They took their time unraveling you, stripping away every defense until you had no choice but to yield completely. Mydei’s grip was firm, guiding, making sure you knew exactly where you belonged. Phainon, ever patient, let the torment drag out, ensuring that each touch, each whisper, embedded itself deep within you.

When your knees finally gave out, it was Mydei who caught you, holding you in place as Phainon traced a possessive hand along your jaw. "See? That wasn’t so hard," Phainon murmured, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Now, let’s see how much further we can take you."

The door remained shut, the world outside forgotten. You were theirs now—there was no escape, no resistance left. Only the inevitable descent into their hands.